FRIEND, LOVER, PROTECTOR

by Sharon Mignerey

  Pure longing poured through her, and she nodded. To hell with being in control.

  * * *

  One-third of his objective had been accomplished, Max Jamison thought. The penny-ante thugs that Franklin Lawrence hired were taken care of.

  Setting them up had been so easy. He'd made sure they knew when he had come back into the backyard of Dr. Jensen's—the target's, he corrected himself—house. As it was, they nearly missed the blatantly obvious trail he had left for them and the easy way of breaching the contact on the sliding glass door.

  The target's boyfriend was smarter—a lot smarter. Max had been wise to give him a subtle clue to ponder over. The scored glass in the basement window had been an afterthought, but it kept the guy from noticing that his well-installed system had been compromised at the sliding glass door.

  What Max hadn't counted on was the boyfriend taking out Lawrence's thugs without so much as a scratch to himself. Max had hoped to get the guy out of the way. Until he was, nabbing the target was going to be anything but simple, as the man had proven today.

  So far the target's boyfriend had been thorough and prepared, everything about him suggesting he was military, one of the special forces probably.

  Somewhere he had a weakness. All Max had to do was find it.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  From his seat near the back of the theater-style classroom, where he had a clear path to reach Dahlia, Jack watched her lecture in front of her class of nearly a hundred students. She was animated as she spoke, somehow bringing alive the physics of meteorology in a way that kept her students not only awake but attentive.

  The three doors into the classroom were at the top of the auditorium, and Jack sat where he could see all three as clearly as he saw Dahlia. So, when the door directly across the classroom from Jack opened, he immediately noticed and sat up straighter in his chair.

  Doreen Layard—Ph.D., Jack tacked on—swept through the door, letting the heavy door slam behind her, and at once every eye was on her.

  Jack gave Dahlia points for not having a single break in her voice as she continued talking.

  Much of the class watched Doreen as she went down the broad stairs toward Dahlia. This morning Dahlia was dressed in a flowing taupe skirt that went nearly to her ankles. The crisp linen shirt buttoned to her throat was covered by a print jacket, which hid her figure less effectively than he knew she hoped. Her hair was pulled once again into the intricate braid that had begun to work loose as soon as it was finished. As she had since he'd met her, she wore no jewelry except for the thin gold chain around her neck—a chain hidden by her clothes.

  She looked entirely appropriate for her role as assistant professor.

  Her boss wore the epitome of the power suit, a deep crimson that fit every curve to perfection. Two-inch heels, also crimson, clicked with staccato precision with each step, a glimpse of her thigh exposed again and again. As it had been the other day, her blond hair was flawlessly combed into place. It was the kind of outfit his own mother would have chosen, Jack realized, though her choices of accessories would have taken the outfit from classy to her version of show biz—a neckline that plunged another two inches lower, a hemline another two or three inches shorter, higher heels and flashier jewelry. She had worn similar outfits as stripping costumes. It wasn't that much of a stretch to imagine Doreen on a bar—height runway, a thought that failed to appeal in any way at all.

  His gaze returned to Dahlia, and he loved knowing there was a magnificent body beneath her chaste clothes.

  Doreen's crimson lips were curved into a half smile that Jack supposed was meant to be apologetic.

  He didn't believe it for a minute.

  Dahlia didn't acknowledge her at all until Doreen reached her and thrust a note into her hand.

  "I'm so sorry to interrupt your class," Doreen said, her apologetic smile wider. "Please, don't mind me."

  Jack leaned forward in his seat as Dahlia stopped talking and opened the note. He imagined the note bringing some bad news of her family, but Dahlia's expression didn't change. She folded the note and put it in her pocket, then glanced at Doreen who stood watching her expectantly.

  "Okay," Dahlia said.

  "Immediately after this class ends," Doreen said. "Not a moment later."

  "I understand," Dahlia replied. She took a breath and returned her attention to the class, and her lecture picked up right where it had left off.

  To Jack it sounded like the summons he was sure it was. Doreen might as well have shouted from the top of the stairs that she wanted to see Dahlia. Not as dramatic, though.

  Doreen frowned as though Dahlia had somehow failed to give her the response she wanted. Then Doreen's mouth once again curved into her I'm - sorry - for - interrupting - like - hell smile and she climbed the stairs, the sway of her hips just as exaggerated as any stripper. The heavy door slammed again as she left.

  Jack glanced at his watch. Another twenty minutes and he'd know for sure what kind of bad news Dahlia's boss had brought her.

  When the class was over and students filed out, Jack remained in his seat watching Dahlia. She gathered together her notes and stuffed them into her briefcase as a couple of the students remained behind to talk to her.

  He liked watching her, something he hadn't wanted to admit that very first morning when she had walked past him. Even then, he had known this was going to be anything but simple. He had wanted to call his friend Ian and tell him he couldn't do this—couldn't possibly spend the next two minutes much less the next week or two around her. At the time all he had seen was the body—the one that filled his fantasies. The one that he had expected to come with a vain, self-centered woman, because for him that was the way it had always been.

  He had expected to dislike her. He liked her … way too much. She was strong, resilient—a result of her walks through the fires with her cheating ex-husband, Brandon. It stood to reason the story that went with Richard was no better. She deserved permanent. She deserved commitment. She deserved a man who wouldn't walk away from her within another week.

  By the time the students left, Jack reached her side and took the briefcase from her.

  "What did Dragon Lady want?" he asked her.

  "Who knows?" She grinned at him. "But, 'immediately' is going to have to wait until I've stopped at the ladies' room."

  The grin didn't fool him, and he could see the worry that lurked beneath her smile.

  At the closed doors at the back of the classroom, Jack opened one and stepped through the doorway, shielding Dahlia's body with his own as they came into the busy hallway.

  "You don't have to be so protective, you know," she said. "I can't imagine one guy coming after me in here."

  "So call me cautious," he said. A man smart enough and devious enough to give him a subtle threat to figure out—the basement window, which had been an effective decoy—while putting a huge hole in the security system was capable of anything.

  When they reached the door to the ladies restroom, she flashed him another smile. "You could get a reputation, you know."

  He resisted the temptation to kiss her. "I hope so."

  A scant five minutes later she returned with the announcement, "I'm tempted to dawdle just to drive her crazy. However, the sooner I go see her—"

  "The sooner we can escape."

  "Exactly." She caught his glance. "The storms are supposed to be good again today."

  "After yesterday's storm, I'm up for anything."

  She laughed, her gaze heated. "I bet you are." The door to Doreen's office was open when they reached it.

  She was sitting behind her desk and someone was with her. She immediately noticed Dahlia when she came by, though, and commanded, "Don't go away. I'm almost finished here."

  Then she made a point of closing the door to finish her conversation.

  Dahlia tapped a foot against the floor. "You wouldn't believe how tired of these power plays I get."


  "So, why do you cooperate?" He sat down in one of the chairs where he could watch the doorway that led to the outer hall.

  "She's my boss."

  "Ah."

  "You don't think I should."

  "What?"

  She sat down next to him, socking him on the shoulder. "Cooperate. Be at her beck and call."

  "Coming when she whistles for you puts her in the driver's seat."

  "You know what?" She stood up. "You're right. Let's go."

  The door to Doreen's office opened, and a tall young man came through the door, followed by Doreen.

  Dahlia looked surprised to see the guy. "Hi, Sam."

  "Dahlia," he acknowledged. Ducking his head slightly, he glanced back at Doreen, then looked at Dahlia. "Uh, see you later."

  "Sure."

  "Dahlia, come in," Doreen said from the doorway. Her gaze lit on Jack. "You again."

  He smiled at her, mostly because he knew she wouldn't smile back. "Me again."

  "Hmm. I'm surprised that you don't have better things to do with your time."

  "What's up?" Dahlia asked, following her boss into the office. Behind her Doreen closed the door.

  "You didn't report in yesterday. Or the day before." She came around the desk and sat down, opening her daily calendar and making a notation.

  "Actually, I did." Dahlia sat, mostly because she wanted to be eye level with her boss. "I sent you an e-mail last night, which I know you received and opened because I have the return receipt."

  "I expected to have it before I left here at five."

  "Storms don't follow a schedule like that." Dahlia tucked her feet under her chair. "What's really on your mind?"

  "I've been looking at the data and the preliminary reports that you sent—"

  "So you did receive my e-mails."

  "And," Doreen continued, ignoring Dahlia, "I've felt there are a number of problems, which I've discussed with Walter—Dr. Worth. And, I must tell you, he's in agreement with me."

  "Agreement about what?" Dahlia barely refrained from reminding Doreen that she hadn't said anything, not yet, at least.

  "First, there's the issue of your continued reluctance to comply with the most basic requests."

  "The daily check-ins?"

  "When you send me an e-mail or call and leave a message too late for me to receive until the following day. That's a little disingenuous."

  "What else, Doreen? It's been two days. You called the other afternoon, late, and Jack relayed your message. Don't tell me you expected a call or e-mail after that. As for yesterday—you have your report. I'm—"

  "In over your head with this research," Doreen interrupted. She pasted on an apologetic smile. "I know you have such high hopes for this and saw your hypothesis as a step toward a promotion and providing the foundation for a grant application. But there's simply too much data for you and your team to process. The only way I can protect you is to have Sam to take over the lead on this project."

  Dahlia surged to her feet.

  "No. Absolutely not. This is my study, my—"

  "It's not your anything," Doreen returned. "The grant belongs to Dr. Worth."

  "We agreed—all of us, you, me and Dr. Worth—that I'd be able to sign off on my findings. He acknowledged this grant is based on my proposal, my work—"

  "Don't forget, Dahlia. My signature. My endorsement. Because I believe in you."

  "And that's why you're trying to take it away from me?"

  "This will reduce the stress on you. After all, look at everything that's going on with you," she said. "I just want what's best for you."

  Dahlia moved toward the door. "Of course. That is what you always say, isn't it, Doreen?" She looked over her shoulder at the woman she had once considered a mentor, a friend. "I'm going to talk to Dr. Worth about this … and then we'll see."

  "I didn't want to tell you like this, Dahlia, but it's already done." Doreen handed her a sheet of paper. "Here's the memo that went out from Walter this morning."

  Dahlia took the sheet and scanned the two paragraphs. Sam Payton had indeed been named to head the project. No wonder he had acted so guilty, coming out of Doreen's office.

  "You will provide him with your full cooperation and you will ensure that he has full access to your data." Her pause was dramatic. "I'd hate for you to be accused of any wrongdoing."

  "Another innuendo, Doreen?"

  "Scientific misconduct would leave you without a career, Dr. Jensen. You'd never work in science again."

  Heat suffused Dahlia's face, and she stared at Doreen for a long moment. Counting to ten did nothing to assuage her temper, and she imagined doing just what Doreen accused her of. Erasing all the data she had collected, cleaning out her files and deleting her notes. She started to open the door, then didn't. Once she had been convinced that she could somehow make it right. Today was the culmination in a long chain of events where Doreen had systematically undermined her every undertaking.

  "You know," Dahlia said. "I wish this was about the work. I really do. It's easier to believe that I'm lacking somehow as a scientist—than that you want revenge." She turned fully back into the office. "I've had it, Doreen. The innuendoes, the outright lies, and your putting the worst possible spin on every single thing I do. I've played by your rules, and look what it's gotten me."

  "Maybe you simply need to reassess—"

  "It's not my fault that Brandon died."

  Doreen came, out of her chair, her expression taut, her eyes glittering. "How dare you say his name."

  Tears were welling behind Dahlia's eyes. She didn't care anymore. "He left me, Doreen. And you want to know why? Because we were young and we were immature and I was pregnant."

  "No."

  Dahlia nodded, the years of hurt and frustration bubbling over. "Yes. Oh, yes." She waved an arm. "Too bad he didn't stick around another month. He could have been there for the miscarriage."

  "How like you," Doreen said, her tone calm, cold. "Brandon told me about all of it. The affair. The abortion. The lies."

  "Lies. We certainly had those."

  "If you hadn't gotten involved with that scum, Richard—"

  "It would have made no difference between Brandon and me. It was over." Dahlia wasn't about to admit that she agreed with Doreen's opinion about Richard. "What about the girl who was killed with him in the car accident that day? Do you ever think about her parents, her family?"

  "He wouldn't have been with her if you—"

  "We were divorced, Doreen."

  "You may not have been in the car, but you're as responsible for his death as if you had put a gun to his head."

  "Blaming me…" Dahlia took a deep breath and met Doreen's harsh gaze. "It won't bring him back." She turned her back on the woman she had once loved like her own mother and opened the door.

  When she came into the outer office, Jack shot to his feet. She had the absurd notion that she must have looked closer to falling apart than she imagined because he drew her close, into the protection of his body.

  "One last thing," Doreen said, following Dahlia. "This is about the work."

  "It was never about the work," Dahlia said without looking at Doreen and heading for the door.

  Jack didn't ask a single question as they hurried out of the office and through the building. He simply wrapped an arm around her shoulder and held on to her as though he understood how much she needed his support. When Jack would have ushered her outside and toward the car, Dahlia said, "I need to go to my office."

  "It can wait. Whatever it is, it can wait."

  She shook her head. "Unfortunately, it can't. You see…" She took a deep breath and plunged on. "It's not my project anymore, and I've been ordered to turn over my research."

  "It's your research."

  "True. But it's not my name on the grant, so technically—"

  Jack gave a snort of disgust. "And what was that back there? That sure as hell wasn't about anything that's happened this week."

  "Y
ou're right." Wishing for some quip that would make him smile and dissolve the tension, she kept walking down the hallway that led to her office. When she pushed open the door, the chatter inside stopped. So … the memo had been distributed, she thought. She paused at the doorway.

  Jack watched her lift her chin, then she sailed past the cubicles as though she hadn't noticed. The coed, Wanda—assuming he remembered her name correctly—followed Dahlia down the narrow aisle and leaned against the opening into Dahlia's cubicle.

  "Dragon lady is on the warpath again," Wanda said.

  "I've already seen the memo." She gave the younger woman a level glance. "Since you're here, I'm assuming you have time to give me a hand."

  "Sure."

  Jack did a quick round through the large room. Unlike the other day, someone sat in nearly every cubicle, and the office had the kind of hushed clatter that came with working on computers. By the time he returned, Wanda had gone off to whatever tasks Dahlia needed from her. As he had the other day, he pulled a chair into the entryway.

  "What do you need from me?"

  Dahlia looked up from the pile of files that she had dragged out of one of the drawers. "Nothing right now. Thanks." She started to return her attention to the folders, then looked back at him. Then she leaned close and whispered in his ear. "Wild sex later would be nice." She drew back far enough to look in his eyes. Hers were bright with unshed tears. "Something to make me forget that I'm furious and that my heart is breaking."

  "If that's what you want, sugar."

  "I do."

  She started to turn away, then took his hands, absently tracing the line of a vein. He stared at her bent head, wishing he had the words to make things better.

  "The worst mistake of my life," she said softly, "was falling in love with a man who loved his drug habit more than he loved me."

  She looked up at him, the expression in her eyes so sad. He'd love to beat the guy responsible for giving her a moment's grief.

  "His loss," Jack said carefully. With surprise he realized he really meant it. She deserved to be loved by someone who would be loyal, who would be there for the long haul, through tough times and good. Hell, it was what he wanted for himself.