by Kate Douglas
Dink nodded. “I can’t get there till after four. That work for you?”
“Yeah. That’s cool.” Mac watched as Dink grabbed a shirt and a pair of jeans and quietly slipped out of the bedroom. Then he flopped back down on the bed. Zianne. All the questions he had always came back to her, but why? And why, when she was near him, did he quit asking? Shit.
She’d left last night to find something that was supposed to help him with the mess surrounding the grant, but she’d never mentioned a thing when she came back. Of course, none of them had done much talking. “Who am I kidding? The three of us didn’t talk at all.”
He sat there a moment longer, thinking of Zianne, thinking of Dink, but all of his thoughts merely confused him more. Finally Mac rolled out of bed and headed to the shower. His head was spinning, and it wasn’t from the sex. It was spinning around the mystery that was Zianne.
It felt strange being back on campus. He should be heading to class or working in the computer lab, not walking toward the complex where the chancellor’s office was. What did he have, other than suspicions?
“Mac? I was looking for you.”
What the hell? “Zianne? What are you doing here?” Damn. She was so gorgeous in tight black jeans and a purple long-sleeved T-shirt. With her black hair flowing over her shoulders and those amazing violet eyes, she took his breath away.
“Like I said, looking for you.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him over to a small group of tables beneath a large oak. “Now I have found you. Remember? I told you last night I had some things to check into.” She smiled and sat on top of one of the tables. “When you go to see the chancellor—”
Mac interrupted. “Wait. How do you know I’m planning to see the chancellor? I haven’t told anyone I was coming here.”
She shrugged. He tried to remember if he’d said something, but Mac knew he hadn’t. They’d been too busy screwing.
“This is important,” she said. Ignoring his question, she tapped a finger against his chest. “You must tell him you were set up, that you suspect there is a scam being played out under his nose. That Dean Adam Johnson, Phil Bennett’s uncle, has been collecting grant monies for years under false pretenses. That he has now involved his nephew in the scam, and if they’re not stopped, they’re going to bring shame on the entire university.”
Suddenly his concerns didn’t seem as important. “Are you sure? How do you know this? Crap.” He laughed. “I’d love to tell him, but without proof, I’m afraid our dear chancellor would throw me out on my ass. With good reason.”
Zianne reached into her back pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. “You cannot say where you got these papers, but they are the proof you need to catch the chancellor’s attention.”
Frowning, Mac took the envelope and carefully opened it. “These are bank statements. A personal account of the dean’s.” He raised his head and stared at her. “How did you get these?”
Again, she ignored him. “Compare the figures to this list, which is available as part of the department’s fiscal records.” Zianne handed him another sheet of paper.
It took only a few moments to make the comparison between the deposits of grant money into the school account, the regular payment checks made as the money was supposedly disbursed to the student of record, and matching deposits into Dean Johnson’s personal account.
When he finished reading, Zianne handed more pages to Mac. Copies of checks from the dean, made out to Phil Bennett. The link was complete. Mac finally raised his head and focused intently on Zianne. “How did you get this information? How did you even know to look? The guy’s obviously a crook, but you ...”
Shaking her head, Zianne held up a hand to stop him. “I can’t tell you, so please don’t ask. These are copies of actual records you have received anonymously.” She wrapped her fingers around Mac’s. “Enough to prompt an investigation. What they find will clear your name. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
He stared at the papers in his hand and then at Zianne. The questions pounded in his mind—questions he knew she wouldn’t answer. “Zianne ... I ...” He let out a huge breath. “Thank you.” Carefully he folded the papers and stuck them in the envelope. She was right. He had what he needed to at least start the investigation that could clear his name.
Then he’d clear things up with Zianne.
She leaned close and kissed him. “I’ll meet you at your apartment tonight.” She stood and cast a flirtatious glance over her shoulder. “I hope we’ll have something to celebrate.”
He watched her walk away, but celebrating was the furthest thing from his mind. Frowning, he turned away and headed for the chancellor’s office.
Zianne turned and watched as Mac climbed the stairs to the office building. Her heart pounded, her palms felt dry, and there was a strange feeling in her stomach. It took her a moment to identify the sensations as fear. Not for herself, but for Mac, but it wasn’t merely because he needed freedom from the dean’s accusations in order to be able to help her people.
No. It was more than that. Again, that tendril of guilt tied her in knots. She wanted him free of the charges for his own sake. Not because of what he could do for her.
This was just for Mac.
She’d spent hours finding the records he needed. How could she tell him that she’d become a stream of pure energy, that she’d gone inside the bank’s computer system in order to recover the information? He would look at her with disgust if he knew she wasn’t human. He might still be willing to help her people, but he would never be able to love Zianne.
She hoped he could love the woman she’d become, the one he’d created with his beautiful sexual fantasy and his powerful mind. He’d never love the creature of energy she truly was.
Or could he? She wiped unexpected tears from her cheeks and wished him well. And fantasized her own special dream, of Mac knowing who and what she was, and loving her anyway.
And that was suddenly more important than it should be.
8
Mac stopped at Sloan’s for a beer. He took a table in the back and sipped his brew, silently celebrating.
“Hey, Mac. I was hoping you’d still be here.” Dink slid into the seat across from him. “You look like the cat who ate the canary. What’s up?”
Mac raised his glass in toast. “All’s right with the world, my friend, though you might want to steer clear of Phil Bennett and his merry band of idiots for a while. He’s gonna be pissed.”
Dink leaned back in his chair. “Tell me all about it.”
“I decided to go straight to the chancellor’s office. It turns out there’s an ongoing investigation of Dean Johnson.”
“Embezzlement, right?” Dink’s grin stretched ear to ear.
“Yes and no. It appears the man’s running a number of scams. One involves illegal student visas and stolen software. Another has to do with distribution of illegal drugs. The chancellor said they weren’t even looking into embezzlement of grant monies. Yet. No wonder it’s so hard to get an appointment with the dean. He’s a busy boy.” He laughed, amazed by how much his situation had suddenly improved. “Anyway, I met Zianne on campus this morning, and ...”
“What was she doing there? She’s not a student, is she?”
Mac shook his head. “Hell, I don’t know and she won’t tell me. But she had paperwork that proved a lot of our suspicions, and no, I have no idea how she got it. The chancellor was quite interested. He said he’d have to get warrants for the originals, but the copies told him what to look for.”
“Which is?” Dink took a sip of his beer.
“An unlikely connection between the disbursement of grant monies, and like-sized checks showing up in the dean’s personal account. Oh, and regular payments to his nephew.”
“How the hell did Zianne get information like that?”
Mac shook his head. “No idea, and she’s not talking.”
Dink laughed. “Do you know anything about her other than the fact she’s gorgeous a
nd good in bed?”
“Don’t go there. Whatever Zianne’s secrets, they’re her business.” He stared blankly at Dink. “Shit. I can’t believe I’m defending her. Her secrets make me crazy.” Except he owed her for helping him clear his name, didn’t he?
Dink gazed steadily at Mac. Finally, he exhaled, long and slow. “Never mind. Back to the chancellor. What else happened?”
“My scholarship’s being reinstated. I have full access to the computer lab while the investigation is ongoing. It’s been kept quiet, but he expects it to break open when the warrants are served, maybe even this afternoon.”
“That soon? Wow ... but what about the grant? You need that income, don’t you?”
“I’m back in the running and there’s still some scholarship money left. I’ll have to replicate my project, but without the notes, it’ll take me a while. He said he’d speak with the committee and make sure they gave me enough time. Dean Johnson’s been pulled from it, so I don’t have to go through him. If I can replicate the project, it’ll prove that Phil stole my work.”
“Can you do it?”
Mac shrugged. “I think so. It shouldn’t be too hard. It was a fairly simple program.”
“Shit. I wonder how Zianne got the information?”
Mac stared at his beer a moment before he raised his head. “How’s she do anything? How does she get in and out of my locked apartment without a key? How does she heal your injuries with merely a touch? How the hell does she know so much about me?”
“Have you asked her?” Dink sipped his beer, but he kept his gaze locked on Mac.
“I try. It’s like I can’t think of the questions when I’m around her. I dunno, Dink. It’s freaky, but at the same time I feel like an idiot, wanting to question everything.”
Dink steepled his fingers and rested his chin on their tips. “Mind control? Is she somehow controlling your thoughts?”
Mac jerked back in his chair. Then he laughed and hummed a few bars from the opening theme to The Twilight Zone. Dink didn’t even crack a smile. Mac shook his head. “I don’t know. She could be doing something. I can’t get her out of my head.”
He stared toward the front of the bar, at the lights beginning to come on outside, and wondered if Zianne was waiting for him at the apartment. She’d said she’d be there tonight, that maybe they’d have something to celebrate.
Just being with her. Touching her. Seeing her ... that’s all it took. There was no other explanation. No way to convince himself he was making up feelings he’d never experienced before. Mac turned his attention once again to Dink, almost afraid to say the words out loud. He sighed. He honestly didn’t know if he should be laughing or crying or running for the hills. “I don’t know jack shit about her. I think I love her. How stupid is that?”
Dink’s smile was more sympathetic than anything else. “I figured that much. I’d have to be blind and mentally deficient not to have guessed how you feel about her. It’s all over your face.” He laughed and sat back in his chair. “Shit, man. You have the same look on your face when you’re with Zianne as I probably do when I’m hanging out with you.”
“Aw, Dink ...”
“No.” He held his hand up. “Don’t feel bad. I’m over the worst. Of course, fucking until your eyes cross tends to help.”
“Fucking works.” Leave it to Dink to put things in perspective. Mac toasted him with his beer. Might as well spill it all. “There’s more. It’s so bizarre I feel sort of stupid bringing it up, but you know the program I’m working on? Someone else has added code to it. Stuff that I never would have thought of, but it works. It makes the program better, more stable, less apt to crash.”
“What do mean, someone else? You’re never away from those notes of yours. They’re in your backpack now, aren’t they?”
“Yeah.” He grabbed the pack off the back of the chair. “Right here. Always with me. There was more fresh code today. It’s not in my handwriting and I haven’t had a chance to test it yet, but I think it’s going to fix some issues I was trying to deal with.” He opened his pack and pulled out the yellow legal pad. “Look. See the different handwriting?”
He set the tablet on the table in front of Dink and waited while his friend studied what, to him, was probably incomprehensible gibberish. After a moment, Dink raised his head. “I have absolutely no idea what this shit means, but you’re right. The handwriting is definitely not yours. It’s actually legible.”
“Thanks loads.” Laughing, Mac stuffed the legal pad back in his pack. “I think it’s Zianne’s.”
“What? Is she a geek? That’s a relationship made in heaven, though she doesn’t look like any geek I’ve ever seen. Of course, neither do you.”
“Gee, thanks. Hell, I don’t know, but I started noticing the additions to my work the morning after I first met her. How else do I explain it?”
“Have you asked her? Asked about her? Checked to see if she’s enrolled in any classes, if she’s listed in the employee registry?”
“Dink, do you even know her last name? Because I sure as hell don’t.”
Dink looked disgusted. “I repeat. Have you asked her?”
Mac shook his head. “No. I kept thinking I’d look at her wallet, check and see if she’s got a driver’s license, but she doesn’t carry a purse. Do you know any woman who doesn’t have a purse, or at least a backpack? No lipstick, no makeup, no hairbrush.”
“No clothes, at least not this morning. Damn, she’s hot.”
Mac laughed. “You’re not supposed to notice. You like guys. You’re supposed to think I’m hot.”
“I do. Damn, you know I do, but you have to admit, she’s a truly gorgeous woman.” He got a totally dopey expression on his face. “I mean, this morning was ... it was ... damn, Mac. What was that? Have you ever ... ?”
“Hell, no. And I bet you haven’t either.” Mac finished his beer and stood. “C’mon. She said she’d meet me at the apartment. You coming?”
“Oh. Yeah. I’m coming. Hopefully more than once.”
“Jackass.”
“Love you, too, sweetheart.” Dink shoved Mac’s shoulder. Laughing, Mac stumbled, grabbed Dink to keep from falling, and pulled him off balance.
The sharp staccato of gunshots filled the room. Glass covering a photo on the wall behind their table shattered.
“Down!” Still hanging on to Dink, Mac threw him to the floor. They scrambled on hands and knees into a hallway that led to the restrooms.
Another burst of gunfire sent chips of wood flying over their heads. Women screamed. Someone cursed. A man shouted.
“What the fuck? What’s going on?” Dink leaned toward the open doorway. Mac dragged him back.
“Idiot! Get back here. Those are real bullets.”
“Shit.” Dink flattened himself against the wall. A minute later, the sound of a siren grew closer and then stopped out in front. The two of them stayed hunkered down in the dark hallway, listening as law enforcement entered the bar.
“You two in the back. Police. Come out with your hands up.”
“We’re coming.” Mac stood up and pulled Dink to his feet. That was when he noticed blood dripping from his right arm. “Shit. I must have been hit.”
The police officer lowered his gun once they’d stepped out of the hallway. “My buddy’s been shot,” Dink said. He glanced at the pattern of bullet holes on the wall. “Crap. We were sitting right here. Did you catch whoever was shooting?”
“No.” The officer shook his head and glanced at his partner questioning patrons in the front of the bar. “Whoever it was took aim from the doorway. No one got a good look. They were all too busy diving for cover.”
He checked the red slash running across Mac’s bicep. “Looks like it just grazed you, but I bet it hurts like a son of a bitch. You’re damned lucky.”
Mac’s arm was beginning to throb. He caught Dink’s eye. “We were just getting up to leave. I stumbled. We were screwing around. Dink shoved me; I tripped.”
/> “And you pulled me down.”
“One of us could have ended up dead.”
The cop walked over to the wall and pointed to a pattern of holes in the wood paneling. “Would have been head height if you hadn’t ducked.” He turned and looked at both of them. “You’re right. One—or both—of you could have ended up dead.”
Mac climbed the steps to his apartment. His arm throbbed, but the paramedics had treated him at the scene. He’d decided he really didn’t need to go to the ER. Dink had chosen to stay.
Once the news crews showed up, he’d been in his element. Dink was definitely aiming for the right career—he came to life when someone shoved a microphone in his face. Mac, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to get away once the police had gotten all they needed from him for now.
He wondered if Zianne was waiting. He hadn’t meant to be this late, and his head was so screwed after the shooting that he honestly didn’t know if he wanted to see her or not.
She met him at the door, her eyes filled with worry, a whispered curse on her lips when she saw the bloody bandage on his arm. When she drew him close and kissed him, Mac decided he was glad she’d waited.
And just as glad Dink hadn’t come home with him tonight.
Their lovemaking was fierce, as if part of Mac realized he could have died. As if Zianne knew the same. Fulfilling and frantic, an act that left both of them gasping and shaking, bodies replete yet wanting more. Mac’s mind was at ease for the first time in days, in spite of the fact someone might have tried to kill him.
The wound on his arm was completely healed.
He didn’t ask Zianne how. Pulling her close against his chest, Mac nuzzled her thick, dark curls. “Thank you. Because of you, it appears I’ve got another shot at the grant, but it will be administered by someone other than Dean Johnson.”
“I’m glad. Now you can concentrate on your work. You have much to do. It will be easier with access to the faster computers they have in the lab.”
“How do you know this?” Mac brushed Zianne’s hair back from her eyes. Damn those eyes. He looked into their violet depths and was lost. But not tonight. Tonight he needed answers. “How is it you know me? That you know so much about my work? I’ve never discussed it with you, and yet you know things.”