Sizzle (Buchanan-Renard #8)

Sizzle (Buchanan-Renard #8) Page 12

“Why not today?”

“Are you kidding? I’ll wait until the professor gets over … you … as in FBI you.”

“He would be that petty?”

“Probably not, but why take the chance? Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

She assembled her things, and Sam held the door for her as she stepped outside. She had been sitting in the dark for so long, the sun nearly blinded her. Sam took his sunglasses from his pocket and offered them to her.

She shook her head appreciatively. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

A T.A. passed her. “Hey, Lyra, I heard what happened last night. Glad you’re okay.”

Three more students commented on yesterday’s incident before she’d crossed the quad.

“News travels fast around here,” she said as she quickened her pace.

“Someone’s waving to you,” Sam told her a minute later.

Oh, damn, she thought. Jean Lillard, Mahler’s personal assistant, was running toward them, her long tie-dyed skirt flapping in the wind and her Earth Mother shoes clomping on the concrete sidewalk.

Trying to catch her breath, Jean panted, “The professor wants to see you right away … in his office.”

“Now? Do you know what he wants?”

“I think he has another project for you. Don’t frown, Lyra. It’s all good.”

All good? Nothing about Mahler was all good. Since Jean was obviously loyal to the man, Lyra kept her opinion to herself.

Ten minutes later she was knocking on the professor’s door.

He looked up from a stack of papers. “Come in. Come in,” he called out.

“You wanted to see me?” She approached his desk while Sam waited in the doorway.

“First of all, I want to apologize for my outburst. I simply overreacted,” he explained, his gaze bouncing back and forth between Lyra and Sam. “I just heard what happened to you last night. Horrible, horrible crime these days. It’s not safe anywhere. I certainly understand why you would call your friend for help,” he added, pointing to Sam.

Before she could answer, he asked another question. “You and your roommate are all right, aren’t you?”

“Yes, we’re fine.”

“Good. Now to the reason you’re here. Carl mentioned in passing that you and he are both close to finishing your projects.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Lyra quickly assessed the situation. Mahler seemed to be in an uncharacteristically good mood. If she handed her project in now, she might benefit from it. She took one of the DVDs out of her bag and put it on the desk. “Here it is. All finished.”

He beamed. “Excellent. You’re the first to turn in your work. Are you pleased with it? Or do you feel you rushed it?”

“I don’t think I rushed it. I’m proud of the work.”

Mahler nodded. “Because you finished first, you get the opportunity to do a short subject. If I think it’s good enough, it will be entered into the Dalton competition.”

The Dalton was an award given for the best children’s short film, fiction or nonfiction. Lyra didn’t know the first thing about doing a children’s film—didn’t know much about children either—but how could she pass up the chance to be entered in a major competition?

“I know you’re working on another project for extra credit … what did you call it … The Garden?” Mahler asked.

“Yes.”

“I think it’s a great idea, and you could do the two projects simultaneously, but they probably would be better if you concentrated on one at a time. Are you interested in doing the childen’s short?”

“Oh, yes, I’d love to do it,” she rushed out without further thought.

He handed her a folder. “There are the rules for the competition. You’re allowed to do fiction or nonfiction. In other words, you could interview puppets or you could interview real children. Just remember to get their parents’ signatures.”

“When is the deadline?”

“It’s all in the folder,” he said.

Lyra thanked him for giving her this opportunity and walked to the door with her head spinning. What was the matter with her? She couldn’t take this on. Her life wasn’t her own right now. There were two large, creepy men trying to grab her, and God only knew why. She certainly didn’t. Keeping the worry and fear in the back of her mind was becoming more and more difficult, especially with Sam at her side to remind her.

Pretending she wasn’t in danger was foolish. She should run and hide, not do a children’s film.

She was definitely out of her mind.

TWELVE

LYRA AND SAM STOPPED AT A RESTAURANT JUST OFF OAK AVENUE called Macy’s. It was a popular place with the university crowd because the food was fantastic and the prices were surprisingly reasonable. It was always packed, no matter the hour, but they were fortunate and got the last available table. They were seated in the back by the kitchen door, which Sam liked because he could face the front window and see not only everyone in the restaurant but also the people and the cars moving past.

After they ordered lunch, Lyra asked, “How long does Alec expect you to stay with me?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “I’ll talk to him tonight. But probably in another couple of days he or the detectives working the case will find someone else to take over.”

“Working the case? I don’t think they have much to work with. The men wore masks and didn’t happen to mention why they were after me.”

“Those two left something behind, and their DNA will nail them.”

“If they’re in the system.”

“Yeah?” He flashed a smile.

“I watch television. There are fifty or sixty CSI shows on now,” she exaggerated.

“Detective O’Malley is in charge of your case, and he knows what he’s doing.”

“You’ve talked to him?”

“Yes.”

Sam’s cell phone vibrated. He saw who it was and apologized to Lyra before he answered. Although he was sitting across from her, she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She finally caught a word or two and realized he wasn’t speaking English.

Checking her iPhone, Lyra saw there were forty messages. Several of her friends on campus, including Carl and Eli, wanted to know what country Sam was from and how he was able to become an FBI agent. She deleted most of the messages and saved others for a later reply.

The waiter brought them iced tea and water. She thanked him, took a sip of water, and looked out the window. It occurred to her that she knew next to nothing about the man sitting across from her. When he had appeared at her apartment door that morning, she had recognized his name. He was the agent who had saved Sidney’s brother. Now she was trying to recall what else her roommate had told her about him. All she could remember Sidney saying upon her return to Los Angeles after visiting Alec was that Sam Kincaid was from Scotland, that he had dual citizenship, and that he was incredibly heroic.

And that was all she knew … except that every time she looked at him her heart raced. No man had ever gotten that kind of reaction from her before. This physical attraction was growing, and it was disgustingly animalistic.

She would be relieved when he left because what she was feeling was simple lust, and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself by throwing herself at him. The longer he stayed with her, the stronger the possibility that such a thing could happen.

Keep it on a professional level, she told herself.

Uh oh. She suddenly realized she wasn’t looking out the window. She was staring at him. At his mouth, to be exact. Sam ended his call and turned toward her. Fortunately, the waiter brought their food, and she pretended to be ravenous.

“How good is your memory?” he asked.

“Pretty good.”

“Tell me what you did last week. Day by day,” he said.

She went through her schedule, and only after she’d finished recounting her days and nights did she realize how boring it all sounded.

“What about men?”

“What about them?” She twirled her straw in her tea.

“Dates? Sleepovers? You know what I’m asking.”

“No dates. No sleepovers.”

He looked dubious.

“What? You don’t believe me?” she asked.

“I believe you could have any man you want.”

“Why would you think—”

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” he said very matter-of-factly “And you’re smart, interesting …”

He was complimenting her, but it sounded as though he was reciting words from a lawn mower manual. His monotone suggested he wasn’t the least bit interested in her attributes. It was a real kick to her ego.

“I’m not going to go out with just anyone, and the last couple of weeks have been grueling with work. I haven’t had time to date.”

She wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but he had managed to put her on the defensive, and she felt embarrassed about her lack of a social life. When was the last time she had looked forward to a date? She couldn’t remember.

Pushing his plate to the side, Sam leaned forward. “We’re up to Friday,” he reminded her.

“Let’s see,” she said, biting her lower lip and looking up at the ceiling. “I went to class, hurried back to the apartment, packed an overnight bag, dropped some film at the library, and headed home—”

“You flew to Texas?”

“No, I drove to San Diego. I live with my grandmother.”

“I thought you lived in Texas.”

“I do.”

“Lyra.” His impatience was apparent.

“How do you know about Texas?”

“I read your file.”

She shot forward and nearly knocked her glass over. “My file? I have a file?” She was moving from surprise to outrage. “There’s a file on me?”

He was amused by her reaction. “You’re not going to go all Mahler on me, are you? Lecture me on Big Brother?”

“Of course not.”

“I’m an FBI agent. I can get anything I want.” He grinned as he made the boast. “I got a copy of the police report, and the detective in charge gave me copies of his notes and interviews. Alec added some personal data for me as well.”

“Such as?”

“Legally, you’re squeaky clean. You’ve never been arrested, never even had a speeding ticket or parking ticket.”

He took a sip of his tea and watched the couple at the next table leave the restaurant before continuing. “You graduated summa cum laude from the university. Your brothers, Owen and Cooper, and your grandmother Prescott attended your graduation. Neither of your parents came.”

“Which made it a festive event. What else?”

“There weren’t any boyfriends there,” he said. “It was expected that you would become engaged to John Forest—”

“No, it wasn’t expected. I never had any intention of marrying him.”

“From what I was told, you broke it off with Forest quite abruptly and wouldn’t tell anyone why.”

“It wasn’t abruptly, and it was a mutual decision. We wanted different things.”

“Yeah? What did you want?” he asked out of curiosity.

Not to be bored to death, she thought but didn’t say. In all the time she had known John, she had never heard him laugh really hard, the kind of laugh that brought tears to your eyes and took your breath away. He was always so serious. Who wanted to live like that?

“Lyra?”

“Passion,” she blurted. “I wanted passion and laughter.”

He didn’t even raise an eyebrow. He went back to sounding like he was reading the lawn mower manual. “Your parents tried to have your grandmother declared incompetent, and you stopped it.”

Sam made it sound as though it wasn’t a big deal, but the reality was far more complicated. Lyra had spent every penny she had on legal fees because her parents had their attorney freeze Gigi’s assets and Lyra’s trust fund. For the duration of the trial, neither of them could even buy a cup of decent coffee.

“I didn’t stop them,” she told him. “My grandmother did. She proved without a doubt she is of sound mind. And how is any of this relevant to the break-in?”

Sam was looking out the front window, and he answered almost absentmindedly. “Everything’s relevant.”

“Now it’s my turn,” she said.

He glanced at her. “Your turn to what?”

“Ask questions. Do you live in Washington, D.C.?”

“Yes.”

“You flew all this way—”

“No. I was in Seattle.”

“Why?”

“To give a lecture.”

The waiter laid their bill in a black folder on the table, and Sam put his American Express card inside and handed it back.

“Where do you go next? Home?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“I was coming here to give a lecture. Alec knew that and called me to ask for a favor … and before you ask … you’re the favor.”

“After you give your lecture, are you going home then?”

“No.”

Was he being evasive on purpose, or was he frustrating her just for the fun of it?

“No, what, you impossible man?”

He flashed a smile. “I go to San Diego, talk to some cadets, and then I’m done.”

“Now, was that so difficult?”

The waiter handed him the folder. Sam signed, picked up his card, and said. “Are you ready to leave?”

Ignoring his question, she asked, “And then you go back to D.C.?”

“For a few days, then on to Scotland.”

“One more question and I’ll stop,” she promised. “Any serious relationships? You asked me about John Forest,” she hurriedly reminded him.

“There was a specific reason for that question,” he said.

“And there’s a specific reason for my question.”

“Yeah? What?”

“I’m curious.”

He paused for several seconds. “No.”

She sighed. “No, what?”

“No serious relationships.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“I married her.”