In the Enemy's Sights

“How bad is it?” she asked as he came through the door.

“Not as bad as it could have been, I guess.” Concern set vertical crease lines between his eyebrows. “Sugar in the gas tanks, some slashed tires.”

Ken shrugged out of the denim jacket he’d worn against the early morning chill. Did he realize that the caramel color of the sweater he wore brought out gold flecks in his brown eyes? Probably not, and probably she shouldn’t be noticing that.

“Sounds like something teenagers would do.”

He nodded, coming to sit on the corner of her desk. “That’s what I thought, too. If someone really wanted to cause trouble for the company, they wouldn’t bother with such small stuff.”

“The police—”

He shook his head. “Quinn doesn’t want the police called. The company doesn’t need any more negative publicity to make clients nervous about hiring us.”

“I understand that, but surely we have to do something—at least try to find out who did it.”

“He seems to think I can do that.” Ken’s frown deepened. “I keep telling him I don’t know anything about security, but he won’t listen.”

“He’s known you a long time. He has confidence in you.” Odd, that she was reassuring Ken. She’d always thought he had more confidence in himself than anyone she knew. The accident must have dented that somewhat.

“Well, I’m trying.” He frowned down at her, and something inside her tightened at his grim expression. “How well do you know the people who were here yesterday for your practice drill?”

For a moment she was speechless. So that was the reason for this little conversation. He wasn’t confiding in her. He was questioning her.

She straightened. “How well? Very well. They’re people I’ve worked with for several years, for the most part. They’re the kind of people who volunteer their time to do a dirty, dangerous job because they care.” She was getting heated, but she didn’t care.

“Look, I realize you feel you know them, but—”

She couldn’t sit still and listen. She thrust her chair back, standing so that their eyes were level.

“I do know them. They risk their lives for something they believe in. People like that don’t go out and commit vandalism for a hobby.” How could he begin to think that?

His gaze was steady on hers. “We don’t always know people as well as we think we do.”

“I know them.” She saw them in her mind’s eye. “I trust my life to them when we go out on assignment together. Believe me, I know them.”

“What about Jay? Do you know him, too?”

It was as if a pit had opened under her feet, and she teetered on the edge. “I—”

She stopped. She couldn’t lie to Ken about the boy, even though she thought she understood him. “I told you. My grandfather has known his family for years. I’ve known Jay for about five or six months, since he moved here.”

“You said he ran with a gang.”

Her hands tightened into fists. “I did not say that. He’s not a gang member. He’s a good kid, a bright kid. He’s just looking for a place where he can belong.” She looked steadily at Ken. “I know how that feels. That’s why I’m trying to help him.”

“I’d like to trust your judgment on him, Julianna. But you have to admit, it raises questions. He was here at the yard yesterday, and you told me he’s been influenced by some undesirables. And you said yourself the vandalism sounded like something teenagers would have done.”

“Not Jay,” she said stubbornly, her heart sinking. “Look, if you accuse him of this, you’re going to ruin any chance I have of getting through to him.”

“If he vandalized your workplace, I’d say you’ve already lost him.”

She wanted to shake him, and she gripped her hands together to keep from giving in to the temptation.

“That’s so easy for you to say. You’ve never had to struggle to belong. You don’t have the faintest idea what it’s like to be someone like Jay Nieto.”

He straightened, his face tightening, giving back glare for glare. “Or Julianna Red Feather?”

“I know who I am.” If she were any angrier, she’d strike sparks. “I don’t need validation from anyone else.”

“Am I interrupting?” The lilting feminine voice from the doorway had both of them swinging around. “I certainly don’t want to, but I did think the construction company was open for business.” Dahlia Sainsbury lifted a perfectly arched dark eyebrow, looking at Ken as if he were a tall drink and she was thirsty. “Or was I wrong?”

THREE

Ken wasn’t sure who disconcerted him more, Julianna with her tacit accusation of prejudice or this woman, with a look that suggested enjoyment at their embarrassment.

Julianna recovered quickly, anger smoothing from her face as if it had never been. “Ms. Sainsbury. I don’t believe Mr. Montgomery is expecting you this morning, is he?”

So this woman was apparently a client. Her elegant suit and high heels seemed out of place at the construction company. She let the door click closed behind her.

“I’m sure he’ll spare a few minutes to see me. I’d like to discuss the display areas he’s designing for the museum. Just let him know I’m here, dear.”

There was a casual dismissal of Julianna in her tone. Enough to make Julianna bristle, he’d think, but somehow he was sure that she had already been annoyed from the moment she saw the woman.

Julianna smiled faintly. “I’m afraid Mr. Montgomery is not in the office just now.”

“Find him, then,” the woman said, her tone dismissive. Without sparing a sideways glance for Julianna, she advanced toward Ken, holding out her hand.

“We haven’t met. I’m Dahlia Sainsbury. I’m the new curator of the Impressionist Museum.”

He took her hand, aware of the delicate touch of expensive perfume in his nostrils. Everything about Ms. Sainsbury looked expensive, from the top of her sleek, dark head to the gloss of her leather heels. Being the curator of a museum must pay a lot better than he’d have thought.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kenneth Vance.”

She held his hand a little too long. “Of course. Our very own Air Force hero. Naturally I’ve heard of you.”

“Thanks,” he said shortly, attempting to draw his hand away.

She put her other hand over his, the gesture implying an intimacy that didn’t exist. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. We must get better acquainted. I know several members of your family already. And, of course, Quinn Montgomery.”

Julianna didn’t seem to be making an effort to find Quinn. “Ms. Sainsbury has asked our cabinetry department to create some display areas for the museum.”

The woman’s eyebrows lifted. “A job I can find someone else to do, if Montgomery Construction can’t handle it.”

“I’m sure we can,” he said smoothly, not having the faintest idea whether Quinn would agree, but not wanting a potential customer to walk out the door. What on earth was wrong with Julianna? “I think Quinn is out in the yard. I’ll just see if I can find him.”

Dahlia’s smile was triangular, like a cat’s. “Send the secretary. You and I can get better acquainted.”

Even if he’d been interested, he wouldn’t have cared for so blatant an approach. “I’ll get Quinn—”