Wildfire (12 page)

“Brady, are you all right?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m never going to be able to live this down,” he muttered in disgust.

“Live what—” she began when a booming voice interrupted her.

“Gallagher! I thought I recognized you.”

Brady straightened with fatalistic resignation. “Chief,” he acknowledged, standing up.

“This is the last place I would have expected to find you,” the police chief stated. “My kids wanted to see the movie, so I brought them. And you?”

“Amanda wanted to see the picture,” he explained before making the introductions. “Amanda, this is Police Chief Jabowski. Chief, this is Amanda Richards.”

“Glad to meet you, Amanda. I never knew you had such good taste, Gallagher.” The police chief’s aside was accompanied with a jab of his elbow. “Well, I see my kids have found a seat in the third row, so I’d better go. Nice meeting you, Amanda.”

Amanda made some suitable rejoinder, trying not to grin at Brady’s discomfited expression. “I’m sorry, Brady,” she apologized once the chief was out of earshot. “I didn’t know your boss would be here.”

Brady made no comment. Instead, he casually draped his arm around her shoulder, figuratively picking up the gauntlet she’d thrown down. “There’s more than one way to win a war, Mandy. And this is one war I do plan on winning.”

CHAPTER SIX

“It’s no problem, Dean Routledge,” the head librarian assured the college official over the phone in front of a fuming Amanda. “The library would be more than willing to host the faculty wine and cheese party. We’ll certainly put on a show for you, sir.”

Amanda almost blew a fuse. What John meant was that the staff would put out all the work and he would take all the credit, as usual. Since the faculty lounge was closed for repairs, they should hold the monthly faculty party in the cafeteria, or skip it altogether for November, but not impose on the already overburdened library. The moment the head librarian hung up the phone, Amanda launched into her argument.

“John, with the handicaps the library is working under, I really don’t think it’s wise to offer our services for any extra work.”

“This won’t be work, Amanda. It’s recreation of a sort. Everyone loves a party, and it will be great for the staff’s morale. After all, you were the one who told me that morale was at an all-time low.”

“That’s true, but—”

“I think it’s due to the anxiety about that arsonist,” John interrupted. “I can’t believe the police still haven’t come up with anything in their investigation. Another example of our tax dollars being wasted.”

“The police are doing the best they can.” Amanda defended Brady’s investigation.

“I’m sure they are,” John agreed in a tone that clearly voiced his opinion of their competence, or lack of it.

“You can’t blame the library’s problems on the arsonist, John. We’re short-staffed, and the cut in funds for student help was the last straw.”

“There’s nothing I can do about it, Amanda.”

“You could go to the dean and ask him to approve filling our vacant positions.”

“You don’t understand the politicking that has to go into these matters. By having the party here in the library, we’ll be softening the dean, so he’ll give us what we want.”

Amanda gave up in despair. John Abbington already knew what he thought. He didn’t want to be confused with facts. But things would certainly change after his retirement, when she was in charge.

The faculty party traditionally fell on the second Friday of the month and was scheduled to begin at four. Although originally designed solely for the professors, all staff members were now invited. Since Technical Services had the largest office, it was chosen for the party site. Their long work table had been cleared and was now protected by a paper tablecloth. On top of that was spread an array of crackers and Wisconsin cheeses. The wine punch hid a multitude of sins, which is why Amanda avoided it. Her eyes were already glaring over John’s repeated raids on the food. “Look at him, standing there gorging himself. He hasn’t done a damn thing to help with all this.”

“Here, try one of these.” Beth stuck a cracker into Amanda’s mouth, hoping to forestall a scene. “I meant to tell you that I really like your outfit.”

Amanda automatically glanced down at the olive-and-red patterned blouse that was tucked into a red wool skirt.

“With your willowy figure you can wear those slim skirts. I’m too short,” Beth complained.

“You’re not too short, Beth. You’re petite. I feel about as poised as a giraffe next to you.”

Beth giggled. “Sorry, I can’t see the resemblance. Maybe it’s the Calvin Klein belt that’s blocking my vision. It is Calvin, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Amanda confirmed, fingering the butter-soft leather belt.

“They cost a packet.”

“I know. The danger connected with this kind of thing is…”

“That it could become a habit!” Beth interjected.

“Besides that,” Amanda laughed. “The real problem is that it’s so nice and so expensive that you don’t want to wear it.”

“I know,” Beth agreed. “You remember that expensive skirt I bought last year? I still haven’t worn it. I keep waiting for some special occasion. I’m afraid to wear it out on a dinner date in case I spill something and ruin it. So it just hangs in my closet. Every so often I take it out and gaze at it adoringly before putting it back.”

“I know the feeling. What I finally had to do was forget how much I paid for it and simply enjoy it. After all, clothes aren’t a commodity that you can store in the closet and have increase in value, like money in the bank.”

“Even money in the bank doesn’t do that these days,” Beth humorously retorted.

Since the library staff had the least distance to travel, they were the first to arrive. Other administrators, staff, and faculty members began drifting in soon afterward. Beth and Amanda were joined by Helen and Susan, both of whom had cups of punch in their hands. With customary promptness, Susan soon brought the conversation around to the subject of men.

“There aren’t any cute guys in this year’s senior class,” she bemoaned. “At least not unmarried ones.”

“I don’t understand how men can be cute,” Helen protested. “Men can be good-looking or handsome, but not cute.”

“Look, I’ll give you some examples,” Susan offered, taking another sip of the potent punch. “Robert Redford is handsome.”

“He’s perfect,” Beth sighed.

“He’s left-handed,” was Amanda’s contribution.

“Now, Baryshnikov, on the other hand, is cute,” Susan continued.

“And is Brady handsome or cute?” Helen wanted to know.

Amanda had no intention of volleying that one, which left the field open for Susan. Emboldened by the alcohol content of the punch, Susan ignored the obvious signs of her boss’s displeasure and gave her considered opinion. “Brady’s not pretty-boy handsome…”

“He’s not a boy at all,” Amanda muttered under her breath, resisting the sudden desire to throttle Susan as she continued. “I’d say Brady’s good-looking in a cute sort of way.”

“I still say ruggedly handsome sounds better,” Helen maintained. “Cute makes him sound like a teddy bear.”

Susan grinned rapaciously. “I wouldn’t mind taking him to bed with me.”

Helen, sensing the anger emanating from Amanda, tried to get the conversation moving again by volunteering, “Tyrone Power was always my favorite. And Errol Flynn.” She sighed. “He had such a wickedly naughty gleam in his eye.”

“You mean he was sexy.” This from Susan, of course.

“That’s not what we called it in those days,” Helen said.

“Isn’t that what you meant?” Susan challenged.

“I suppose, although it was something more than just beefcake. It’s an elusive, almost intangible, asset that some men have—in the way they look at a woman, in their confident assumption of masculinity. I don’t know how else to describe it, except to say that Brady Gallagher’s got it.”

Amanda was shocked. She’d expect a statement like that from Susan, but not from a sixty-year-old grandmother.

As if reading her thoughts, Susan piped up with, “It’s those bedroom eyes of his and that hot body.” She sighed expressively. “He’d be worth going to jail for!”

Amanda excused herself from the group, quietly fuming at Susan’s provocative comments. So engrossed with her own thoughts was she that Guy Lox’s arrival went unnoticed. He timed his approach so that Amanda was alone, segregated from the rest of the merrymaking crowd.

Amanda’s first indication of his presence was an alcohol-laden voice slurring over her shoulder. “I want to talk to you!”

“Not right now, Professor,” she coldly refused.

“Where are you goin’?” Guy demanded truculently at Amanda’s involuntary movement of escape.
His hand shot out, thick stubby fingers closing with sickening strength around her upper arm.

Her temper already frayed, Amanda warned, “I’m not in the mood for a hassle, Professor.”

“S’right, baby. I know what you are in the mood for.”

“Let go of me,” Amanda frigidly demanded. “Now!”

It was the wrong approach to take. She became aware of that immediately. Guy grew even more belligerent. Pressing oppressively closer, he muttered obscenities into her ear, his panting breath contaminating her neck, his bulging frame defiling her body.

Genuinely frightened now, Amanda tried to jerk away, wincing as Guy’s fingers tightened painfully. She was about ready to kick him in the shins, or higher if neccessary, when for once in his life John Abbington did something useful. “There you are, Guy. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

While Guy’s attention was momentarily diverted, Amanda grabbed at the chance to free herself from his loathsome touch. She suppressed the waves of nausea threatening to overwhelm her, and quickly made her way to the exit. Out in the deserted hallway, tremors of alarm forced her to stop and lean against the wall. She was drawing in great gulps of air, when a hand suddenly cupped her elbow. Her body immediately stiffened in preparation for a fight, adrenaline pumping through her system.

“Mandy?” a deep voice whispered in her ear, repeating it in alarm when she turned and threw her arms around her rescuer’s neck, burrowing close as if seeking protection.

Brady immediately knew something was wrong. Amanda was not the kind of woman to indulge in public displays of emotion. Recognizing that she wouldn’t want to be seen while in such a state, he urged her into an empty conference room farther along the hallway.

“What is it? What happened?” he demanded.

“Just hold me a minute.” Her voice was muffled by the thick material of Brady’s vest, but he heard it all the same.

“Sure. I thought you’d never ask,” he gently teased, his strong arms tenderly enfolding her within their protective clasp. He held her close to his heart, gently rocking her to and fro. His embrace offered both safety and comfort. Amanda closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. After a few moments of this treatment she self-consciously stepped away.

Brady eased his clasp slightly, but still kept Amanda ensnared in a loose embrace. “You don’t have to move away,” he protested with that special smile she’d come to know. It made her feel the center of his world. “Feel better?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry I made such a fool of myself.”

“There’s nothing foolish about wanting me to hold you. In fact I think it shows a marked sign of intelligence.” Switching from teasing humor to seriousness, Brady went on to quietly ask, “What happened?”

“It was nothing.”

“Come on, Mandy. Although I would love it, you don’t fall into my arms for no reason. What upset you? Someone at the party have a little too much to drink?”

Amanda’s startled jerk gave her away.

“I see. Who was it?” he demanded, his voice grim with determination.

Amanda could feel the anger emanating from him. Brady never did things by half measures, and frankly she was almost as frightened about what he might do to Guy as she had been of the sleazy professor himself. Brady’s solution might be a case of the cure being worse than the illness. He’d probably barge into the gathering and floor Guy. While that scenario did have its appeal, Amanda knew it would only make matters worse. Besides, shaken as she was, she didn’t think she could handle another scene.

“Please, let’s forget it. I probably read more into it than really existed,” she said, wishing that had been the case but knowing it wasn’t.

“Are you sure?” he questioned, glancing down at her pale face.

“Yes, I’m sure. What are you doing here anyway?”

“The dean invited me to the party. Although why he
should after the mess this investigation is in, I don’t know.” Brady’s voice reflected his impatient disgust.

Glad to get off the subject of herself, Amanda commiserated. “Aren’t things going well?”

“Not very. I suppose it could be worse, at least there haven’t been any more fires for almost two weeks now. But enough shop talk.” Amanda felt the loss as he released her from his embrace. “Go get your things.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m taking you home.” Seeing her indecisive expression, he added, “It’s after five; you’ve put in your time.”

“It’s not a matter of just putting in my time,” she protested.

“I know. Your devotion to your profession is great. But right now I’m taking you home. Let’s go.”

Actually Amanda was relieved to be getting away. They met Beth in the hallway and Brady told her they were leaving. While still quite shaken, Amanda insisted on driving herself home.

“You just want to make sure your baby gets to bed tonight,” Brady teased, patting the Porsche’s smooth lines.

For the life of her, she couldn’t come up with a snappy reply. She felt that if she showed any signs of unbending, she’d break down completely, and she already felt foolish for literally crying on Brady’s shoulder. So she kept her mask in place, automatically following her route home. It was only when she pulled into her driveway that she realized she had no clear recollection of which route she’d taken, the shortcut or the alternate. It was rather frightening to see how completely she’d put herself on automatic, blocking out all incoming messages.