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Boo cast her a decidedly disgusted glance, jumped into the open space between the two bucket seats and plopped herself onto the floor.
“Nice dog,” Jack slid into the seat. “Her name is Boo?”
Dahlia nodded. “When she was a puppy, she was scared of her own shadow.”
“She’s not much of a watchdog, I take it.”
Remembering Boo’s restless prowl around the perimeter of the yard with her nose to the ground just this morning, Dahlia said, “She’s no rottweiler, but she’ll do.”
He chuckled, the accompanying smile revealing a dimple. Gorgeous and a dimple. There was no justice.
She was intensely aware of him, from the breadth of his shoulders and beautifully shaped hands to the button-down fly of his jeans. Dahlia could have sworn the temperature climbed fifty degrees. She flipped on the air conditioner and turned up the fan.
The instant he buckled the seat belt, she put the car into gear, determined to reclaim her usual focus. Even so, the silence stretched, thick and awkward, as she eased into traffic and headed east. It was the time she would have normally reviewed—with her rider—the objectives for their day, defined her expectations and answered questions.
It was a routine she had been through dozens of times, but darned if she could remember where to even start. Each time she opened her mouth to speak, her thoughts vanished. Finally she clamped her lips together, sure that she must look like a fish.
She had the feeling he was watching her behind those reflective sunglasses. Despite her best efforts to choose clothes that minimized the size of her breasts, most guys looked. Usually she took that in stride, though this student—this man—made her feel off balance. She briefly glanced down at herself, relieved that the button-down shirt she had layered over a T-shirt concealed rather than revealed.
“Sorry I’m late,” he finally said.
“No problem,” she automatically answered. No problem? Hah. Jensen, get a grip. The guy was late, and you would have left without him.
“Thanks for waiting, anyway.”
“You’re welcome.” Oh, brother. Dahlia cleared her throat. “I don’t remember seeing your name on the roster for my classes.”
“I haven’t taken any of your classes,” he said.
He didn’t add anything further, which made her glance over at him. His attention had shifted to the mirror outside the passenger door. Curious about what he saw, she glanced in the rearview mirror. The usual assortment of vehicles were on the road, including a police car in the center lane that kept the traffic at an aggravating two miles per hour under the speed limit.
“So why did you sign up for my field crew?”
“I’m thinking about changing majors.”
His answer was ordinary enough, but he acted as though the storm they chased was barely noticeable. No matter how shy, her students seemed as interested in the thunderheads as she did, their focus inevitably on whether they would see tornadoes. Some, in fact, were downright manic about the possibility.
Keeping an eye on the traffic, she riffled though a group of papers in a box between the two seats, at last finding a map. She handed it to Jack.
“We need to take one of the intersecting roads on the other side of I-25,” she said. “I want to get about five miles in front of the storm.”
Navigating the straight county roads of the high plains of Colorado was a simple task but one that usually told her a lot about her would-be assistants. A surprising number couldn’t have guided her off the campus. Jack opened the map up one fold and turned it around when he realized it was upside down. He glanced briefly at the street sign for the upcoming intersection, then continued to handle the map with the ease and dexterity of someone who used maps all the time.
“Your storm’s heading a little north from where it was,” he said. “And it looks to me like it’s picked up a little speed.”
Dahlia mentally gave him points for both observations. Even so, they were beneath the storm to the point she could sense the ozone in the air. Her anticipation increased.
Five minutes after they crossed over I-25, he directed her north onto the graveled road that she would have chosen, and they were making good progress on getting ahead of the storm.
“Are you new at CMU?” she asked.
“You could say that,” he responded.
The laconic reply annoyed her. “And what would you say?”
She glanced at him and found that his attention was once again focused on the side mirror. She looked in the rearview mirror. A car followed them, close enough to be catching the worst of the dust left in their wake.
A moment later Jack said, “What I’d say is that car has been following us since we left the campus.”
She glanced again in the mirror. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” He looked over at her, and she took her eyes off the straight road long enough to meet his glance—hidden behind the reflective sunglasses.
“Do you know them?” she asked. Apprehension slithered through her. She had been with dozens of students that she didn’t know, so riding with a stranger wasn’t new. But this feeling of impending doom was. A feeling that wasn’t supported by a single, substantiated fact.
“Whoever is back there?” He shook his head. “No.”
Reminding herself that tardiness and being good-looking weren’t valid reasons to distrust the man, she gave the other car another careful glance. It was white or beige or tan and looked like a thousand other cars. “I don’t know them, either.”
She lived by empirical evidence, what she could observe and what she could prove. To determine if the car really was following them, she made a left turn at the next intersection. A moment later the car appeared again in her rearview mirror.
At the next crossroads she turned again. Once more the car followed. Her attention became focused on the car behind her as much as the road in front. Surely the car wasn’t really following them. Surely this was some stupid coincidence.
It didn’t feel like a coincidence.
It felt menacingly deliberate.
Contrary to her assertion that she trusted only what she knew, she couldn’t bring herself to pull to the side of the road to let the car pass. She couldn’t have said why she was certain the car would stop, too. Then what? she wondered. Distressing images of murder and mayhem filled her mind. “You’ve been watching too much television, Jensen,” she muttered.
“Pardon?” Jack asked.
“Just talking to myself.” She turned at the next intersection, then watched for the car to appear behind her. From the corner of her eye she could see that Jack was also looking behind them, harsh lines bracketing his mouth.
The car whizzed through the crossroads without turning.
Shaking, and more relieved than she cared to admit, Dahlia slowed the van. The car continued on its way, a rooster tail of dust tracking its progress long after she could no longer see it.
“You okay?” Jack asked.
Dahlia straightened. “Yes.”
“You’re shaking,” he commented.
That he had noticed unsettled her even more. She had been in the field with students hundreds of times. Storms were sometimes dangerous. Nothing else. Not ever. “Like I said, I’ve been watching too much television.”
“I think you should consider calling it a day.” When she scowled, he tacked on, “Maybe.”
She tore her gaze away from his and wrapped her hands around the steering wheel. “I’ve never let flights of imagination determine my work schedule.” She put the car into gear, pulled back into the road and finally returned her attention to the storm. She pressed her foot harder on the accelerator. “And I’m not about to start today.”
“Then let me drive,” he said. “You just ran a stop sign.”
“I know where we’re going.”
“So do I,” he countered, motioning toward the storm directly overhead. “We’re following your storm.”
“I’ll drive,” she said, feeling as though she was repeating herself. “I asked you before if you were new in town.”
“I am. Actually you asked if I was new to CMU.”
“Are you?” She took her eyes off the road to look at him.
“I’d have to be if I’m new here, wouldn’t I?” He smiled. “You wanted the answer. Feel any better?”
“No.” She massaged her hand across her forehead. This wasn’t the first or second or thirty-fifth time she had people ride with her she didn’t know. “This is nuts.”
“Agreed.” He sighed. Taking off the sunglasses to rub the bridge of his nose, he met her gaze, his eyes a brilliant turquoise blue that seemed to settle right into her. “You know, we haven’t gotten off to a very good start here,” he said.
“That’s true.”
“What do I have to do to make it better?”
“Be honest with me. Did you sign up because you wanted the thrill of seeing a tornado?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Not…” The laugh dissolved as though he had changed his mind about what he intended to say. “Chances are we could chase storms all summer without seeing a single twister.”
“That’s right,” she stated flatly, motioning toward the flat landscape ahead of them. “This is about as thrilling as it gets most days. If you signed up to see tornadoes, you’ll be disappointed.”
“That’s not high on my list of priorities.” He put the glasses back on, his attention again roving over the scenery.
“That’s good because what we’re interested in is lightning.”
“Lightning?” He motioned toward the equipment in the back of the van. “All this is to study lightning?”
As if to punctuate his statement, the cloud overhead flickered and thunder rumbled.
“Why did you sign up to be one of my assistants?” she asked.
“I…” His voice faded away, while his attention fell on a car which was stopped at the crossroads they just went through. When they passed it, he turned around and looked at the vehicle.
“Is that the same car?” she asked.
“Could be,” he said, his voice tight.
“Are you sure you don’t know them?” She studied the vehicle that turned onto the road behind them, hoping he was wrong, having the awful feeling he was right.
“Positive.”
“This is stupid,” she muttered. “Nobody is following me. Nobody has reason to follow me.” Mentally reviewing all the legitimate reasons a car had for being on this same stretch of high plains road, she slowed the van and steered toward the right shoulder, giving the other vehicle plenty of opportunity to pass.
For a moment it followed, then pulled up alongside the van. Good, she thought. It was going to pass. She had intended to let it go by without glancing over, but she had to look, had to reassure herself.
The only person in the car was the man driving it. He met her gaze, then pointed a gun at her. A big gun.
Dumbly she stared at the weapon, her mind blank.
“Holy crap,” Jack snapped. “Step on it! Drive. Go!”
His abrupt command shocked her out of the stupor. She floored the accelerator, and the van shot forward.
From the corner of her eye she watched Jack unzip his pack, his expression taut. A lethal-looking gun appeared in his hand.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” she muttered, her foot easing on the accelerator.
“Don’t slow down,” he commanded.
She drove faster. “You have a gun.” The shakes were back, worse, much worse than they had been before. And the car behind them was close. Too close.
She didn’t know people who carried guns. She didn’t want to know people who carried guns.
She pressed harder on the gas pedal. The van shimmied as it clattered over the washboard of the graveled road. The steering wheel became slick beneath her sweaty palms.
A reverberating ping echoed through the van, sounding like a single huge hailstone striking a hollow can. Boo yelped.
“Oh, God, they just shot at us, didn’t they?”
“Damn straight.”
“Boo—she’s okay?”
He reached down to pat the dog, who had wedged herself in between the two seats. “She’s fine.”
“Who is that guy?” she asked, then shook her head, her attention riveted on the weapon. “Forget that, who the hell are you?”
“Your bodyguard.”
Chapter 2
“My bodyguard?” she echoed, her voice squeaking. “A bodyguard? That’s ridiculous!”
Jack couldn’t have agreed more. The whole situation was deadly and getting worse by the second. Unless they got damn lucky damn fast, they were in big trouble.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why ever would I need a bodyguard?”
Jack looked behind them. The car wasn’t gaining, but they weren’t getting any farther away, either. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Later. Just step on it, will you?”
“Step on it,” she muttered. “Yes, sir.” She floored the accelerator. The van shot forward.
A stop sign marked an upcoming intersection. Dahlia must have had the same thought he did, because she showed no sign of stopping—and fortunately no other cars could be seen on the other roads. At the next crossroads, she braked to slow, ignored the stop sign and turned left onto a paved road. Tires squealed and the van swerved, but she managed to keep it on the road.
