Sizzle

  “Do you think we should move?” Lyra asked Sidney while they ate cereal.

  “I don’t know. If we asked the super to put in a new door, maybe we’d feel safe here again.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Alec called,” Sidney said. She repeated what her brother had told her. “I gave him our schedules. Whoever he sends will have to find us.”

  “I’m kind of nervous,” Lyra admitted.

  “Me, too.”

  “Listen, don’t go anywhere on campus alone.”

  “Good idea. You shouldn’t be alone either.”

  “We’ve got to leave, or we’ll be late.”

  Sidney moved the chair away from the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. Then she yelped. A man was standing a foot away from her.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Did I scare you?”

  “No,” she lied. “Who are you?” She realized after she asked the question how rude she’d sounded.

  “If you’re Sidney, I’m your shadow. Alec sent me.”

  Tall, dark hair, lovely smile. She noticed it all in a flash. He could pass for a hunky graduate student, she thought.

  “Do you have a gun?” she asked.

  “Sure do.”

  She smiled. “Let’s go. Lyra, hurry up. I’ve got a class at ten, remember? And so do you.”

  Lyra walked around the corner looking at her iPhone. “Pierson canceled. I don’t have to be there until eleven.”

  “We just promised not to go anywhere on campus alone.”

  “She won’t be alone,” Max said. “Agent Kincaid is five minutes away.”

  Lyra looked up from her phone and put her hand out to Sidney’s protector. “I’m Lyra Prescott. And you are …?”

  He took her hand. “Max Stevens,” he said. He turned to Sidney. “Shouldn’t we get going?”

  Sidney grabbed her bag and said, “Lead the way.”

  He started down the stairs. As Sidney followed him, she turned back to Lyra wide-eyed and mouthed the word “Wow.”

  Smiling at Sidney, Lyra shut the apartment door. The fact that Max carried a gun and could protect her friend was all that really mattered to her. When it came down to it, looks weren’t important.

  TEN

  AGENT SAMUEL KINCAID WAS ONE GORGEOUS MAN. Pepper spray in hand, Lyra opened the door, looked up into his eyes, and promptly forgot how to breathe.

  She had never had such an oh-my-God reaction to any man before, and she had met plenty of pretty men since moving to Los Angeles. They were everywhere—in restaurants, theaters, gyms, universities, beaches, even churches. This man wouldn’t be called pretty, actually. He was too rugged, too masculine, and very, very sexy. He was tall—she was considered above average in height and she barely reached his shoulders. He had sandy blond hair and piercing blue eyes. His facial bone structure was just about perfect—lovely straight nose, sexy mouth, chiseled chin.

  Yes. Gorgeous, all right.

  Enough, she told herself. So he was the sexiest man she had ever seen. Big deal.

  “You gonna spray me with that?” he asked in a low voice with an intriguing accent.

  “What? Oh, no, no.” She lowered the pepper spray, thrust out her hand, and said, “Lyra. I’m Lyra …” Why couldn’t she remember her name?”

  “Prescott?” he suggested.

  How sweet. He was helping her out.

  “Yes, Prescott,” she agreed.

  His eyes sparkled. Did he know how discombobulated she felt? Apparently so, since he had to tell her her own last name.

  He shook her hand while introducing himself. “Agent Samuel Kincaid. You can call me Sam. You and I are going to be tight for a while.”

  “The accent … Scotland, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You saved Alec Buchanan’s life.”

  He didn’t comment but said, “You want to let me come inside?”

  “Of course.” She hastily got out of the way. As he passed her, he reached down and took the pepper spray out of her hand.

  Sam was looking around the room, and she couldn’t imagine what he must be thinking … probably that she and Sidney lived like pigs.

  She hurriedly said, “The men who came here last night tore the place apart, and Sidney and I haven’t had time to clean it up yet. I don’t know if they found what they were looking for or not.”

  He turned to her. “From what Alec told me, you were what they were looking for.”

  “I know, but if they were waiting for me, why tear up the apartment? I think they were after something else.”

  “Could be,” he said. “Tell you what, while you’re packing your things, you might do an inventory, see if anything is missing.”

  “While I’m packing?”

  “Yes. We aren’t going to be staying here.”

  “We?”

  “Like I said, you and I are going to be real tight for a while.”

  “So you’re my shadow?”

  “That’s right. Alec sent me your schedule. We should get going if you’re going to make your ten o’clock class.”

  “My ten o’clock was canceled. My next one is at eleven.”

  “Good. That will give me time to check things out on campus. Don’t forget, the guys who broke in last night are still out there.”

  A chill ran down her spine, and she nodded that she understood.

  She went into her bedroom, looked in the mirror over her chest of drawers, and ran her fingers through her disheveled hair. Then she put on lip gloss, dabbed a little perfume behind her ears, and picked up her backpack. Slipping a strap over her shoulder, she walked back into the living room. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  He opened the door for her. She smiled and said, “I’m not so sure Professor Mahler will let you stay in the classroom. He doesn’t like anything establishment … such as the FBI.”

  “Yeah? I’ll bet he lets me stay. I can be a real charmer.”

  Ten minutes later, Sam walked close to her side as they headed across campus. She noticed his gaze taking it all in, watching the roofs, the people in the quad, the street. Impressive, she thought. A casual observer wouldn’t notice what he was doing.

  “Lyra? We need to establish some ground rules.”

  “Like what?”

  “It’s important that you do what I ask. I’m here to protect you, so if I tell you to drop or to run, do it immediately. No questions or arguments. I might have to use my gun, and I don’t want you in the way.”

  He was scaring her. She nodded. “I understand.”

  “Good. Later, I’ll want you to tell me exactly what happened last night.”

  “I thought you already knew.”

  “I do, but I want to hear it from you.”

  Two female students walked by, their eyes glued on Sam. Lyra certainly couldn’t blame them. She heard one of them whisper that Sam had a gun.

  “How am I going to explain your constant presence at my side?”

  “Say whatever you want.”

  Except for the gun, he didn’t look like an agent. He was wearing worn jeans with a Polo T-shirt. As they walked toward the classroom building and he was telling her how much he liked the campus, she was thinking how much she liked his sexy brogue. She hoped Professor Mahler didn’t make a fuss or throw him out. She’d hate for Sam to have to stand in the hall for an hour.

  “We’re early,” Lyra said as they approached the classroom. “You could probably talk to Dr. Mahler now in his office. I’ll introduce you.”

  Lyra led the way through the classroom to Mahler’s office as students filed in behind them. She knocked on the professor’s door and said, “Dr. Mahler, it’s Lyra Prescott. I have an FBI agent with me who—”

  “FBI?” he roared. The door was flung open and within seconds his face was beet red.

  “Told you he’d be difficult,” she whispered.

  Sam smiled. “I’ll take it from here.” With that, he walked past Mahler into his office and closed the door behind him.

/>   Lyra wanted to press her ear to the door to hear what was being said, but she resisted the urge. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear the professor shouting, but neither he nor Sam had raised his voice. Dr. Mahler was probably in shock that an FBI agent was standing in his office. Sam represented everything that Mahler thought was wrong with this country. “Big Brother”—that’s what he called law enforcement officers. Fortunately, with her academic work almost done, she wouldn’t have to hear his bunk much longer.

  The door opened and Sam emerged. Winking at Lyra and nodding to two gaping graduate students, he walked to the last row of chairs where Lyra had dropped her backpack. He took a seat and leaned back.

  Lyra sat next to him and took out her laptop. “What did you say to him?” she asked.

  “Not much.”

  Lyra was skeptical. Maybe Sam used brute force to get his way … or maybe he really was a charmer.

  Dr. Mahler entered the classroom. His face was pale, and he glanced furtively at Sam.

  Lyra leaned close to Sam and whispered. “Okay. What did he say?”

  Sam grinned. “He’s real happy I’m here.”

  ELEVEN

  MAHLER’S CLASS LASTED TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES INSTEAD of the usual fifty. Lyra was sure Sam was the reason. The FBI agent stood for everything Mahler despised, and the professor couldn’t wait to get him out of his classroom. He obviously blamed Lyra, and he wasn’t going to be forgiving or understanding. His hateful glances in her direction told her as much.

  There goes the grade, she thought with a sinking feeling.

  She knew the professor wanted to blow up at her, but he couldn’t with Sam in the room. He wouldn’t forget, though. Lyra had witnessed his temper the first of April when another graduate student, Carl, dared to suggest that Big Brother wasn’t watching anyone or invading anyone’s privacy because Big Brother didn’t exist. As soon as Mahler could catch his breath, he went ballistic. He called Carl a right-wing baboon and a puppet for the establishment. He was berating Carl’s work and was threatening to throw him out of class when Carl jumped up and said, “April fools, Professor!”

  Taken aback, Mahler blinked furiously and rubbed his chin. “April fools …” he repeated.

  Carl stood there sweating bullets until a slow smile appeared on the professor’s face. He pointed a finger at the student. “Good one, Carl. You really got me.”

  The professor laughed, and Carl’s career in film was saved.

  Lyra had dealt with difficult professors before, but none with an ego the size of Mahler’s. She’d heard his wife had left him. She probably walked out on him because she made the mistake of having a different point of view, Lyra thought. She couldn’t even imagine being married to such an obnoxious man.

  Students were filing out of the classroom. Lyra slipped her laptop into her backpack and threw the strap over her shoulder to leave, but Sam put his hand on her arm to indicate that she should wait.

  Carl and another grad student, Eli, filed past in the row ahead.

  “It was nice knowing you, Lyra,” Carl whispered.

  “It’s not that bad,” she protested. “Mahler will get over it.”

  Carl shook his head. “Have you learned nothing from the April fools debacle?”

  “I’m really going to miss you,” Eli added, grinning, “when you get kicked out.”

  “Oh, stop it,” she said, exasperated. “The professor isn’t going to throw me out.”

  She knew they were having a fine time teasing her, but there was a kernel of truth in their jibes. Mahler would do something to get even … like ripping her documentary apart. If that happened, she’d go to war with him. She’d start with the head of the department, get someone else who knew what he was doing to look at her film … unless of course it really was awful and should be ripped apart.

  Her mind was racing until she heard Eli say, “You’re gonna have to sleep with him, I suppose. Then he’ll get past it.”

  Lyra’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not funny. To think …” She shuddered. “It makes me sick to my stomach.”

  Carl looked at Sam. “Eli was kidding. Lyra doesn’t sleep with anyone.”

  “I’ve got to get to the lab,” Lyra quickly blurted to change the subject.

  “You haven’t introduced us,” Carl said. He and Eli simultaneously turned their eyes toward the gun at Sam’s side.

  Lyra introduced Sam to her friends.

  “You a cop?” Eli asked.

  “FBI,” Sam answered without further explanation.

  “You’re the real deal? You’re not just acting like an FBI agent to give Mahler a nervous breakdown, are you?”

  “No,” Sam answered.

  “So how come you’re with Lyra?”

  “He’s a friend,” she said, hoping to end the conversation. “Sam, we really need to get going.”

  Carl and Eli followed them outside the building and stopped on the steps watching as Lyra and Sam walked across the campus. When they turned to walk parallel to the street, Sam moved to block Lyra from the passing traffic.

  “I didn’t think they needed to know the real reason you’re here,” she explained, anticipating that he would ask that question.

  Sam glanced over his shoulder at her friends. Carl and Eli hadn’t moved. Both were looking wistfully at Lyra.

  “Have you ever gone out with either one of those guys?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “But they’ve asked, haven’t they?”

  She looked up at him. “Yes, they have. They’re nice guys.”

  He surprised her by laughing. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “I doubt they’d appreciate being described as nice.” He glanced at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How do they know so much about your sleeping habits?”

  Lyra could feel her face turning red. “They don’t,” she answered. “They just know I wouldn’t sleep with them.“

  “You’re picky, huh?”

  “Very,” she said emphatically, as she turned onto a sidewalk that led to a small windowless building. “Here we are. I’ll be in the lab for a couple of hours finishing my editing. Then I’m officially done. You can drop me off and do whatever while I’m—” She stopped talking when he shook his head. “I just thought you might—”

  “No.” His voice was firm. “You need to start taking this seriously, Lyra.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  He opened the door for her and followed her up the stairs. “What’s your schedule tomorrow?”

  “No classes.”

  “That’s good. We can get away from here. If you’re not following your normal routine, it will make it harder for them to find you.”

  “Meaning the men who broke into our apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are we moving?”

  “I don’t know yet. Alec will tell us.”

  “Will Sidney be coming with us?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t elaborate, but she knew what his silence implied: that it would be too dangerous for Sidney to be around her.

  For the next two hours Sam either sat beside her with his arm on the back of her chair or stood in front of the door watching her screen as she manipulated the images. The film was only twenty minutes long, but Lyra was being meticulous as she did her final edit. Once it was complete, she played it from start to finish.

  Sam stood behind her to watch. The documentary was amazing, and so was she. Lyra narrated the film, and her voice was both sultry and sweet—a contradiction to the images he was seeing on the screen. She had managed to get nearly every license plate on the cars and trucks that drove into the park to dump their toxic waste. She got the people’s faces on camera as well. Atta girl, he thought, smiling. If the police got hold of her movie, arrests and convictions would be a slam dunk.

  Lyra burned three extra disks before finally standing and stretching her arms over her head. “I’m completely done. All I have to do is hand it in, a
nd I’ll do that next week.”

  “Why not today?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ll wait until the professor gets over … you … as in FBI you.”

  “He would be that petty?”

  “Probably not, but why take the chance? Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

  She assembled her things, and Sam held the door for her as she stepped outside. She had been sitting in the dark for so long, the sun nearly blinded her. Sam took his sunglasses from his pocket and offered them to her.

  She shook her head appreciatively. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

  A T.A. passed her. “Hey, Lyra, I heard what happened last night. Glad you’re okay.”

  Three more students commented on yesterday’s incident before she’d crossed the quad.

  “News travels fast around here,” she said as she quickened her pace.

  “Someone’s waving to you,” Sam told her a minute later.

  Oh, damn, she thought. Jean Lillard, Mahler’s personal assistant, was running toward them, her long tie-dyed skirt flapping in the wind and her Earth Mother shoes clomping on the concrete sidewalk.

  Trying to catch her breath, Jean panted, “The professor wants to see you right away … in his office.”

  “Now? Do you know what he wants?”

  “I think he has another project for you. Don’t frown, Lyra. It’s all good.”

  All good? Nothing about Mahler was all good. Since Jean was obviously loyal to the man, Lyra kept her opinion to herself.

  Ten minutes later she was knocking on the professor’s door.

  He looked up from a stack of papers. “Come in. Come in,” he called out.

  “You wanted to see me?” She approached his desk while Sam waited in the doorway.

  “First of all, I want to apologize for my outburst. I simply overreacted,” he explained, his gaze bouncing back and forth between Lyra and Sam. “I just heard what happened to you last night. Horrible, horrible crime these days. It’s not safe anywhere. I certainly understand why you would call your friend for help,” he added, pointing to Sam.