Wildfire (6 page)

“Yes.”

“Is that door normally left open?”

“No, normally it’s locked.”

“Who had keys to the room?”

“I did, as did every department head. Then there’s one copy kept up front at the reference desk.”

Brady swore under his breath. “So anyone could have had access to a key. Why was the room kept locked? Were any of the materials stored there valuable?”

“No. The few rare books we have are kept in a fireproof file in the archive room. The storage room was kept locked only to prevent vandalism.”

Brady jumped on that. “Had there been any trouble with the storage room before? Any attempts to break into it, anything like that?”

“No, none at all that I’m aware of. You might want to check with Security to see if they had any reports.”

Brady reached out a hand to switch off the pocket-sized cassette recorder and wrote a few lines in his notebook. But it was the way he wrote them that caught Amanda’s attention. She watched the telltale hook of his left hand as he scribbled down a few more notes before closing the pad. Why hadn’t she noticed before?

“You’re left-handed!”

“That’s right,” he acknowledged with what sounded like a small degree of defensiveness.

Amanda couldn’t resist the temptation to tease him, as he so often did her. “No, that’s not right. That’s left
.
”
Her rose-tipped finger reached out to tap his other hand. “This one is right.”

“So you do know your left from your right,” he said in apparent amazement.

“Of course I do,” she returned.

“Then you must have been deliberately playing around under my vest.” He grinned expectantly, anticipating her display of outrage.

But Amanda wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice,
no matter how tempting it might be. Looking back on past encounters, she now realized that Brady deliberately made these outrageous statements to throw her off balance. This time it wouldn’t work.

Determined not to rise to the bait, she studiously concentrated on his hands. So Brady was a southpaw, one of those unusually creative people who did things their own way. It figured; he conformed to no one’s rules but his own. While he might be infuriating and stubborn, Brady was also trustworthy, an old-fashioned word but applicable all the same.

“You’re staring,” Brady scolded.

“I’m sorry,” she automatically apologized.

“I’ll forgive you if you’ll go out with me tonight.”

Amanda lifted her gaze to the twinkling gleam in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to risk it?” she teased, abandoning her defensive pose and entering into the fray.

His grin widened. “I like living dangerously.”

The words were spoken lightly, but Amanda took them seriously. “Being a cop is already dangerous.”

“So is working in a library with a pyromaniac on the loose,” he retorted. “Which reminds me, don’t get any ideas about doing a little investigating on your own.”

Amanda was startled by his discerning astuteness. How had he known what she’d been thinking? The idea had only just occurred to her anyway. “Why not?” she countered.

“
Because this isn’t a case for Nancy Drew.” Seeing the anger breaking in her eyes, he said quietly but resolutely, “I’m serious, Amanda. You let me do my
work and I’ll let
you get back to yours.” He strode across the room, tossing “I’ll pick you up at six” over his shoulder as he opened the door.

“Hey, wait a minute!” She grabbed his arm to delay his departure. The muscles of his arm felt like warm steel beneath her fingers. Having successfully stopped him, she quickly released him. “I might have other plans for tonight.”

“Do you?”

Something in the directness of his gaze made her admit, “No.” Bob had wanted to take her out, after all, it was Friday night, but she’d turned him down, suddenly restless with his staid personality.

“Then I’ll pick you up at six,” Brady repeated with an intimate smile.

Her mutter of exasperation followed him down the hallway.

Amanda was deliberately slow in preparing for their evening out. It would serve Brady right if he had to wait for her. She wasn’t about to bow to his bidding, to rearrange her schedule for his convenience. She handily ignored the fact that she hadn’t had anything else planned for the evening, and padded on wet, bare feet from the bathroom to her bedroom closet. It was only when she opened the pair of French doors that she realized she had no idea where Brady planned on taking her tonight, and consequently didn’t have a clue of what to wear.

“Damn,” she muttered in irritation, impatiently sliding hangers along the metal rod, searching in vain for a perfect outfit, one that would be ideal for any situation. Glancing at the time displayed on her digital alarm clock, she realized that she’d have to find something quickly or else risk having to greet Brady in her present attire of a skimpy towel. It was almost six now.

Since she went on to snag her last pair of panty hose, slacks became the only alternative. She didn’t own many pair;
most of her wardrobe consisted of interchangeable skirts and jackets. By the time the doorbell rang at a quarter after six, she was still vacillating over what to wear. None of the pants she’d tried on looked right. The black cords she had on now were much tighter than she remembered, definitely not a suitable choice even though they did complement the salmon silk shirt she’d already decided on. The doorbell pealed again, helped along no doubt by an impatient finger held in place.

Amanda opened the door to find Brady leaning on the doorbell. He still wore the same clothes he’d had on when he’d questioned her several hours before.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized, obviously anticipating her wrath. “Something came up at headquarters.”

Her distracted “That’s okay” was quickly followed by his murmured “Well, well, well,” complete with raised eyebrows.

Immediately on the defensive, Amanda said, “They’re just pants.”

Brady’s warm gaze rose to her eyes. “Oh, I wasn’t looking at the pants. I was admiring what’s in them.”

Don
’
t you dare blush,
she fiercely instructed herself, cursing the heat she could feel stealing into her cheeks. In an attempt to distract his discerning attention, Amanda directed Brady toward the living room. “Come on in and pour yourself a drink while I finish getting dressed.”

“Wait a minute,” he instructed, putting his hand on her arm as she had done to him earlier in the day. “Why do you have to change?”

“I can’t go out like this,” she protested.

“Why not? You look great. So good, in fact, that you might cause a riot. But never fear, I’ll be there to protect you.” His voice resumed its teasing inflection.

“You never said where we’re going.”

“It’s a surprise. Come on, let’s go.” He bundled her into her coat and hustled her out of the house.

“But where are we going?” Amanda repeated as he started the car and pulled out of the drive.

“All right, I’ll give you a clue. We’re going to see Tempest.”

“Shakespeare?” Amanda was disappointed. She didn’t feel like sitting through a play tonight, she was too keyed up.

Brady slashed her an affectionately reproving glance as he chided, “No more hints, Mandy.”

To Amanda’s surprise, they didn’t end up in some experimental playhouse, but in a computerized video game arcade. Dozens of different electronic fantasies stood along the walls, ready to pit their microchip wits against all contenders. Chromatic displays flashed across darkened screens while simulated sound effects of exploding warheads clashed with the futuristic roar of hyperspace. Added to this was the blaring music from a juke box, its overblown speakers distorting what turned out to be an Eagles’ song.

The place was crowded, with lines in front of some machines. Amanda had never been inside one of these arcades before and was astonished at how involved the players became. Some were perched on stools, their eyes glued to the artificial world displayed before them. Others were actually dodging the attacking starships, their bodies jerking from side to side.

Brady grasped her hand as a group of teenagers threatened to separate them. Amanda accepted his clasp with appreciation—she didn’t relish getting lost in this place. Catching sight of a free machine, Brady tugged her over to it. There, displayed in garish artwork, was the word
TEMPEST
.

She cracked up. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Hey, I promised you Tempest, didn’t I? Never let it be
said that Brady Gallagher welched on a promise.”

Amanda eyed the unit with amused caution. “I wouldn’t know how to begin.”

“I’ll show you. Here.” Brady reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew a couple of quarters, disproving Amanda’s earlier claim that nothing could fit in those tight confines.

A moment later there was a virtual explosion of activity on the screen, as primary-colored spikes and pinwheels threatened destruction. One of them eventually zapped Brady right out of the game.

“Okay. Now it’s your turn.” He slid another quarter into the slot and placed her hand on the spinning directional wheel.

Amanda gave it her best effort. “Now what’s happening?” she exclaimed as the screen first shrank and then expanded.

“You’re going on to the next level.”

She panicked. “But I’m not ready yet.”

“Sure you are. Keep firing.” Brady pressed her finger to the Shoot button. “Watch out! Avoid those spikes!”

Amanda twirled the steering dial. “I’m trying to!” Five minutes later she turned to him, flushed with victory. “Pretty good, huh?”

“Are you sure you haven’t been here before?” he questioned suspiciously, eyeing her outstanding score in disbelief.

“Positive.” She grinned at him.

Brady smiled in return, a measure of masculine respect reflected in the warm brown of his eyes.

Moving on, they wandered from world to world—dungeons to dragons, explosive missiles to gobbling amoebas.

“You hungry?” Brady asked after Amanda raked up yet another five-digit score.

“Ravenous!”

“Good, because I know a place that serves the best hot dogs you’ve ever tasted. Hot, juicy, and loaded with sauerkraut.”

“Don’t say any more,” Amanda groaned. “Just lead me to it.”

The establishment was small, lending it what Brady laughingly called an intimate atmosphere. They were lucky enough to commandeer one of the four tables the place boasted. Amanda was surprised, but touched, when Brady pulled out a utilitarian chair for her. The chivalrous gesture added yet another dimension to his exasperating, intriguing character.

Brady left Amanda there to stake a claim while he went to place their orders. He returned several minutes later with a tray full of food. The smell of crispy french fries and beefy hot dogs tickled her nose and intrigued her stomach. Even though it was almost nine at night, the place was still alive with people.

Her hot dog was so loaded with goodies that Amanda could hardly fit it into her mouth. As it was, a smudge of mustard dotted her chin. Brady took it upon himself to supervise the cleanup operation, affectionately dabbing her face with a paper napkin.

“There, as good as new,” he announced.

“Until the next bite.” Amanda grinned before adding, “This really is delicious.”

“Of course. The secret is in the authentic sauerkraut.”

“And how do you know this is authentic sauerkraut?” she asked, stealing one of his french fries.

Brady watched her munching the stolen plunder with indulgent amusement. “Because I was stationed in Germany when I did my two-year stint in the army.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“The army? Not really.”

“No, I meant Germany.”

“Very much.”

“Where exactly were you stationed?”

“In Garmisch.”

“That’s in the mountains, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. Have you ever been there?”

“No. I’ve always wanted to go to Europe though, especially the Alps.”

“I remember seeing that poster of the Alps you’ve got hanging in your office,” Brady acknowledged. “Why haven’t you gone?”

Amanda wiped her mouth after downing her last bite of hot dog. “I don’t speak the language for one thing.”

“Maybe I should offer my services.”

“Services?” she repeated suspiciously.

“As a translator, of course,” he clarified.

Amanda was impressed. “You speak German?”

“Do I speak German? Does Milwaukee make beer?”

“I gather that’s an affirmative,” Amanda mocked, pausing to admire the way the corners of his eyes and lips creased simultaneously when he smiled.

“Ten-four,” he drawled.

“Is that why you chose to be stationed in Germany? Because you spoke German?”

Brady shook his head. “I didn’t know any German before I was stationed there. I took an introductory course on base and then picked up the rest. That’s the most natural way to learn a foreign language, through practical usage.”

Amanda got the impression that Brady was stating his opinion on all types of learning, that he’d rather go out there and do it, not talk about it in the controlled sterility of a classroom.

“Don’t you speak any foreign languages?” he asked, interrupting her silent speculations.

“I had two years of French in college.”

“And?” he prompted her.

Amanda’s smile was tinged with self-mockery. “And as a result I can ask you, ‘Où sont les pommes frites?’”

“It’s amazing you learned that much after only two years,” he marveled.

“I’ve never been good at languages.” She shrugged.

Brady’s voice lowered intimately, his look one of undivided interest. “What are you good at?”

“Dodging questions like that one,” she archly countered, pleased with the way she’d extricated herself. “Did you want that pickle?”

“No, I want to take you to the Oktoberfest.”

“In Munich?” Amanda squeaked.

Brady ruefully shook his head. “Not on my salary, no. But with careful planning I might just be able to swing a visit up to Milwaukee’s version of Oktoberfest. How about it?”

Amanda had enjoyed their evening together, but it was an enjoyment tinged with an element of danger, for Brady Gallagher had nothing in common with her. He was a streetwise, experienced policeman, while she’d been nurtured in the comparatively sheltered world of academe. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to see him, to be with him. Surely she was mature enough to handle her own emotions without letting them get out of hand. They were having an enjoyable, lighthearted relationship, nothing heavy.