Unknown Enemy (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Michelle Karl

  As Ginny checked her work email, the memory of finding Donna lying bleeding on the floor was replaced by that of the shocked visage of the handsome man who’d accosted her in the library and helped her after the stun grenade. All that, and she hadn’t even learned his name.

  Curious, she loaded up the Gwyn Ponth website and scrolled through to the faculty page. “All right. Who are you?”

  “I’m not sure who you’re actually looking for on there, but I’m Colin Tapping. A little farther down the page, though.”

  Alarmed, Ginny spun in her chair. The man from last night stood in her office doorway, arms crossed. “Uh...hello?”

  He glanced around the shoe box–sized office. “I’ve owned refrigerators larger than this.”

  “I spend most of my time in the library or teaching, and they give the best offices to tenured professors.” She stood, matching his stance. “But I doubt you’re here to talk about office space.”

  He extended his hand and she reluctantly accepted, feeling an unpleasant gnawing of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. He’d touched her scarred face when trying to wipe away a tear last night. In the process, he’d unknowingly brushed aside the hair she always wore down to cover up the disfigurement her cheek had suffered in a car crash twenty years ago. That crash had effectively ended what her mother had thought would be a lucrative and fame-driven modeling career for her daughter. Her mother had never hidden her desire to live vicariously through her daughter’s success, after her own career had tanked years prior. Her mother had never said it outright, but Ginny had always suspected she was the cause of her mother’s career tanking. After all, an unexpected pregnancy in an early marriage would certainly complicate a modeling career.

  “I’m Colin Tapping. Teaching in the Criminology Department this semester.” His handshake was firm and strong. “Though not for the rest of the week. I assume the college insisted the same for you?”

  “As you can see, it didn’t stick. I’m Ginny Anderson, specialist in ancient languages and history. I don’t recall seeing you at the faculty briefing before the semester began.”

  He pulled his hand back from hers and leaned against the door frame. His eyes flicked to the side of her face and back, but not fast enough to escape her notice. She felt her cheeks grow warm and she touched her hair, making sure it covered the scar. After the car crash, Ginny’s mother had let her know, in no uncertain terms, that Ginny’s beauty—which her mother had bitterly pointed out at a family gathering was her daughter’s only true redeeming quality—had been unequivocally lost forever, and thusly she would never really amount to much.

  Ginny didn’t talk to her mother much anymore, but she’d worked hard to make a career for herself teaching and studying ancient history and linguistics. She’d become a specialist in ancient languages, and this morning’s meeting with the local history museum’s curator would bring her one step closer to securing a future at the college. A tenure-track position was up for grabs this year, and if she proved herself valuable enough to the college’s reputation to earn it, she’d be placed on the list of teachers eligible for a permanent tenure position after a few years of hard work. While there were at least six part-time professors vying for tenure track within the department, rumor had it the department head was leaning toward securing someone with a wide range of specializations in both language and history. Ginny shared this qualification with one other professor in the department, though she hadn’t yet formally met her. She only knew it was a woman who’d been a late hire to the faculty after the abrupt departure of the school’s Italian history and language professor.

  “I was a last-minute addition to the team.”

  Ginny waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing. She leaned over her computer and began scrolling again through the list of faculty members at the college. If he wouldn’t explain, maybe his bio on the website would.

  A chuckle escaped as he must have realized her intentions. “I’m former Secret Service. I don’t know what they’ve put in my blurb, but I hope it also mentions my degrees in criminal justice. I promise I’m qualified, if that’s your concern.”

  Ginny felt herself staring. Had he just said Secret Service? “Oh. No, obviously that’s not my call to make. But sorry, what are you doing here? In my office?”

  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay, after last night. An event like that can shake a person up. I should also apologize for startling you.”

  A deep sigh welled up in Ginny’s chest. She released it slowly, uncertain how to respond to the man in front of her. He seemed kind enough, and it was a thoughtful gesture to check on her, but she couldn’t shake the memory of surprise in his eyes when he’d touched her ruined skin. It brought forth an ache she thought she’d buried long ago.

  “I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Tapping, but I have to head out to a very important meeting now and don’t really have time to chat.”

  He nodded and stepped aside as she rose and gathered her things. “Where to?”

  Were all Secret Service men so nosy? She immediately scolded herself for the thought. He’d been thoughtful enough to ensure her well-being. She could at least engage in polite conversation. “The Rhoads Museum, just up the road. I’m meeting the curator about a recent request.”

  “Oh? I haven’t been up there yet. Didn’t realize it was so close.” She glanced sideways at him and he shrugged. “I know, I should visit. Haven’t seen much of the town yet, to be quite honest. Maybe I’ll hit the museum tomorrow. It isn’t like I have any classes to teach this week.”

  Had no one taken him on a tour of the area? She suddenly felt bad for trying to brush him off. She recalled feeling disconnected and a little lost during her first semester here, and she’d had several months to acclimatize back then. How callous would she be not to offer what help she could? “What are you up to this morning? I can’t promise a ride back, but I can give you a lift to the museum since I’m going already.”

  “That’s very kind of you. Are you sure it’s no trouble? I do have my own car.”

  “None at all, especially if you’ve not visited it yet. It’s a small museum but very well curated. I can point out a few local landmarks between here and there, as well.”

  “In that case, lead the way.”

  He walked alongside her as she left the Daviau Center, the building that housed her department, and headed toward her car. Ginny noticed that he didn’t walk looking forward as most people tended to—the rest of the way to the car and even on the drive, his visual orientation shifted constantly. Overcome by curiosity, Ginny couldn’t help but ask, “What are you doing? Can’t you sit still?”

  Colin’s sharp laugh startled her. “Force of habit. Guess you can take the man out of the Secret Service, but not vice versa.”

  “Why’d you leave?”

  He grew silent and Ginny wondered if she’d pried too deep. When he spoke, his words were clipped. “Made a mistake, got dismissed. The inquiry is ongoing.”

  Ginny mouthed a silent “oh.” What could she say to that? Her curious nature tugged on her to ask for more details, but his rigid posture suggested he wasn’t comfortable with the topic.

  As they trotted up the gray, hewn stone steps of the museum, Ginny realized she’d joined Colin in scanning their surroundings. After giving her statement to the police last night, they’d told her to be on the lookout for anything unusual in the days ahead, suggesting that she use the campus Foot Patrol service in the evenings. The advice was practical, but useless. The attack had happened indoors in a building that should have been empty aside from several staff members, not while she wandered alone in a public area or parking lot in the dark.

  And the police seemed to have no idea who’d done it or why. Each time she’d turned another corner since last night, she couldn’t help but wonder—what if she was walking into another attack?

  *
* *

  “What are you here for, may I ask?” Colin pushed open the museum doors, glancing behind them at the parking lot for a moment before heading inside. Ginny appeared to be considering his question, a tiny smile appearing at the corner of her mouth. When she met his eyes, they sparkled with a contained excitement. When she spoke, her words were clear and strong. She sounded nothing like the deferential woman he’d spoken with so far today.

  “If this goes the way I hope it will, I’ll obtain the resources I need to potentially pinpoint an ancient historical site that archaeologists and historians have been seeking for years.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  She lowered her voice, flicking an apologetic glance toward the staff at the entrance. “If it works out and I find it, or at least find enough information to support my theory on the location, I’ll be one step ahead of the other tenure-track candidate at the college. If not, well, I’ll be back at square one with this career and have to start all over again at another school. If I can even find another position. It’s not like colleges these days are lining up in droves to hire in the humanities.”

  He kept stride alongside her as she made her way to the curator’s office. “Starting over’s not always a bad thing. In the Service, I moved through a variety of departments and had to start at the bottom each time.” He stopped walking, looked back over his shoulder and then at her. “And now, of course. Can’t say I anticipated this career change. Is this where your meeting will be?”

  Ginny nodded and raised an eyebrow. “Expecting someone?”

  He rubbed his jawline. “After last night, can’t be too careful is all. Looks like your contact is here. Thanks again for the ride.” He backed up toward a wall of Renaissance paintings as Ginny turned toward a man exiting from the office.

  “Professor Anderson?”

  Ginny shook the curator’s hand as Colin did his best to appear unobtrusive in the moment. They were engaging in the typical social pleasantries and Colin knew this was his cue to move along, but a nagging in the back of his mind stopped him. He didn’t feel comfortable leaving Miss Anderson by herself, not after the events of last night and what he’d learned this morning.

  After a visit to the local police station, he’d learned that the stun grenade tossed inside the library last night had been military issue. It was privileged information, sure, but a few officers on the local force had recognized him as a former Secret Service agent from news reports several years back and had opened up after he’d asked them a few carefully worded questions. Something about the situation didn’t sit right. Nothing in the library had been taken, according to the police. An unprovoked attack on the head librarian and a stun grenade inside a college library held little logic and it worried him.

  In fact, crossing the wide-open space of the parking lot to the museum had reminded him just how exposed and vulnerable Ginny Anderson was. Sure, the police didn’t know whom the assailant had actually targeted last night, but he didn’t like not knowing for certain whether the danger to her had passed. Assuming it had could be a terrible mistake, the kind of mistake he knew all about. The kind of mistake that cost other people their lives.

  No, it would be a bad idea to leave Ginny on her own. Touring the museum took an easy second place to making sure the lovely professor wasn’t still in serious danger.

  THREE

  “Your grandchildren are truly adorable,” Ginny commented as the curator closed his wallet and slipped it back into his pocket. The man had been eager to show off photos of his family after she’d politely inquired after their well-being. He was such a kind man who obviously cared about others and his work that she’d been happy to listen before turning their meeting’s focus onto the real reason she’d come to the museum this morning. “I must say, Mr. Wehbe, thank you so much for meeting with me and considering my request. I really do appreciate it.”

  “No thanks needed, I’m quite happy to do so. It’s not every day that I meet another local academic interested in ancient history and language. Your predecessor spent precious little time with us here, so I was pleased to oblige.”

  Ginny’s hopes skyrocketed. “Was pleased to oblige? I don’t suppose that means you already sent in the request?”

  Mr. Wehbe chuckled and waved at something—or someone—in his office. “Like I said, it’s not every day that someone requests that our little museum borrow tablets from the basement of the Ashmore Museum in Oxford, England. Fortunately, as you are no doubt already aware, I’m still on excellent terms with the curator there and visit my former place of employment several times a year. In fact, only last week I was there for a brief conference.”

  As Mr. Wehbe spoke, movement at the edge of her vision distracted Ginny from the curator’s words. Colin Tapping stood only a few feet away from where she’d left him, gazing at a reproduction of the Wedding at Cana late-Renaissance painting.

  Surprise and confusion flared in Ginny’s senses. Was he eavesdropping on her conversation? She shook her head to dislodge the thought. Maybe he really did have an interest in the artwork. Who was she to think otherwise when she’d just met the man yesterday?

  “Professor? Is everything all right?” Mr. Wehbe regarded Ginny with concern.

  “Sorry, sorry.” Ginny snapped back to reality. “No doubt you heard about the disturbance on campus at the library last night. I spent most of my evening in the hospital and giving a statement to police, and I’m still a little stunned, I suppose.”

  “Oh! I read about it in the paper this morning but somehow I didn’t make the connection. I’m so sorry to hear you were involved. I do hope you take some time to recover. I’m surprised you’re here this morning.”

  “I’m fine,” Ginny said, waving his concern off with a pinched smile. After all, she’d truthfully been through much worse in the car accident twenty years ago. “But you were saying?”

  “Ah, yes. I’m saying I have the tablets here. I received clearance and was able to bring over the tablets you requested. There is, however, a caveat.”

  Ginny gaped at the curator. “They’re here? Right now? And I can study them immediately?”

  “Well, yes and no.”

  From the curator’s office, a gentleman emerged wearing a well-fitted brown tweed suit and Panama hat and carrying a hefty brown leather satchel. He appeared to be at most in his midforties or early fifties. He strode forward and offered his hand to Ginny as Mr. Wehbe made the introductions.

  “Professor Anderson, please meet Dr. Hilden. Hilden, this is the ancient history and language professor I’ve been telling you about. She’s the one working on a theory concerning the location of King Ramesh’s summer palace in the Kingdom of Amar.”

  Dr. Hilden smiled warmly and took Ginny’s outstretched hand in a firm handshake while she continued to gape at the both of them, struggling to make sense of the moment. Dr. Hilden? The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Pleased to meet you, Professor Anderson.”

  The curator cleared his throat before continuing, a nervous quaver in his voice. “I wanted to be able to clear this with you ahead of time, but Dr. Hilden is here in an official capacity from the University of Amar. He’ll be functioning as a consultant on your work at the request of both the Ashmore Museum and the Amar government. The Amarans were hesitant to approve the request to move the tablets from their safety at Ashmore in England to our little museum in Pennsylvania, but we were able to reach an agreement. Dr. Hilden is a specialist in Amaran history, much like you, but—”

  “Less linguistic background.” Dr. Hilden tapped on the brown bag he carried. “I have clearance to hand these select tablets to you so long as they don’t leave the vicinity of the museum or the college at any time. We’ll have you sign a few documents before you head out with them, but ultimately you and I will share responsibility for their safety.”

  Ginny couldn’t believe it, for s
everal reasons. As delighted as she was that she’d received approval to study these ancient tablets so quickly, it felt a bit insulting that the Amarans thought she needed a babysitter to care for their precious artifacts. How many papers had she written on Amaran history and language already? She was well-known among her peers for her work in this area. She had nothing but the utmost respect for Amar’s history, and was in fact trying to enrich it with her discovery. But from the sound of things, if she tried to argue her point, Dr. Hilden would be back on an airplane and she’d lose the chance to see the tablets forever, save traveling to the Ashmore Museum in England or the University of Amar. A part-time professor’s salary didn’t exactly allow her extravagances such as jetting off to another country on a moment’s notice.

  “Dr. Hilden happened to be at the conference at the Ashmore, as well,” said Mr. Wehbe. “Quite a coincidence, yes? Anyhow, Professor Anderson, I imagine you’d like to get started as soon as possible.”

  Contact information was exchanged and Ginny signed what seemed like a novel’s length of documents declaring her responsibility for the artifacts on foreign soil, and she set a meeting with Dr. Hilden for later that afternoon. When the dust from the whirlwind surprise finally began to settle, Ginny found herself standing outside the curator’s office with a satchel full of ancient tablets in hand.

  She took two steps forward, prying her attention from the bag, only to discover Colin Tapping stood directly in front of her, arms folded across his chest.

  And this time, he did not look pleased.

  * * *

  “Productive meeting, I assume?” He approached her, nodding at the heavy leather satchel slung over her shoulder.

  She frowned at him. “You can’t be finished seeing the museum already. Were you eavesdropping on me?” Her eyebrows pinched together as she tried to step around him.