One of These Nights Page 4

  “Hey, Professor, how goes it?” Stan Chilton’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Data ready yet?”

  He’s your boss, Ian reminded himself, albeit with jaw clenched. You can’t punch out the head of research and development, even if he is the one who started that damned “Professor” thing.

  And the man was nearly as bad as Rebecca, hovering, flitting around the edges until Ian thought he was going to lose it. Odd, Stan hadn’t always been that way. But it seemed everybody was strung tight over this particular project—even Stan, who, while bright enough, was more of an administrator than anything. His talent lay in the research, not in the development. Along with his computer skills, which were legend around the division, paperwork and organization, things that were an anathema to Ian, were Stan’s pride and joy.

  And without him, you’d be stuck doing that, Ian told himself. So with a sigh he reined in his temper and set about updating Chilton, which in essence meant telling him that in hard data they were exactly where they’d been the last time he’d asked.

  “So far, so good,” Sam reported.

  “He doesn’t suspect?” Josh asked.

  “No.” She lifted a shoulder to hold the phone receiver against her ear as she finished pouring icy soda water into her glass. “I’ve got a good watching post for when he’s in the house at night, and a way to stick close to him on weekends. The only problem is transit between here and Redstone. Right now I’m following him in and then back home, but I don’t think that’s going to work forever.”

  “You think he knows you’re following him?” Josh asked.

  “I told him I work in the same direction. But he works unpredictable hours, and that makes it tricky for me to match his schedule without him getting wise.”

  “Shall I have somebody else do the tail, so you can be less obvious?”

  “That would be a good idea, for the interim.”

  “The interim?”

  “I still don’t like him driving alone. Too much could happen. If somebody was really prepared, they could grab him before we could get to him.”

  “Unacceptable,” Josh said. And she knew he meant it.

  “I’ve got a way around it, but I think I need to wait a bit. He needs to know me better, get used to me being around.”

  “It’s your call.”

  She understood what trust and faith were implicit in those words. Josh didn’t need details, he trusted his people to do their jobs. Never once had he even hinted that she was any less capable than any of the men on the team, or that she needed backup. Josh had hired her, Draven had trained her, and she carried her share.

  “I’ll arrange for someone to track him in the meantime,” Josh said.

  “Thanks. Have you heard from Draven?” she asked, now that the head of her section had come to mind.

  “This morning. He’s wrapping up in Managua and will be headed back the end of the week, with the package.”

  Way to go, she thought. They’d all wondered if they would be called in on that kidnap situation. Should have known better, with Draven on it.

  “How’s Billy?” Josh asked.

  “Fine. I just got back from the school. I’m able to see him every day now, as long as our boy is in the lab. It’s working out well.”

  She knew Josh had somebody on the inside watching—his longtime and rather spookily omniscient assistant, St. John, she suspected—ready to call or page her if Gamble left unexpectedly. That left her quite free during the frequently long work hours the professor put in, hours she put to good use visiting her brother and catching up on her sleep.

  “I’d like to stop by and see him,” Josh said.

  “He’d love that. You know you’re always Uncle Josh to him.”

  She could almost see him smiling, and there was no denying the genuine pleasure in his tone when he answered. “He’s a special kid.”

  “Yes,” Sam said quietly. Her little brother was a very, very special kid. And it took a man the caliber of Josh Redstone to realize that.

  After she’d hung up she sat still for a moment, thinking once more how lucky she was. If Josh hadn’t pulled her out of her old job, who knows where the restless streak she’d been born with would have led her. Her parents, had they lived, would have been aghast at her work now, at the danger of it, the very thing that kept her exhilarated and buoyant.

  But they would have been pleased that she’d taken care of Billy. Not that there had ever been any question. Her sweet-natured, always happy brother was considered handicapped by some, but to her he was the base of her world, the center that kept her sane.

  And sometimes the single thing that kept her restless streak from becoming a reckless one.

  Ian nearly drove through his garage door.

  He wasn’t really accident-prone, just sometimes he got to thinking and lost track of what he was doing. Fortunately his reflexes were fast enough to keep him out of trouble most of the time, but there was a reason he always bought used cars.

  Thinking had nothing to do with it this time, however. When he pulled into his driveway and saw Samantha in his garden, wearing only a bright-blue tank top and cutoff jeans that bared too much of those long legs for his equilibrium, he completely forgot what he was doing. That is, driving.

  He stopped a fraction of an inch away from an expensive repair job on both garage door and already recently repaired car. Samantha looked up then and gave him a cheerful wave. She held a small pair of clippers, he saw then, and other gardening tools were in a small bucket on the ground beside her. She had on those dark, wraparound sunglasses, and a lime-green baseball-style cap, with her long, pale hair pulled through the back in a makeshift ponytail.

  And the three-foot section of garden in front of her had been reclaimed. It wasn’t anything drastic, just…tidier. The profusion of color his parents had loved was still there, it was just that you could see it all now.

  Slowly he got out of his car and walked toward her. It was still warm out, even though it was after five, and he could see that she’d been at this a while, as she’d worked up a sweat. She seemed utterly unconcerned about it, which he thought was nice. He also saw a large bottle of water beside a tube of sunscreen in the tool bucket. She was careful, he thought. And wise. With her fair skin she could truly suffer from too much sun without protection.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said as he stopped before her. “I wasn’t going to start this until Saturday, but I got off a bit early today. I only did a little, until you could see and approve.”

  “I do. Approve, I mean,” he amended hastily. “It looks just like it used to, when my mother was here.”

  “She planted the garden?”

  He nodded. “Most of it. They’re both big on bright colors and the exotic, so she added that to what was already here.”

  “She got both,” Samantha said with a grin. “What a great place. I presume the bird of paradise was her pet?”

  “And the lilies, I think.”

  “Then the passionflower vine must be hers, too.”

  “Is that that one, with the odd, round flowers?” he asked, pointing to the vine that was now so heavy it was nearly collapsing the trellis that was supporting it.

  “That’s it,” Sam said.

  “Yes, that was one of hers, too. I guess it was the only way she could let out what was inside. She was trying to be a homebody, for my sake.”

  “Trying?”

  “It just wasn’t in her. Oh, she did it, until I graduated high school. Then I went off to college, and they…just went.”

  “You don’t sound particularly bitter about it,” Samantha said.

  “Bitter?” he asked, startled. “No. Not at all. It’s so against her nature I’m amazed she lasted as long as she did. But she did it for me. I don’t begrudge her now.” He smiled. “Miss her, yes, and my dad, too, but not begrudge her.”

  She smiled at him. She pulled off her sunglasses, and he saw the smile was echoed in her eyes. “They’re lucky you understand.
”

  He shrugged. “I do, more than they do, I think. They’re exotic, sophisticated. They did the best they could, but they never quite understood how two peacocks ended up with a raven.”

  She blinked. “A raven?”

  “Clever, sometimes even deep, but hardly flashy.”

  She looked as if his blunt assessment startled her. But then an odd expression came over her face. “I saw a raven once. In a tree. While he was there, he was just another shadow. But when he took wing, and flew into the sunlight, those black feathers flashed green and blue in a way that was more amazing than any peacock’s display, because it was subtle, hidden, and you had to pay attention or you’d miss it.”

  At the near poetry of her statement, Ian found himself staring at her. He told himself not to take it personally, she’d only been comparing birds, not people. But still…

  “And besides,” she added, “a raven is much more useful than most peacocks.”

  “Useful?” His voice sounded almost like that raven’s squawk to his own ears.

  “They find things,” she said. “And they are very, very smart.”

  He wondered if there was a compliment for him in there, but decided that was reading far too much into a vague conversation. Besides, it didn’t matter. Compliments weren’t something he sought out or needed.

  Although one from this woman might be rather pleasant, he admitted.

  “You really don’t have to do this whole garden, you know,” he said before he could take that ridiculous train of thought any further. “I’m sure you have lots to do, unpacking and all.”

  “I enjoy it,” she said. “And as I said, except for a few pots and planters, there’s not much for me to do over there.”

  He suspected the view out her windows of his yard wasn’t the nicest, and that might have something to do with her eagerness, but he chose not to say anything.

  “I guess I should have hired a gardener, but I never seemed to have the time to do even that.”

  “You do put in some long hours, I noticed.”

  Something about what he himself had said suddenly registered. “I…can I pay you for your time, at least?”

  The minute the words were out he was afraid they would offend her. Damn, he was no good at even this, a friendly chat between neighbors.

  But if she took offense, she hid it behind another smile. “You could find me something cold to drink,” she said.

  “I…sure. I think I have some soda or even a beer if you want.”

  “Soda’s fine. Whatever you have.”

  When he came back, she was working again, and for a moment he just stood there, watching the smooth, easy way she moved. Then she straightened and turned to him, swiping her brow with a gloved hand, leaving a trace of soil on her forehead.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking the cold can he held out to her.

  He liked that she didn’t apologize for her appearance, as he thought most women would. She was working hard in a garden; she was going to sweat and get dirty. And her casual attitude silently said that if you couldn’t handle that, it was your problem, not hers.

  Of course, most women probably wouldn’t look as good as she did doing it, he thought when she took a healthy swig of the drink. And then she rested the cold can against her neck, and he felt a ripple of an odd sort of heat that had nothing to do with the sun.

  It was lucky for her Ian Gamble was no party animal, Sam thought as she watched him pacing his office from her lookout window seat. She’d been here for nearly a week now, and he didn’t seem to have any social life at all. She didn’t understand. He was an attractive man. She supposed the frequent usage of historical rather than contemporary analogies she’d noticed might bother some, and some women would find his frequent slides into deep thought, sometimes midconversation, disconcerting. But there had to be someone out there who would find the traits rather endearing. And impressive, given what those slides into thought often produced.

  Not, she told herself, that it mattered to her job why he was the way he was. She was curious, that was all.

  Just accept it and be grateful that you don’t have to tail him all over town.

  She ran the brush through her damp hair once more. If he ran true to form, he was in for the night. Only once had he gone out after he’d arrived home, and since he’d walked she’d been able to follow easily enough. The ice-cream place had been his destination again, and once more she’d had to laugh at his idea of walking distance; it was at least two miles each way. But it was also why he was able to indulge without it showing, she supposed.

  But tonight he seemed settled in, so she chanced ten minutes with her blow dryer to finish her hair. Then she returned to her seat and took up the vigil.

  When he finally turned out the lights at close to midnight, she stayed put, watching. At one in the morning she added a dark knit cap to her black jeans and sweater and went downstairs. It was time. And she knew he had a meeting in the morning, so it was the right time.

  He’d left his car in the driveway, as usual. She wondered why he didn’t use the garage, then guessed with a grin that it probably looked something like his office did, so there wasn’t enough room. Whatever the reason, it was making things easier for her.

  It took her under three minutes. She was back inside in five, again watching the house until she was sure he hadn’t heard. Finally she went to bed, with the window still open, knowing she would awaken at the slightest out-of-place noise.

  The quiet of a California summer night settled in.

  “Damn it,” Ian muttered, slapping the steering wheel of his uncooperative car.

  He turned the key again. Nothing. Not even a click to indicate it was thinking about turning over.

  He guessed he shouldn’t be surprised. Cars tended to break down on him. Something about forgetting maintenance. He just had better things to do with his time and his mind, that’s all. How could he be expected to keep track of things like oil changes and tire rotations when he was trying to solve this damned adhesion problem?

  Maybe he should have taken Josh up on the offer of a Redstone company car. He’d said no because he tended to ding them up, and no matter that Josh had said that didn’t matter, he would be too embarrassed to turn the thing in at the end of the lease period. It would only add to the perception of him as the absentminded professor.

  He’d have to call a tow truck. Then he’d—

  “Problem?”

  His head snapped up. Samantha was standing beside the driver’s side window; he hadn’t even heard her approach. And she was dressed in a sleek navy pantsuit with a long jacket and crisp white blouse that made her look sharp and businesslike, totally unlike the casually dressed woman he was used to seeing. He wondered if she had to have things custom-made for those long legs.

  “Won’t start,” he muttered, feeling as if he was stating the obvious.

  “Dead battery?”

  “Could be,” he said, not wanting to admit he had no clue at all. Guys were supposed to know all about these car things. How could he explain he’d never spent any time mulling over things that had already been invented? “And I’ve got a meeting this morning.”

  “Come on, then. I’ll drop you off. You can worry about the car later.”

  He hesitated but only for a moment. This meeting was important. Stan would have a cow if he didn’t show up; he was picky about things like that. The man was picky about anything he thought reflected badly on the efficiency with which he ran his department. And as much as Ian was focused on the Safe Transit project, there were others already in the pipeline, and he’d insisted on being kept in the loop by marketing and production. He could hardly be late for the meeting they’d set up to fulfill his own demand.

  And she did go the same direction, he’d seen her, he told himself.

  “Thanks,” he said, reaching over to gather up his briefcase and the traveler’s mug of coffee he usually downed by the time he got to Redstone.

  As he climbed into t
he passenger side of her sleek—and dingless—blue coupe, he couldn’t help thinking how nice it was that she’d been there at just the right moment.

  Chapter 4

  “Something wrong?”

  At last, Sam thought. “Wrong?”

  “You’re…quiet.”

  “Maybe I’m just tired of carrying the entire conversation,” she said. “I don’t mind talking, but I don’t usually chatter.”

  “Oh.”

  He sounded abashed, and she hoped he was, but she couldn’t look at him at the moment and still deal with the cross traffic. This was the third day she’d taken him to work, and it was the third day he’d barely said a word unless in answer to a direct question.

  “Sorry,” he said after a moment of awkward silence. “I’m just not used to…”

  “Small talk?” she asked, finally completing the left turn.

  “Something like that.”

  She glanced at him. “Not even with yourself?”

  His glasses had automatically darkened in the sunlight, so she couldn’t see his eyes clearly, but she did see him blink. “Myself?”

  “I’m not sure I trust people who don’t talk to themselves,” she said, quite seriously.

  He chuckled then. “Then I guess you can trust me.”

  She gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Ditto,” she assured him. “You can even talk to me.”

  “I don’t mean to be…uncommunicative. I just never got used to talking about…inconsequential things.”

  “So everything has to be important?”

  “No, I don’t mean that,” he said, sounding a bit defensive. “I mean I never acquired the knack.” His mouth quirked. “My mother and father were both born with it, but neither of them passed it on to their only offspring, I’m afraid.”

  “Your parents sound fascinating.”

  “They are,” he said. “And charming. They can hold court for hours, and people still hate for it to end.”

  There was nothing but admiration in his tone, but Sam couldn’t help wondering if he’d always appreciated his parents like this. It would be hard to grow up with two larger-than-life parents if you didn’t feel you were able to live up to their example.