One of These Nights

Chapter 2

Adhesion.

That, Ian thought as he paced his living room, was the problem. The formula itself was working perfectly, it was the practical logistics of use that were being evasive.

He paused at the side window, his mind intent on the puzzle. No matter what they applied the explosive-sensitive material to, it started to peel away. Steel, aluminum, even plastic—after a month to six weeks under normal usage in a cargo hold or passenger cabin it always happened.

He turned, crossing the room once more, his path clear because all of the furniture was pushed up against the walls, leaving him lots of free space to roam as he thought.

They’d tried embedding the material in a plastic that could then be shaped, but the process greatly affected the efficiency and sensitivity of the product. They’d tried every known kind of primer, with little success. The problem was finding something that didn’t react with the active ingredient in the sensor medium. The only thing they’d found so far was lead, but lining an airplane with that was a problem for more reasons than just the weight factor.

He came back to the window.

He had to be overlooking something. There was some simple answer, he could just feel it. It was probably so simple he was looking right past it. He was looking—

He was looking at a rather incredible woman.

He blinked as his conscious mind finally registered what his subconscious had already known. There was a tall, leggy blonde next door, carrying a large box. Carrying it more easily than he would have expected, given its bulk. She was wearing faded jeans, a yellow tank top and a pair of wraparound sunglasses. Her pale hair was pulled back into some kind of knot at the back of her head and secured with what looked for all the world to be chopsticks. How did women learn such things? he wondered.

She really was very leggy, he thought. And very blond.

And she appeared to be moving in next door.

He frowned. Not his usual reaction to the sight of a beautiful woman, but his quiet, older neighbors had sold out and moved so quickly, barely pausing to say goodbye. True, they’d been longing for a place with less upkeep, but had been certain it would be years before they could afford the luxury town house they wanted. Obviously, something had happened to change that.

And the day after their moving van had pulled away a furniture truck had appeared, unloading several items. And now this woman.

She didn’t seem to have brought much. Maybe the rest of her personal items had been with the new furniture. Then again, probably not. It had been a delivery truck, not a moving truck. Yet what he’d seen her carry in amounted to less than his mother took on a weekend trip. Of course, his mother didn’t know the meaning of traveling light.

He supposed he could go over there and simply ask. Maybe introduce himself. Even offer to help, although it looked like she didn’t need it. It was what his mother would do.

But she, Ian thought rather glumly, would do it with ease and charm. He would fumble and stumble and feel thoroughly awkward about it.

The woman set another large box down on the front porch of the house, straightened, started to turn to go back to the blue pickup truck that was parked at the curb. Then she froze. And slowly turned her head and looked right at him.

Ian jerked back from the window, startled.

You can’t be sure she was looking at you, not with those dark glasses, he told himself.

And then she smiled and waved at him.

His heart did a crazy flip-flop. He told himself it wasn’t the smile that rattled him, although even from here it was a killer one. It had to be that she seemed to have sensed him watching. Such instincts, while he knew they existed, made his scientific mind wary.

He pulled back even farther, and with a discipline born of years spent learning to focus, he turned his mind back to the old problem.

And hoped he hadn’t just acquired a new one.

Sam took the last box straight inside, set it down and plopped herself down on the cushy couch that had been delivered just yesterday.

“Well,” she muttered to herself, “that’ll teach you to make assumptions.”

Obviously her Einstein image was now blown to bits. She hadn’t been able to see all of him, but already it was clear that Ian Gamble was anything but the wild-haired old man she’d been picturing. In fact, his sandy brown hair had looked thick and shiny and had that endearingly floppy quality that always made her want to touch.

She jumped to her feet. She wasn’t that rattled, she told herself. All she needed was a little readjustment of her perceptions. So he was younger than she’d thought. All that meant was he might be a bit more active than she’d figured. She could deal with that. In fact it would be easier. Stakeouts and long surveillances always made her crazy because she wasn’t used to sitting still for so long.

That thought cheered her, and she got up and went about the business of unpacking. Since she’d have access to laundry facilities here in the house, she’d been able to pack even lighter than usual. She usually lived in jeans and cotton shirts when she had the option, but she’d have to wear office clothing to convince Gamble she had a job somewhere. At least the Armani gown and the dressy clothes she’d acquired—at Josh’s recommendation and expense—in the course of other assignments could stay home this trip.

It didn’t take her long to empty the two boxes of clothing, and to set aside the dark jeans, sweater and knit cap she had selected in case she had to do any late-night recons. The bathroom was another, smaller box. The kitchen was the smallest box of all; her cooking skills were limited to coffee, scrambled eggs and packaged macaroni and cheese, so she didn’t require much in the way of gear. Into the fridge went the items from the cooler she’d brought from home, to save her from throwing the stuff out when she went back to her apartment. Then she unpacked the bag of items she’d picked up at the grocery store around the corner on her way here; she couldn’t order in every night. Well, she could, but not without drawing more attention from the neighbors than she wanted.

Lastly she took her two-inch Smith & Wesson revolver out of its case, along with a trim holster with a belt clip and an ankle holster. She’d spent yesterday sharpening her skills with the small weapon. Anything larger than the small gun would be harder to hide from Gamble, and she didn’t want to have to worry about it.

When she was done unpacking, she went back into the living room. She’d already seen that the windows on the north side of the house were the best spot to watch Gamble’s home. And smiled to see that Josh had already arranged to have the rather ornate floral draperies left by the previous owners replaced with pleated shades that allowed in sunlight from outside yet were semitransparent from inside, so she could see at least motion if not details without raising them.

Upstairs, the master bedroom had a window seat alcove that looked out on that same side. She suspected most of her in-house time would be spent there, since she could see the windows on the side and back of Gamble’s house, plus both the front and back yards. The yards themselves were an almost scary sight; gardening, it was clear, was not on the man’s list of priorities.

Which could be a good thing for her, she thought. A way to get closer. She’d have to watch for a chance.

She was glad the lower bank of windows around the window seat bay opened. She needed to be able to hear the slightest noises from next door. She preferred to sleep with windows open, anyway, especially in spring and summer, but in this case she’d have to even if it was cold out. Not that she’d be sleeping all that much at night, and when she did, it would be with one ear open. She’d have to catch up during the day when Gamble was safely tucked away at Redstone.

Speaking of her target, she thought, it was time to get moving on that front. She went to the kitchen, grabbed her favorite coffee mug, and headed for the door. It was old and corny, yes, but it also happened to be true. She was out of sugar.

She had to go down to the sidewalk then up the walkway to the house; there was no way she could cut through the overgrown honeysuckle that grew along the property lines between the houses. It had to be at least six feet tall and incredibly thick. That, she thought, could be a problem if she needed to get over there in a hurry. All the more reason to pursue that, she thought.

She paused for a moment before knocking on the front door. First impressions counted, and never more than in this kind of work. She debated between sheepish, shy or harried, decided on a combination of the first two, with a touch of flighty blonde just to see if it would work.

She knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Finally the door swung open.

Samantha Beckett took her first close-up look at Ian Gamble and immediately abandoned her plan. There was nothing naive or absentminded about those vivid green eyes, and the wire-rimmed glasses he wore did nothing to mask an intelligence that fairly crackled. His hair was lighter than she’d thought, almost a sandy blond on top, but it was as thick and shiny as it had seemed from a distance.

He was tall, she realized. At five foot nine herself, she noticed that. He didn’t tower over her, but if she looked straight ahead she was looking at his nose, not his forehead as often was the case. And he was lean, not pudgy, as she’d half expected someone who spent their days in a lab to be.

I’ve got to work on my preconceptions, she told herself. And, she added silently as she realized he was looking at her rather quizzically, I’d better say something here.

“Hi,” she said.

Well, now that was clever. Get it together here, Beckett. You’ve done this before, what’s your problem?

She tried again. “I’m Samantha. Samantha Harrison.” She and Josh had agreed that while it was very unlikely, there was just enough chance Gamble might stumble across her name or someone else who’d seen it in connection with Redstone to make a cover name wise. So as she usually did, she used her mother’s maiden name. “I just moved in next door.”

After a moment of hesitation that made her wonder, he nodded. “I saw.”

At least he didn’t try to deny he’d been watching, she thought. After the way he’d jerked back when she’d sensed his gaze and looked over at his window, she’d half expected that.

“I know this sounds like an old joke, but I really am out of sugar, and if I don’t have it for my morning coffee, it gets pretty ugly. I’d really like to avoid another run to the market if I can. I’m kind of beat.”

His mouth quirked slightly. At first she thought it was in amusement, but then she got the oddest feeling it was in self-consciousness. Or embarrassment.

“You moved alone?”

In another man she might have thought this a not-too-subtle way to find out if she was married or otherwise attached. But there was nothing of subterfuge in his eyes, and she realized on a sudden flash of insight that he was uncomfortable because he hadn’t offered to help her.

“Just me, but all I had to do was my clothes and personal stuff, so it wasn’t bad.” She gestured with the mug. “Except I was out of sugar and didn’t realize it until I unpacked the coffeemaker.”

“Oh,” he said, as if suddenly remembering why she was here. “Uh, sure, I’ve got some sugar.”

“Thanks,” she said, handing him her mug.

He took it, then hesitated, and she wondered if he would just leave her standing on the porch while he went to the kitchen. That wouldn’t do; she needed to see the inside of the house. She knew the layout, thanks to Redstone’s research department, who had miraculously dug up the original plans from when the tract had been built twenty-five years ago, but she needed to see how he had it set up, to know where he worked, slept, watched TV, whatever he did.

At the last second he pulled the door open. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.”

She stepped in after him, but instead of following him toward the back of the house, where the kitchen was, she stayed near the door. At least, until he was out of sight. Then she swiftly went to the windows that faced her new residence; first thing she needed to know was what he could see. Her living room was on almost a direct line with his, so that was out for stealth. She noted that he’d have to lean out to look past his chimney to see her bedroom window; another point for it being the prime observation post. She turned back to the interior.

She’d noticed the chaos, but only peripherally in her focus on the windows. What was supposed to be the living room clearly was serving as his office. Judging from everything he had here, none of the bedrooms would have been big enough. Two computers, a door-size table piled with papers, a lower table covered with what looked like computer printouts, and two huge bookcases crammed with books, notebooks and pieces of equipment whose function she could only guess at.

On a normal surveillance, she’d be looking for places to plant bugs or cameras. But Josh had been quite clear on that; Ian was one of them, an innocent victim of his work at Redstone, and he was to be protected, not treated like some kind of suspect.

She walked to the other side of the room, where an arched opening led to what was supposed to be a den, according to the floor plan. This, at least, looked almost like what it was supposed to be, although there were piles of papers and books here, too. There was a television in one corner, and a leather couch that looked, from the pillow and blanket tossed to one side, as if it had been the scene of more than one night’s sleep.

So, did he sleep on the couch for the traditional reasons, a tiff with a significant other that Redstone didn’t know about? There was no sign of a feminine hand in this place, and rare would be the woman who could look at all this and not want to do…something.

More likely, she thought, as she heard footsteps and dodged out of the room and back into the entryway, he got so involved in his reading or work that he crashed here on the couch because it was closer. That fit with what Josh had said about him.

Of course, it could simply be that the bedroom was full, too, she thought, stifling a grin.

“It’s a bit lumpy,” he said apologetically as he handed her the mug, now nearly full with indeed lumpy sugar.

“No problem,” she assured him. “It’ll still dissolve just fine.”

He seemed a bit more at ease now, and she wondered if she could stretch this a bit.

“I and my bleary, morning eyes thank you.”

He managed an actual smile. A nice smile. In fact, a very nice smile. It changed his entire face, from that rather somber, serious mien to something that could pass for the proverbial boy next door. Which he was, in a way, she thought, smiling back at him.

“Have you lived here long? I don’t know the neighborhood at all,” she said, hoping to draw him out.

“Almost all my life. My parents bought this place when I was seven.” He frowned slightly. “I didn’t even realize the Howards had put their place on the market.”

“They didn’t, actually. A friend who knew I was looking for a place out here put us together.” She didn’t want to over explain and draw his curiosity, so she asked, “Your parents don’t live here now?”

This time the quirk of his mouth was almost a grimace. “They don’t live anywhere. They’re never in one place long enough. They visit here now and then, but live? No.”

“They travel?” She knew that already, but schooled her features to friendly interest.

“In the extreme,” he said. “The old phrase the jet set was invented for my parents. When I was a kid, every summer we were off to some exotic place. Now that they’re retired, it’s constant.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said, as if she hadn’t had her own experiences of round-the-world travel since she’d joined the Redstone security team. Of course, her travel was hardly for pleasure, and often she barely got to glimpse whatever exotic part of the world she was in.

He lifted one shoulder. “It’s okay, if you don’t mind not having a home base.”

She thought about that for a minute, then shook her head. “No, I’d have to have someplace to claim as home.” She grinned at him. “Or that would claim me, at least.”

He grinned back then. A quick, flashing grin as lethal as any she’d ever seen. And she’d seen a few. Again she had to reassess Ian Gamble.

Who hadn’t, she realized, told her his name.

“So tell me, where’s the best pizza, Chinese takeout and ice cream?” she asked, knowing full well those were his weaknesses.

He blinked. And the grin widened. “Luigi’s, Wong Fu’s and The Ice Cream Factory. All within walking distance, if you like to walk.”

“Hallelujah.”

“Luigi’s and Wong Fu’s even deliver,” he added helpfully.

“I may survive,” she said. “Thanks—” She lifted a brow at the place where normally she would have said his name. He didn’t miss the hint.

“Ian. Ian Gamble.”

She held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Ian.” No macho posturing here. His handshake was firm but not crushing. “I’ll replace the sugar.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“Okay, then I’ll buy the ice cream one night.”

“I…uh…”

He looked so startled it disconcerted her. He was a reasonably attractive man—well, okay, more than reasonably—surely he’d had a woman ask him for a casual date before. Hadn’t he?

He was, she knew, only thirty-two, hardly old enough to be of the mind-set that women simply didn’t ask men out.

“How about tomorrow afternoon?” she asked, thinking perhaps a Sunday afternoon might seem less threatening. “Besides,” she added, “that way you can show me where it is.”

That practicality seemed to convince him, and he nodded. “Okay. If it can be late afternoon, I’ve got some work to finish up.”

“Work? On Sunday?” He shrugged. She looked at the two computers. “Are you some kind of dot com guy or something?”

He laughed. It was as nice as his smile. “Not hardly. I’m just a…researcher.”

Had he hesitated over using the word inventor? And if so, why? she wondered. Because it was too hard to explain to strangers?

“You work at home?” she asked.

“No. I work downtown.”

“So do I.”

As if the need to be careful had just come back to him full force, he asked, “Where did you move from?”

“An apartment so small I could barely breathe,” she said, with total honesty. She never spent much time in the place she’d moved into after Billy had settled into his own new home, because she was on the road so much for Josh. But when she was there for more than a few days, it seemed cramped. She had the feeling that by the time this was over, she’d miss the extra room. This house wasn’t huge, but it was three times the size of her apartment.

“This will be worth the extra drive,” she added, and he seemed to accept the implication that her apartment was closer to her work.

“It’s a nice neighborhood. Quiet.”

“Good. I’ve already picked out my favorite reading spot, up in the window seat,” she said, figuring she’d supply the reason now, in case he noticed and started to wonder why she was up there so much.

“You read a lot?”

“Not as much as I’d like. That’s why I’m planning on more.”

He smiled at that, the understanding smile of a fellow reader. She gestured around at the living room office. “Do you read anything but work?”

“I try, but like you, not as much as I’d like. I read history, mostly. But now and then a good mystery will keep me up nights.”

“Me, too,” she agreed, knowing she meant it in a totally different way than he did.

She’d about pushed the limits of the cup of sugar, she decided. “I’d better get back to my unpacking. And I’ve got to get my friend’s truck back to him yet today. Thanks again for the sugar.”

She felt his gaze on her all the way down the walkway, and then heard the door softly close.

Ian felt exhausted. He’d only spent five minutes with the woman and he was worn-out. He sank down on the couch, fighting the urge to pull the pillow into place and lie down. What the hell was wrong with him? Had he become so reclusive, so withdrawn that a short conversation with someone was such an effort for him?

After a moment he discarded that notion. It wasn’t just someone, it was someone like Samantha Harrison. Life and energy simply radiated from her, and that kind of person always had this effect on him. Because he was so much the opposite, he supposed. He was always one step back from life, an observer rather than a participant. People like her lived life to the fullest, with passion and élan. People like him just stood back and watched, admiring but not partaking.

And sometimes wishing they could be different.

Chapter 3

It wasn’t just a Monday morning, it was a rotten Monday morning. Rebecca was really starting to get on Ian’s nerves. When they’d first assigned the intern to him, he’d thought she might be a help with all the paperwork and reports tracking the progress of the project. And he couldn’t deny she was efficient at that. Too efficient, perhaps. She had too much time left to hang over his shoulder, too much time to poke her nose into new work that wasn’t ready to be added to the logs yet.