Wildfire (4 page)

Amanda pointed to the sign right behind her.

“Well, I’ve never heard of such an idiotic rule.”

“All libraries have that rule to protect their books from accidents,” Amanda patiently explained. “The replacement cost for damaged books has risen dramatically over the past few years.”

“I’ve always brought in coffee and never been stopped before. I’m not a kindergartener who’s going to spill everything all over my books!”

“The rule stands. If you like, you can speak to the head librarian about it.” This tactic proved successful in getting the student to bad-naturedly give in, throwing her full cup into the trash, muttering under her breath all the while. Given the choice, few people wanted to talk to John Abbington, and Amanda couldn’t really blame them.

“Any time you want to apply for a position down at the police station, just give me a call,” a masculine voice drawled.

Amanda whirled around. “Brady!” How did he always manage to sneak up on her?

“No more Detective Gallagher, I see. That
is
an improvement.” Brady congratulated Amanda with a grin that was ever so slightly lopsided.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, noting the envelope he
held in his hand.

“I’ve got something for you.” He dropped the envelope on top of the desk.

“What’s this?”

“My references,” Brady solemnly replied. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Amanda cautiously did so, as if fearing the contents might bite her. Her fingers alighted on an innocuous sheet of paper, which she pulled out and read.

“Dear Amanda. It’s about time someone asked for references from a sister—no one’s ever had the good sense to consult me before. Brady is pretty nice,
considering he’s an older brother. You can’t expect too much from them, can you? Although Brady tends to be overprotective, you shouldn’t run into any problems. Don’t play Monopoly with him though. He’ll accuse you of cheating if you win. Good luck! Ginny Gallagher.”

Amanda had to laugh. “Your sister’s editorial commentary is most enlightening.”

Brady leaned forward, bracing his hands palm down on the desk that separated them. “My sister does cheat at Monopoly,” he maintained, studying her mouth with a sensual absorption that Amanda found very disturbing.

Running the tip of her tongue around her suddenly parched lips, she launched into nervous conversation. “Did you know that Monopoly was invented by a University of Wisconsin graduate?”

“Don’t change the subject,” he chided, lifting his gaze to her eyes.

“I wasn’t,” she denied. “You brought up Monopoly and I was just…”

“I know exactly what you were trying to do,” Brady interrupted, watching her smooth back her hair in an agitated gesture. “So, did I pass the inspection? If not, there’s another reference in the envelope that confirms my skill in…” His pause was deliberate. “…certain specialized activities.

Amanda dropped the envelope as if burned. She had no doubts about what kind of activities he was referring to and she had no intention of reading a resume of his sexual activities. Brady’s amusement was evident. In fact he seemed to be having a hard time restraining outright laughter.

Amanda could feel fury stealing her patience. Since Brady found her to be such an entertaining diversion, the obvious solution was to give him an evening so boring that he’d give up in desperation, that is if he didn’t fall asleep first. “There’s a concert at eight o’clock tomorrow night at the college auditorium.” She deliberately made her voice sound hesitant, knowing that he’d assume it was a rock concert, as was the norm.

An unsuspecting Brady immediately said, “Sounds great! What time shall I pick you up?”

“That’s all right,” she hedged. “I’ll meet you at the auditorium.” Her plan didn’t call for her being dependent upon him for a ride home, because there was no telling what kind of mood he’d be in by the time she was done with him.

“Amanda, I know where you live, it’s right on my way home. We’d save gas if I picked you up and dropped you off afterward.”

Unable to fight such energy-efficient logic, Amanda reluctantly agreed.

“Great.” He abandoned his slanted pose over the desk. “See you at seven tomorrow night.”

Amanda spent the afternoon bent over a pile of accounts payable printouts, determined to clean up the duplicate billing problem they’d encountered with one of their many vendors. This sort of mix-up made her even more determined to consolidate jobbers. While reaching across her desk for a folder, she inadvertently upended the envelope containing Brady’s references, spilling its contents onto the printouts.

Along with his sister’s letter there was a round cloth patch attached to a sheet of
paper. She picked it up, gazing in amused astonishment at the Boy Scout badge nestled in the palm of her hand. It had indeed been awarded for skill in a specialized activity—signaling. How appropriate! “An old skill that can be fun,” the accompanying tip sheet explained.

“Tonight, Brady Gallagher, you’re going to get your signals crossed!” Amanda murmured in what could easily have been mistaken for gleeful anticipation.

It was no surprise that Brady arrived at her doorstep on time, and his attire was as casual as she’d expected. A madras plaid shirt was tucked into his form-fitting jeans while a brown leather belt hugged his lean waist, its intricate silver buckle drawing and holding her attention until modesty moved her eyes elsewhere. Proceeding upward, Amanda deliberately avoided his face and his sexy eyes. Instead, she focused on the thick curly mane of his dark hair, noting the way it conformed to the shape of his head, brushing the back of his collar, unaccountably making her long to run her fingers through it. His blazer was the same one he’d worn that night at the restaurant, when he’d embarrassed her in front of Bob, and the memory strengthened her resolve to repay him in kind.

Meanwhile Brady was undertaking a study of his own. He quickly noted, although he made no comment on, the expensive simplicity of her dress. His innate suspicion made him question her sophisticated appearance, but he chalked it up to her natural elegance and paused to appreciate the overall effect of clinging jersey and nylon-sheathed legs. Unknowingly he pursed his lips in a silent whistle before he asked, “You ready?”

At Amanda’s nod Brady stepped forward to assist her with her coat. He then reached out to gently free her golden hair from its subsequent imprisonment beneath the collar of her coat. The feel of his hands on her nape induced a now familiar surge of excitement, an electrifying shiver that danced over her. There it was again, what the song writers so lyrically called “black magic.” Determined not to become a victim, Amanda quickly moved away.

Outside, the night air held a promise of frost as they rustled through the dried leaves on the sidewalk. Brady generously offered his assistance, asking her if she needed help raking the colorful offerings.

“No, thanks. The boy next door would be brokenhearted if you stole his job. Work’s hard to find in a college town, especially if you’re only eleven.”

“Far be it from me to condemn an eleven-year-old to the breadlines,” Brady laughed as he opened the passenger door of his car.

It wasn’t until Amanda was inside that she realized what kind of car it was, an unmarked patrol car. “This is a police car!” she accused Brady as soon as he slid behind the wheel.

“Then aren’t you lucky that a police officer is driving it, otherwise you’d be in real trouble,” he mocked.

“Don’t you have a car of your own?”

“What’s wrong? Afraid I’m too broke to pay for tonight’s tickets?” he mocked in return, avoiding her question.

“I can pay for my own ticket tonight,” she offered. It really wouldn’t be fair to expect him to pay for both of their tickets, since he was bound to hate the concert anyway.

“No way, Mandy. I invited you, I’ll pay. By the way, I never got a chance to check. What group’s playing tonight?”

“It’s a surprise. And Brady, I’d rather you didn’t call me Mandy.”

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t suitable.”

“Suitable?” Brady tossed back his head with a shout of laughter that made Amanda grip her purse in indignant frustration.

Sensing her anger, Brady tried to restrain himself. “I’m sorry, Mandy, but if you could’ve heard the way you sounded.”

“Don’t apologize,” she purred. “It’s my pleasure to provide amusement for you.”

“Amusement isn’t the only thing I’d like you to provide,” he huskily imparted. “And as for your pleasure…”

“Shouldn’t you keep your mind on your driving,” she reprimanded with gentle firmness.

Mandell Hall was the central hub in a wheel of buildings, with radiating walkways forming concrete spokes. Amanda had not anticipated that such a large crowd would be attending the concert. She and Brady walked into the auditorium foyer with a group of other people who blocked the evening’s program posters from Brady’s eyes. It wasn’t until they filed down the center aisle that he became aware of what was in store for him.

The stage did not hold large amplifying speakers or microphones as it would have had this been a standard rock concert. Instead it was set up with alternating, semicircular rows of empty chairs and music stands. Some of the musicians had already begun to assemble and were tuning up their instruments.

Brady accepted the pair of programs from the student usher and turned to hand Amanda’s hers with a speaking look. “Some surprise, Mandy.”

“Don’t you like classical music, Brady?” she questioned, borrowing his pseudo-innocent expression.

“We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we,” he murmured as they sat down.

Anticipating his upcoming discomfort, Amanda’s lips formed an unsuccessfully hidden grin. She didn’t think she’d have any more trouble with Detective Brady Gallagher after this evening.

Brady noticed her grin, and could easily guess the reasons for it. He also noticed the appearance of a dimple that flashed at the corner of her mouth. Confident of his ability to handle her, he didn’t really blame Amanda for her scheme. He’d always appreciated a challenge.

The lights lowered and the audience applauded the guest conductor’s entrance from the side of the stage. Shortly thereafter the melodious strains of “The Moldau” filled the air.

As the musical program continued, Amanda was disconcerted to observe that Brady showed no signs of restlessness. He sat relaxed in his seat, not fidgeting, not even toying with his program. His fingers weren’t drumming impatiently on
the armrest and he hadn’t fallen asleep. This was not going according to plan. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy the concert.

“How do you like it so far?” she asked at the intermission, hoping that he’d voice his boredom.

“Very evocative,” was his astounding response.

“You mean you liked it?”

“Wasn’t I supposed to?” he challenged, notifying her that he knew about her plan.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” she prevaricated.

“Don’t you?” he
murmured softly.

It took a great deal of effort to disentangle herself from the intimate mockery of his ensnaring gaze. Amanda had to consciously jerk her eyes away and direct them toward the program her fingers were nervously dog-earing. Unnerved by her undoubted vulnerability, she launched into speech. “They’ll be playing Tchaikovsky’s
Capriccio
Italien
after the intermission,”
which had better be over soon,
she silently continued.

“The program here says that it was written in one week. Amazing what can be accomplished in such a short span of time, isn’t it?” Brady was saying one thing while talking about another, no mean accomplishment. It required an expressive voice, something he definitely possessed. He could project a caressing warmth into his pitch, add a dash of light mockery to an inflection, or deepen his timbre to a husky admonition.

“Have you lived in Deerfield long?” Amanda inquired, fighting the spell he was weaving,

“I was born here,” he replied, which didn’t really answer her question. “How about you?”

“Same here.” If he could be evasive, so could she. “It’s strange we never met before.”

“Not really,” she dismissed. “I haven’t had much contact with the police.”

“That’s reassuring to hear.” Brady lowered his head to confide, “You’d be amazed how many women want to have a lot of ‘contact’ with the police.”

Amanda’s startled gaze slid over his face, which was deadpan with the exception of the slightest twinge at the very corner of his surprisingly curvaceous lips. Amanda recognized that telltale sign as an expression of his mocking humor. Goodness knows she’d seen Brady wearing it often enough when dealing with her. That’s what had gotten her ire up in the first place, down in the basement of the library when he’d invited her to frisk him. Amanda wasn’t accustomed to being laughed at, and she still wasn’t sure she liked it.

“I’m sure your training helps you cope with their attentions,” she mocked in return, her eyes emphasizing the point.

“Which training might that be?”

“Combat training, of course.”

“Of course,” he grinned.

During the second part of the program Amanda displayed all the signs of restlessness that she’d hoped to inflict on Brady. Instead, here she was, herself the victim.

The situation did not please her one bit. Bored with the orchestra before her, she let the force of the music carry her thoughts away. But that proved to be a dangerous exercise, for Brady played a major role in those thoughts.

Sensory impressions of him flashed on the screen of her mind, impressions that she couldn’t block out although she gave it a good try. The cool cotton of his shirt compared to the warm skin it covered, the tempting touch of his hands on her
waist,
the devilish promise in his dark eyes; all these things, and many more, came to mind. Bob had never bothered her to this degree, had never interfered with her thought processes.

A round of applause jerked her back to reality. Amanda joined in the audience’s appreciation, even though she hadn’t paid much attention to the orchestra’s performance. Brady’s enthusiastic clapping didn’t improve her humor any. Did he have to look so relaxed, so at ease? Didn’t he realize he was supposed to feel out of place? Instead, here she was, feeling out of sorts.