Friend, Lover, Protector. Sharon Mignerey

tore her gaze away from his and wrapped her hands around the steering wheel. “I’ve never let flights of imagination determine my work schedule.” She put the car into gear, pulled back into the road and finally returned her attention to the storm. She pressed her foot harder on the accelerator. “And I’m not about to start today.”

      “Then let me drive,” he said. “You just ran a stop sign.”

      “I know where we’re going.”

      “So do I,” he countered, motioning toward the storm directly overhead. “We’re following your storm.”

      “I’ll drive,” she said, feeling as though she was repeating herself. “I asked you before if you were new in town.”

      “I am. Actually you asked if I was new to CMU.”

      “Are you?” She took her eyes off the road to look at him.

      “I’d have to be if I’m new here, wouldn’t I?” He smiled. “You wanted the answer. Feel any better?”

      “No.” She massaged her hand across her forehead. This wasn’t the first or second or thirty-fifth time she had people ride with her she didn’t know. “This is nuts.”

      “Agreed.” He sighed. Taking off the sunglasses to rub the bridge of his nose, he met her gaze, his eyes a brilliant turquoise blue that seemed to settle right into her. “You know, we haven’t gotten off to a very good start here,” he said.

      “That’s true.”

      “What do I have to do to make it better?”

      “Be honest with me. Did you sign up because you wanted the thrill of seeing a tornado?”

      He laughed and shook his head. “Not…” The laugh dissolved as though he had changed his mind about what he intended to say. “Chances are we could chase storms all summer without seeing a single twister.”

      “That’s right,” she stated flatly, motioning toward the flat landscape ahead of them. “This is about as thrilling as it gets most days. If you signed up to see tornadoes, you’ll be disappointed.”

      “That’s not high on my list of priorities.” He put the glasses back on, his attention again roving over the scenery.

      “That’s good because what we’re interested in is lightning.”

      “Lightning?” He motioned toward the equipment in the back of the van. “All this is to study lightning?”

      As if to punctuate his statement, the cloud overhead flickered and thunder rumbled.

      “Why did you sign up to be one of my assistants?” she asked.

      “I…” His voice faded away, while his attention fell on a car which was stopped at the crossroads they just went through. When they passed it, he turned around and looked at the vehicle.

      “Is that the same car?” she asked.

      “Could be,” he said, his voice tight.

      “Are you sure you don’t know them?” She studied the vehicle that turned onto the road behind them, hoping he was wrong, having the awful feeling he was right.

      “Positive.”

      “This is stupid,” she muttered. “Nobody is following me. Nobody has reason to follow me.” Mentally reviewing all the legitimate reasons a car had for being on this same stretch of high plains road, she slowed the van and steered toward the right shoulder, giving the other vehicle plenty of opportunity to pass.

      For a moment it followed, then pulled up alongside the van. Good, she thought. It was going to pass. She had intended to let it go by without glancing over, but she had to look, had to reassure herself.

      The only person in the car was the man driving it. He met her gaze, then pointed a gun at her. A big gun.

      Dumbly she stared at the weapon, her mind blank.

      “Holy crap,” Jack snapped. “Step on it! Drive. Go!”

      His abrupt command shocked her out of the stupor. She floored the accelerator, and the van shot forward.

      From the corner of her eye she watched Jack unzip his pack, his expression taut. A lethal-looking gun appeared in his hand.

      “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” she muttered, her foot easing on the accelerator.

      “Don’t slow down,” he commanded.

      She drove faster. “You have a gun.” The shakes were back, worse, much worse than they had been before. And the car behind them was close. Too close.

      She didn’t know people who carried guns. She didn’t want to know people who carried guns.

      She pressed harder on the gas pedal. The van shimmied as it clattered over the washboard of the graveled road. The steering wheel became slick beneath her sweaty palms.

      A reverberating ping echoed through the van, sounding like a single huge hailstone striking a hollow can. Boo yelped.

      “Oh, God, they just shot at us, didn’t they?”

      “Damn straight.”

      “Boo—she’s okay?”

      He reached down to pat the dog, who had wedged herself in between the two seats. “She’s fine.”

      “Who is that guy?” she asked, then shook her head, her attention riveted on the weapon. “Forget that, who the hell are you?”

      “Your bodyguard.”

      Chapter 2

      “My bodyguard?” she echoed, her voice squeaking. “A bodyguard? That’s ridiculous!”

      Jack couldn’t have agreed more. The whole situation was deadly and getting worse by the second. Unless they got damn lucky damn fast, they were in big trouble.

      Her eyes narrowed. “Why ever would I need a bodyguard?”

      Jack looked behind them. The car wasn’t gaining, but they weren’t getting any farther away, either. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Later. Just step on it, will you?”

      “Step on it,” she muttered. “Yes, sir.” She floored the accelerator. The van shot forward.

      A stop sign marked an upcoming intersection. Dahlia must have had the same thought he did, because she showed no sign of stopping—and fortunately no other cars could be seen on the other roads. At the next crossroads, she braked to slow, ignored the stop sign and turned left onto a paved road. Tires squealed and the van swerved, but she managed to keep it on the road.

      “Good girl,” Jack said.

      “Up yours.”

      She drove the way he would have, her handling of the van suggesting that she’d probably had training in evasive maneuvers and chase. He began to hope they’d get out of this in one piece. The car behind them didn’t make the turn as cleanly, and it fell a little farther behind.

      He relaxed a little and looked over at the surprising Dahlia Jensen, Ph.D. Where he’d been expecting mousy, starched and boring, she was vibrant and alluring, despite her baggy clothes. She was clearly angry, pink suffusing the flawless skin of her cheeks. Her blond hair was caught in some kind of intricate loose braid that revealed the shell of her ear and the length of her neck and added to her femininity.

      She pinned him with a glare from her dark eyes—brown, he realized, intrigued by the contrast to her fair skin and hair.

      “Stop staring at me and keep an eye on that jerk behind us.”

      “You’ve had high-speed training,” he said, ignoring her comment while keeping one eye on the car following them. “This is some souped-up van you’ve got.”

      “I chase thunderstorms,”