In the Enemy's Sights

“Find him, then,” the woman said, her tone dismissive. Without sparing a sideways glance for Julianna, she advanced toward Ken, holding out her hand.

“We haven’t met. I’m Dahlia Sainsbury. I’m the new curator of the Impressionist Museum.”

He took her hand, aware of the delicate touch of expensive perfume in his nostrils. Everything about Ms. Sainsbury looked expensive, from the top of her sleek, dark head to the gloss of her leather heels. Being the curator of a museum must pay a lot better than he’d have thought.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kenneth Vance.”

She held his hand a little too long. “Of course. Our very own Air Force hero. Naturally I’ve heard of you.”

“Thanks,” he said shortly, attempting to draw his hand away.

She put her other hand over his, the gesture implying an intimacy that didn’t exist. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. We must get better acquainted. I know several members of your family already. And, of course, Quinn Montgomery.”

Julianna didn’t seem to be making an effort to find Quinn. “Ms. Sainsbury has asked our cabinetry department to create some display areas for the museum.”

The woman’s eyebrows lifted. “A job I can find someone else to do, if Montgomery Construction can’t handle it.”

“I’m sure we can,” he said smoothly, not having the faintest idea whether Quinn would agree, but not wanting a potential customer to walk out the door. What on earth was wrong with Julianna? “I think Quinn is out in the yard. I’ll just see if I can find him.”

Dahlia’s smile was triangular, like a cat’s. “Send the secretary. You and I can get better acquainted.”

Even if he’d been interested, he wouldn’t have cared for so blatant an approach. “I’ll get Quinn—”

“I’m here,” Quinn announced, coming in. “Ms. Sainsbury. How nice to see you. Surely I haven’t forgotten an appointment with you, have I?”

Ken stepped back with a sense of relief. Quinn could handle this—he was out of his depth.

“I had some wonderful new ideas for the display area.” The woman shifted that intense look to Quinn. “I simply must bounce them off you. I was just telling your girl that I was sure you’d want to see me.”

Quinn’s smile tightened a fraction at the condescending reference to Julianna, but he took the woman’s arm and turned her toward his office.

“I have a few minutes. Let’s get your thoughts down.” He ushered her into the private office and closed the door.

Julianna tossed the pencil she’d been holding across the desk. It bounced and hit the floor.

Ken picked it up and handed it back. “I gather you don’t care much for Ms. Sainsbury.”

“I suppose you think she’s gorgeous.” Juliana bit off the words as if they didn’t taste good. “Half the men in Colorado Springs have developed an interest in art since she took over the museum.”

He shrugged. “Frankly, I prefer something a little less obvious. Are she and Quinn an item?”

“I hope not.” Consternation dawned in her eyes. “I really hope not. But she does seem to be showing up a lot to discuss this project.”

“Quinn’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.” Did Julianna have a personal reason for her concern? “Is there something I should know about between you and Quinn?”

She seemed to forget her annoyance with him in her surprise. “Quinn? No, of course not. We’re friends, that’s all.”

He wasn’t sure why that should make him feel relieved, but it did. “Well, whatever she thinks, I’d say his interest in Ms. Sainsbury is strictly business. The company can’t afford to lose any jobs, from what I understand.”

“True enough. I shouldn’t let her get to me that way, but if she calls me ‘girl’ one more time, I might knock her off her high heels.”

“Wait till we’ve finished her project,” he suggested.

That earned him one of those rare smiles that lit Julianna’s face and made her eyes sparkle. He’d like to see that expression more often, but it hardly seemed likely.

He leaned against her desk. “Look, about what we were saying earlier. Please believe me. I don’t suspect Jay because he’s Native American.”

“Pueblo,” she said. “He’s Zuni Pueblo. Like me.”

“Pueblo,” he agreed. “Wasn’t your father—”

“My father was Anglo,” she said evenly. “I never knew him. He left before I was born. I barely remember my mother. My grandparents raised me after her death.”

Add that to the list of things he’d never bothered to learn about the shy girl who’d sat in front of him in senior English. “I’m sorry. That must have been rough.”

“Not at all. My grandparents were wonderful. Still are, in fact.”

She’d mentioned that her grandfather knew Jay’s family, he remembered. It was a link that probably made her unwilling to think anything bad about the boy.

“In any event, I’m not suspicious of Jay because of his ancestry. Just because he was here, and because of what you said about his connection to a street gang.”

She frowned, but at least she wasn’t reacting with anger. “I can see why you might think that. All I can say is that I know Jay, and I don’t believe he’d do anything that would hurt me. Surely he’d realize I’d be affected by vandalism where I work.”

“Teenage boys sometimes don’t think with their heads.” He grinned. “Believe me, I have vivid memories of the stupid things Quinn and I did at that age. Luckily our parents never found out about most of them.”

She smiled in response, but he could still read the concern in her eyes. “Just…be careful of what you say to Jay. He admires you.”

That admiration put a sour taste in his mouth, but somehow he’d have to deal with it.

“Look, I’ll be tactful, I promise.”

He put his hand over hers where it lay on the desk. A sensation of warmth spread up his arm, taking him by surprise, and for an instant he forgot what he was saying.

Then he straightened. “I’ll be tactful,” he repeated. “But I’ve got to get to the bottom of this vandalism. Quinn’s counting on me. I can’t let him down.”

She was late for work, Julianna realized as she pulled into her parking space on the gravel lot in front of the office the next morning. She’d had coffee, but still her mind felt fogged, as if the bad dreams that had plagued her all night long were affecting her ability to concentrate.

Well, maybe another cup of coffee would clear her head. She grabbed her bag and hurried toward the office. With any luck, no one else would be here to see her late arrival. Quinn often stopped at one of the job sites before coming to the office, and Ken—

Ken was already here, and he wasn’t alone. She stopped just inside the door, her throat tightening. Her grandfather and Ken between them seemed to fill the room—both big men, each with his own aura of power and strength.

Harvey Red Feather sat on the edge of her desk, while Ken leaned against the file cabinet. They each held a coffee mug, and they seemed to be chatting like old friends.

“Good morning, Grandfather. What are you doing here?”

She glanced from him to Ken, realizing that she was the only thing they had in common to talk about. What did Ken think of her grandfather, with his shoulder-length white hair and his serene, weathered face that seemed to have seen and accepted all the world had to offer?

Grandfather got up, smiling, and put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s good to see you, little one. I’m a delivery boy. Your grandmother sent lunch over for you. She thinks you don’t eat enough.” He nodded toward the basket that sat on her desk.

“Some traditional Pueblo dish?” Ken asked.

Grandfather chuckled. “Only if you’re from an Italian pueblo. It’s gnocchi. Grandma’s experimenting with her new Italian cookbook.”

“It’ll be delicious, whatever it is.” She couldn’t resist leaning against him. His solid strength reassured her, as it had as far back as her memory went. “But she shouldn’t have sent you clear over here just to bring me lunch.”

“What do I have to do that’s more important than seeing you?” He hugged her. “Besides, I hadn’t seen your new workplace yet. Kenneth offered me coffee, so we’ve been shooting the breeze while I waited for you.”

“I’m sorry I’m late.” She darted a sideways glance at Ken. He wasn’t her boss, but she disliked appearing less than competent in front of him.

He shrugged. “Only five minutes.” His gaze seemed to search her face. “You look tired. Maybe you should have taken a few more minutes.”

“I’m fine.” She evaded his gaze.

Grandfather tilted her chin up, and she couldn’t evade his wise, observant eyes. “You do look tired, Juli. Bad dreams again?”

“It’s nothing.”

She used putting her bag on her desk as a reason to turn away from him. This was why she didn’t want the two sides of her life touching. Ken, of all people, didn’t need to know about the dreams.

Her grandfather opened his mouth as if to pursue the subject, but Ken broke in first.

“Your grandfather was telling me about the powwow that’s coming up soon. I didn’t know about the Native American dance competitions. That must be something to see.”

He was talking at random, she suspected, trying to edge her grandfather away from a subject that he could see embarrassed her. She hadn’t expected such sensitivity on his part.

The least she could do was help skim over the moment. “Grandfather’s one of the best dancers. You’d think he was twenty when he gets into the arena. He puts the youngsters to shame.”

“Flatterer.” Her grandfather hugged her again. “I’d best get home, or your grandmother will wonder what I’m up to. Enjoy your lunch.”

“I will. Thank Grandma for me.”

He nodded and held out his hand to Ken. “It was a pleasure to meet you. If you’d like to visit the powwow, you’d be more than welcome. Get Juli to bring you.”

“Thank you, sir. I just might do that.”

Her grandfather went out, letting in a wave of cool morning air that cooled her warm cheeks. Once the door closed behind him, she glanced at Ken.

“It was nice of you to express an interest, but you don’t really need to attend the powwow. I don’t think it would be something you’d care for.”

“What makes you so sure?” He came to perch on the corner of her desk where her grandfather had sat. Unfortunately the feeling she had when he was that close was entirely different. “Sounds pretty interesting to me.”

She shrugged. “It’s mainly for Native Americans.”

“Your grandfather said I’d be welcome.”

Why was he so persistent about something that couldn’t possibly interest him?

“You’d be welcome,” she said shortly. “I just don’t think you’d enjoy it.”

“Is it that you don’t want to take me?” He leaned toward her across the desk. “Or are you ashamed of your heritage?”

Her head came up at that. Maybe she’d felt that way once, when she’d been a shy teenager desperate to fit into an Anglo world, but no longer. “I’m proud of who I am.”

“It’s me, then, is it?”

“No.” He was pushing her into a corner, and she didn’t appreciate it. “If you’d like to go, I’d be happy to take you.” She flashed him an annoyed look. “Satisfied?”

His lips twitched. “Pretty much. It’s a date.”

No, it wasn’t. But if she said any more about it, he’d think she attached too much importance to the whole idea of going somewhere with him.

She switched on her computer and opened her e-mail, hoping Ken would take the hint. He didn’t move.

“Your grandfather was right. You do look tired. Want some coffee?”

“I can get it—” she began, but he was already crossing to the coffee pot.

“I’ve got it. Hope you can drink my brew. I needed something to keep me awake.”

She took the mug he handed her. Now that she looked, she saw the marks of sleeplessness on his face that must also be evident on hers. Was Ken troubled by dreams, too—dreams of his plane spiraling toward the earth?

“What kept you up?” She sipped at the hot, strong coffee, and it nearly scalded her mouth.

“The new man Quinn hired for the night patrol couldn’t start for a couple of days, so we took turns doing some random checks overnight.” He ran his hand through his short brown hair. “Guess I’ve gotten out of the habit of working odd hours.”

“I didn’t realize.” Her thoughts darted to Jay. “Was everything quiet?”

His face tightened. “Quiet enough here. But while we were putting extra protection here, vandals went after the hospital site.”

“Oh, no.” They both knew the company couldn’t stand any more delays on the project.

“Quinn’s down there now, trying to get things moving again.” He shook his head, the lines etching deeper on his face. “I don’t know what’s going on, Juli. But I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

“This vandalism has everyone jittery,” Julianna said, pulling back into her parking spot at the office that night. Angel, sitting beside her, gave a soft woof, as if to express interest.

“And it’s a good thing I have you to talk to, or I might start talking to myself.” She rubbed behind Angel’s ears, earning a rough, wet kiss from the dog’s tongue. “Come on, girl. I just need to pick up Gram’s basket, and then we’ll go home and have a run before bed.”

Maybe a good long run would tire her out enough to sleep tonight without dreams. One thing about having Angel along—she could run any time of the day or night without fearing for her safety. Nobody messed with a woman accompanied by a German shepherd.

The office was dark and quiet. She picked up the basket she’d left on the counter next to the coffeemaker. No one would appreciate coming in to leftover gnocchi congealing in the casserole dish. Good as it had been, she hadn’t been able to finish it. She’d intended to have the rest for supper, but she’d gotten busy and forgotten to take it home.

Well, everything seemed quiet enough tonight. She went out, Angel at her heels, and locked the door behind her. As she set the basket on the backseat of the car, Angel woofed softly. She glanced at her.

The dog stared into the shadowy yard, her ears pricked up, tail waving.

“What is it, girl?” She closed the car door, looking across the yard, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. “Do you see someone?”

No. Angel had heard something, and now she heard it, too—a soft footfall, somewhere beyond the circle of light cast by the fixture over the office door.

A frisson of apprehension slid across her skin. It was probably nothing—just the night watchman on his rounds. But with everything that had happened lately, she couldn’t ignore it.

Making a swift decision, she took the flashlight from the glove compartment and locked the door. She dropped the key into the pocket of her jean jacket and turned toward the yard.

Angel was with her. She didn’t have to fear any intruder—one snarl from the dog would probably be enough to send anyone running.

She started toward what she thought was the source of the sound, moving quietly, Angel close against her side. She strained her ears for any noise, even knowing that Angel would hear anything first.

Pallets of lumber, arranged in rows, innocent enough in the daylight, loomed over her like pallid giants, waiting to pounce. There were too many hiding places in the dark. She sent the beam of her flashlight probing along the row, lighting up the dark corners.

Nothing. Maybe she’d imagined the sound. Or it was the night watchman moving along on his lawful rounds.

But that rational explanation didn’t erase the apprehension that skittered along her skin, making the hair stand up on her arms.

Angel’s hair stood up, too, making a ruff around her neck. Because the dog picked up on her nervousness, or because Angel sensed something wrong, too? Impossible to tell, but dog or human, the response was the same.

They reached the end of the row of pallets, where an open space ran like an alley between the rows for access. She stopped, hand on Angel’s head, and aimed the light down the alleyway between the pallets. Lumber gleamed palely in the light, and down toward the far end, something moved.

For an instant her breath caught in her throat. Then she recognized that erect, military posture, the set of strong shoulders. It was Ken. He’d said he and Quinn were taking turns to patrol.

She could slip quietly away. He need never know that she’d been here.

But even as she started to turn, Angel began to bark. Not a soft woof—a full-throated alarm. She felt the dog’s muscles bunch under her hand.

Ken whirled toward them at the sound. She had a glimpse of the pale shirt front under his dark jacket. Angel strained against her hand, barking furiously.

“Angel—”

But the rebuke died on her lips. The stack of lumber that loomed over Ken—ten or twelve feet high at least—seemed to shudder. For an instant she thought it was an optical illusion. Then she saw that the whole stack was moving, gaining momentum as it went.

Her cry was lost in Angel’s fierce barking. The stack of heavy lumber toppled toward Ken. She saw his startled face, saw his arm flung up to protect his head.

And then the lumber fell, crashing to the ground with a roar that reverberated, shattering the night air with a million echoes.

She couldn’t see Ken any longer, just a cloud of dust that billowed into the air like a dense, malignant fog.

FOUR

Angel bounded forward almost before Julianna realized she’d given the signal. She ran after the dog, heart pounding in her throat. Ken—

Please, Lord. Please, Lord. She couldn’t seem to verbalize the rest of a prayer, but God surely knew what she meant.

She plunged into the dust cloud, coughing and choking. “Ken! Where are you?”

Angel was already there, barking, nosing at the lumber that had fallen like jackstraws scattered by a giant hand. If Ken was buried under all of that, he’d be badly hurt.

But Angel had focused on the edge of the pile, not the center, and even as Julianna scrambled to the spot, the timbers began to shift. Ken’s arm emerged, then his head. He was coughing, but he was conscious and moving.

Thank You, Lord. Thank You.

“Easy. Take it easy.” She reached him and clasped his hand. It was warm and vital, and a wave of thankfulness flooded her. “I’ll get help.”

“No.” His hand tightened on hers. “I’m all right. Just help me get out.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t move.”

“I’m fine.” His voice was impatient, and he shoved at the nearest timber.

Angel climbed on the pile, nosing a piece of wood away from him, and then licked his face.

Ken patted her. “Okay, Angel. I’m sure my face is dirty. Just give me a minute.”

The normality of his tone reassured her. She began pulling two-by-fours away from him. He helped, shoving them until his legs were clear. He got up gingerly, and she reached out a hand to help him out of the pile.

Once on solid ground, he flexed his arms experimentally, winced and rubbed his shoulder. “Ouch. Those two-by-fours pack quite a wallop.”

“My car’s over by the office. Let me run you over to Vance Memorial to get checked out.”

What must it be like to have a hospital named for your family? She couldn’t even imagine.

Ken shook his head decisively. “No way. The last thing I need is any doctor getting his hands on me. I’ve had enough of that the last couple of months.”

“But you’re hurt—”

“Bumps and bruises. I’ve felt worse after a game of basketball with my brother.” He looked down at his dust-covered clothes. The knee of his jeans was ripped. “I can’t go home like this, though. My mother would have hysterics.”

Surely he couldn’t sound that normal if he were really hurt. She managed a smile, relieved.

“You can clean up in the office. Quinn keeps a stash of clothes there so he can change. He probably has something that will fit you.”

He nodded, took a step, and winced again. When she put her arm around his waist, her shoulder under his, he didn’t reject the support. They made their way slowly toward the office, Angel circling them.

She had to prop Ken against the door frame while she found the key, but once she had the door open, he moved through without help. She followed, switching on lights.

“Do you want me to call Quinn?”

He paused, frowning. “Not yet. Let me think about it while I get cleaned up. I don’t suppose there’s any coffee left in that pot.”

“I’ll make some. Do you need any help?”

Ken’s grin broke through, his teeth flashing white in his dust-caked face. “I can get into the shower myself. Thanks anyway, Juli.”

The door closed before she could think of a smart retort.

Maybe that was just as well. She busied herself with the coffeemaker, half listening to the drumming of water from the shower in the bathroom on the other side of Quinn’s office.

He’d picked up on her grandfather’s nickname for her. Juli. She wasn’t sure she liked that. It seemed to bring Ken too far into her life, but she didn’t know what she could do about it.

About the time the coffee’s aroma filled the room, the office door opened. Ken had changed into jeans and a T-shirt she recognized as Quinn’s. His hair was wet and tousled from the shower, and the intimacy of the moment made her heart give a little lurch.

She turned away, pouring coffee into mugs. “You’d better figure out some way of hiding that lump on your forehead if you don’t want your mother asking embarrassing questions.” She carried the mug to him, black, the way he liked it.

He touched the bump gingerly, then finger-combed his hair over it. “How’s that?”

She would not stand there looking up into his face. She swung back to get her own mug, adding sugar.

“You’ll get by if she doesn’t see you in a bright light, but it will probably be purple by morning. How are you going to explain that?”

“I don’t know. Bumped it on a door?” He came across the room to take up his favorite perch on the edge of her desk. “I don’t make a habit of lying to my mother, but she’s been way too nervous about me since I got home. I don’t want to give her another reason to tell me I should sit in the house and let her wait on me.”

She wouldn’t like that herself. “It’s natural, I’m afraid. My grandmother’s the same way.”

He smiled. “Hence the arrival of your grandfather with lunch today.”

“Yes.” She returned the smile.

The office was perfectly quiet except for the ticking of the round clock that hung over her desk and the muted murmur of the coffeepot. Angel circled twice on the rug and lay down, nose on her paws, watching them.

This was entirely too comfortable—sitting here alone with Ken, relieved that he was all right. “Did you decide about calling Quinn?”

He frowned, as if he didn’t like being reminded about the night’s problems. “He’ll be coming to relieve me in an hour. I’ll talk to him about it then. It’s not as if we can do anything in the dark.”

“The men will make short work of getting the lumber stacked again once they get here in the morning. But I think you should go on home. I’ll wait for Quinn to arrive, if you want.”

She didn’t think he’d accept that. Sure enough, he was shaking his head before she got the words out.

“No, thanks. I’ll hang around.” The furrows deepened between his brows. “I wasn’t worried about restacking the lumber, though.”

She stared at him blankly. “What then?”

He set the mug down on her desk and leaned toward her, face intent. “What made the lumber fall to begin with?”

“Well, I—I don’t know.” How odd it was, that she hadn’t even thought about that. She’d been too focused on Ken’s safety.

“Neither do I. But I’m going to find out.” When she didn’t respond, he shook his head impatiently. “Wake up, Juli. That lumber didn’t fall accidentally just when I was walking by.”

She rubbed her forehead. “You’re right. I don’t know why I’m being so stupid. Those stacks are perfectly secure. One couldn’t collapse unless—”

“Unless somebody made it happen,” he finished for her. His voice was grim.