“Gavin? What is it?”
“It’s Rachel, I’m afraid,” he said. “I just arrived at the departmental offices and, well, she was stabbed. They’ve taken her to the hospital, but the prognosis isn’t good.”
“What can I do?”
“Hang up,” Chandler said, taking the phone from her and flipping it closed. “We’ve got to go.”
She glared up at him through teary eyes. “My teaching assistant—”
“Was attacked,” he finished. “That’s why I’m here. We’re getting you the hell out of here. Now.”
“But—”
Ignoring her protestations—which were echoed in vain by the officer—he gripped her arm and quickly led her to the still-idling SUV. He could have been a little more gentle, but just then all he could think of was getting her to Seth’s office. It was the closest absolutely safe place.
“Why are you here?”
“Seth called me.”
“My TA is attacked and he called you? Why not Harlen?”
“Harlen?” he repeated as he peeled out of the parking lot fast enough to fill the car with the acrid smell of burning rubber.
“My deputy.”
“You’re on a first-name basis with him?” He glanced over and was surprised to see a single tear slipping down her cheek. He slammed the heel of his hand against the wheel. He took in two slow, calming gulps of air and hated himself for the poor way he’d handled this. Not just this. Everything. But that could wait. Right now he had to stay focused. And part of that focus had to include common decency. He divided his attention between the road and dabbing the tear from her cheek.
Chandler felt his chest tighten as a second tear spilled forth. He swerved to the curb and threw the gearshift into Park. “Come here,” he instructed softly.
“Gavin said it was bad.”
“It is,” Chandler said, releasing the seat belt and lifting her over the console. “But there’s hope.” Which was true. Slim hope, but hope. He stroked her hair as he kissed her forehead while the blue and red flashing emergency lights from the deputy’s cruiser strobed from behind.
“Why Rachel?” Molly asked, her voice trembling.
“Who knows.”
“It was John?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He didn’t want to tell her. He really didn’t. But she deserved to know. “Thirteen stab wounds.”
“Oh, no!” Molly cried, burying her face against him.
He held her fragile form until he no longer felt the shudders of her silent agony. She went still but didn’t make any move to get away from him.
She should have. His behavior these past few days was inexcusable. That realization had come to him moments before hearing of Rachel’s probably fatal attack. He’d been at his desk at home, typing the same flawed sentence for the hundredth time when he finally felt ready to face reality.
It made no sense. It went against everything he’d ever felt or believed. But it was true. He knew that with every fiber of his being.
Chandler continued to stroke her hair as he stared blindly out the window. It shouldn’t have happened. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. Not in a matter of days. Hours, really. But it had. He’d fallen in love with her just that quickly. And try as he might—and he had—to ignore it or dismiss it, it wasn’t to be.
He had finally come to terms with his feelings and was planning a way to tell her when Seth had called. The news about Rachel was surprising. She seemed an unlikely victim, given that Molly hadn’t set foot on the campus since the day John first called the station.
It was nothing compared to the shocking news delivered by Seth that Molly wasn’t safely back at the ranch. Instead she’d somehow convinced Seth to let her go to her office.
Battling panic the whole way, Chandler had made record time getting to her. Though he knew the timing wasn’t right to admit his feelings, he’d wanted to be the one to tell her about Rachel.
She roused slowly, wiping her face with the backs of her hands. Reading the pain in those big green eyes felt like someone had sliced his heart in two. Tucking her hair behind her ear, he leaned forward to brush his lips to hers.
“W-why did Seth call you and not me?” she asked, tugging at the hem of her shirt before shifting back into the passenger’s seat.
“He was about to call you, but I wanted to. I thought it was better if you heard it from a friend.”
Her head tilted to one side. “When did you decide we were friends?”
He touched the pad of his forefinger to her lips. “Hush. This isn’t the time for this conversation. Let’s just say that I know I owe you a huge apology for being such an ass since we—“
“I understand,” she insisted. “And you’re right. This isn’t the time or—” she glanced around “—the place.”
“Let’s go to Seth’s office.”
“Will he be there?”
Chandler thought for a second, then shook his head. “I’m sure he’s gone out to the college. Technically they have jurisdiction, but I don’t think anyone on the security force can spell murder, let alone investigate one.”
“She isn’t dead yet.”
He cringed. “Sorry. You’ve got to brace yourself for that possibility, Molly. Her injuries were substantial.”
“Then let’s go back to my office.”
“What?”
“I’m going through my files looking for some clue to John’s identity. I can’t go to the hospital because I’m sure once news of Rachel’s attack and its link to John gets out, the place will be crawling with reporters.”
He saw the faint stain of color on her cheeks and it curved the very corners of his mouth.
“Sorry. No offense intended.”
“None taken. Besides, I’m a former reporter.”
“And we both know that John seems to be more active when you or I show up on television, so we should avoid any kind of exposure.”
“Agreed.” It felt good to be with her again. Really with her. He’d missed the soft lilt of her voice and kind intelligence in her eyes. Hell, he missed everything. When this was over he’d make it all right again. Assuming he could. Chandler swallowed, unwilling to acknowledge the lump of fear that threatened to block his throat when he so much as considered speculating on what her reaction might be. What her feelings might be.
“I think there’s something in the files,” she said. “I’m not sure what, but my intuition tells me it’s worth looking for.”
“Good plan,” he agreed, making a U-turn and heading back with the deputy shadowing them. “Besides, it will pass the time. Rachel will go directly into surgery. It could be hours before we find out anything.”
“I’m not comfortable with you looking through my files,” she said apologetically.
“No problem.” He pointed his thumb in the direction of the backseat. “I’ve got my laptop with me. I can keep myself occupied.”
“Doing what?”
Pretending to check the side mirror, he avoided her gaze, then answered, “I can play games, plug in and surf porn sites, or—ouch!” He rubbed the sore spot on his bicep where she’d poked him with her fingernail.
“Porn sites? That’s vile.”
He shot her a lecherous grin. “And you know that how?”
“One time, by accident, I opened an e-mail and—“
“Visited hundreds of hot coeds?”
Her smile stole his breath. “No. The e-mail’s subject line simply read ‘I need your help,’ so, assuming it was from a patient, I opened it.”
“How long did it take you to get over the shock?”
“I wasn’t shocked,” she insisted, all proper and businesslike. “I was disgusted. There’s a huge difference between sexuality and trafficking in images that are degrading and demeaning to women. Porn, in case you’re confused, is the latter.”
“Porn does not confuse me,” he deadpanned.
She leaned close to him as he parked the car in front of her office complex. “If you’re really bored, you can try to drag some conversation out of Harlen.”
“Harlen is on his own,” Chandler promised. “I’ll call Seth and tell him where we are, then I’m going to work. You won’t even know I’m here.”
Fat chance. Not when her heart was racing and a good strain of anticipation settled in the pit of her stomach as she drank in the familiar, comforting scent of him.
She was thrilled to have him with her. More than she should have been, more than was safe, but she didn’t care. Molly knew absolutely that she was happier, more contented, more alive when she was with Chandler. So long as she avoided any verbal dissection of their non-relationship, she could be happy in her pretend bliss.
True to his word, Chandler called Seth from the outer office. Molly liked hearing the deep resonance of his voice as she dove back in to the files. It was comforting and exciting and purely male in cadence.
Having him there made it a challenge to concentrate, but it was a trade she willingly made.
A few minutes later he appeared in the doorway, his fancy laptop tucked under his arm. “Rachel is still hanging on,” he reported. “Where do you want me?”
Good for Rachel and…I want you naked on the floor. “I’m spread out all over the place, so anyplace that’s convenient for you is fine. Do you need to plug in your computer?”
“Not yet,” he replied, grabbing a spot on the couch and stuffing a pillow under his head. He balanced the computer on his stomach, his fingers flying across the keypad.
Molly was impressed. She was one of those poor souls who had never mastered the art of typing. She was a hunt-and-peck person, with just enough dexterity to draft her thumb into service on the spacebar.
She was skimming through Alan Gastler’s file for the third time when she spotted a notation she’d made regarding his religious practices. “You get bar-mitzvahed at age thirteen. Maybe John has some sort of religious theme going on.”
She stood and pulled her copy of the Bible from the bookcase. A quick check confirmed her belief. The thirteenth books of the Old and New Testaments didn’t have the kind of imagery that a typical unstable mind might latch on to. So much for that idea.
She diligently continued to pore over the notes and records, stopping occasionally to get a drink, stretch or simply admire Chandler. A very pleasant diversion. Fixed on his task, he didn’t notice as her gaze roamed openly along his long, lean frame. Desire sang in her core as she admired his powerful thighs, broad chest and sculpted profile. The man simply made her weak in the knees.
He, however, seemed amazingly immune. It was like he was in his own world. Whatever he was doing, it had his full, undivided attention. Molly was pretty sure she could strip naked and he wouldn’t notice.
While knowing that didn’t do much for her feminine sensibilities, she thought, adding dedication to the growing list of things she respected about him.
She’d reviewed and discarded three more files when his cell phone rang. Looking up, she wondered if the sound would penetrate his deep concentration. It did. Eventually.
Snapping it off the clip at his belt, he pressed it to his ear and growled, “What? We are. I don’t know, hang on.” He looked over at Molly, holding the phone away from his chiseled mouth. “Is the phone out? Seth says he’s been calling for a while.”
She shook her head. “It won’t ring here. I set it to automatically transfer calls to my home phone. But my home got blown up and I don’t know how to cancel the bypass.”
“Did you get that?” he asked into the cell.
He continued his call. Apparently he had better quality service. She made a mental note to call someone to fix her telephone woes. There were undoubtedly messages awaiting her reply trapped in the system, hopefully none were of an emergency nature.
“You’re breaking up,” Chandler yelled, placing the laptop on the carpet as he rose. “Hang on, I’m walking outside.”
The scent of his cologne lingered in the room. It was impossible to think about John when her brain was so totally engrossed with her secret longings for Chandler. Well, not so secret, she acknowledged.
Taking her next break, she was surprised that Chandler was still on the phone with Seth. She stepped over his laptop on her way to the minifridge. On her return, she weakened. Though it went against everything she believed in, she just couldn’t help herself. Not when the screen was big and the words were right there in front of her. It wasn’t as if she’d intended to snoop, it was more like taking advantage of a situation when presented.
“…lots of bombs explode. The hero links an attractive thief to a terrorist cell to Switzerland the thief has stolen important data from.”
“I can explain,” Chandler began, looking at her with total panic in his dark eyes upon his return.
She offered her best smile. “You don’t have to explain. I think it’s great.”
Deep furrows wrinkled his brow. “You do?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Of course I do.” She patted the cushion next to hers, inviting him to join her. The man continued to surprise her. “It’s your book, right?”
“Just a rough synopsis.” He seemed tense as he sat down.
She guessed at the reason for his discomfort. “Scary, isn’t it?”
“Not really.”
She wasn’t buying it. Everyone got a little scared when they tried a new thing. Writers, at least the ones she knew, were an insecure group. They needed a lot of praise, and she’d seen some pretty successful people dissolve into tears, all because of a form rejection letter or a bad review.
“I only glanced at a few lines, but it seems you’re off to a strong start.”
He smiled almost shyly. “You aren’t exactly an impartial judge. I already know you like me.”
Well, that was one way of putting it. Not her way, but she’d let that pass for now. “I did see a couple of potential problem areas, though.”
“Such as?”
She took his hands in hers and held them. “The plot doesn’t feel…fresh.”
“Really?”
It was important to her that she give him useful, constructive criticism without dashing his obvious enthusiasm. “It’s a little overdone,” she explained. “I get several publishing industry e-mail alerts, and it seems that every Tom, Dick and Jane is writing action/adventure with a romantic twist.”
“It is a popular subgenre.”
“And very specific. The readers have expectations, Chandler. You never get a second chance to disappoint them. May I make a suggestion?”
“Shoot?”
“I’d be willing to call my agent on your behalf. Once you have your synopsis and the first few chapters together, then—”
“Molly?” he began, braced for any reaction but realistically expecting the worst.
She smiled sweetly. “Don’t say it. I know you think it’s an imposition and that I could possibly get the idea that you’ve only been nice to me just to get me to hook you up with my contacts. I don’t want—”
“My mother’s name was Priscilla Connor.”
She blinked twice in rapid succession. He could tell she still wasn’t putting it together.
“My family owns the Lucky 7 Ranch. Seth and Savannah gave their son her family name. If you—”
“Wait!” she yelped, her eyes darted around.
He could almost see her fitting the pieces into place.
She gaped up at him. Her mouth opened as if she was about to say something. There was another long, tense silence, then she looked down at his hands as if she didn’t know what they were.
“Lucky 7. S-E-V-E-N. L for Lucky. S for seven. Your mother…oh, my gosh! L. S. Connor!” Her gaze lifted slowly until her eyes locked on his. “You’re L. S. Connor? You’re him?”
He nodded. “I know you’re furious, because I should have told you. But I had no idea we would—“
She flung her arms around his neck and squeezed so tightly he was afraid he might black out from the lack of oxygen. “You’re L. S. Connor. How cool is that?”
“You aren’t mad?” he asked after he gently pried her arms from his throat.
“Mad? I’m astounded. I…I mean I’m a huge fan of his—yours. So is most of the rest of the world. But…wow. This is so cool.”
“I thought you might—” He was cut off by the revival of his cell phone. Cursing softly, he yanked it to his ear and said, “Hello?” Then, “Wait! I can’t hear you.”
She stared at his back as he took the frustrated walk outside, still stunned at the news. Chandler Landry was L.S. Connor. Of course he was. It made perfect sense.
No wonder she’d fallen for him in record time. Through his writing, she’d known him for years.
Chandler came rushing back into the room, his expression grim. “Seth found Jonas Black.”
“Where?”
“The hospital.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No.” Chandler scowled and looked as if he might explode. “But he will be soon.”