Marta Perry - In the Enemy's Sights

“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?”

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—”

“I’m here,” Quinn announced, coming in. “Ms. Sainsbury. How nice to see you. Surely I haven’t forgotten an appointment with you, have I?”

Ken stepped back with a sense of relief. Quinn could handle this—he was out of his depth.

“I had some wonderful new ideas for the display area.” The woman shifted that intense look to Quinn. “I simply must bounce them off you. I was just telling your girl that I was sure you’d want to see me.”

Quinn’s smile tightened a fraction at the condescending reference to Julianna, but he took the woman’s arm and turned her toward his office.

“I have a few minutes. Let’s get your thoughts down.” He ushered her into the private office and closed the door.

Julianna tossed the pencil she’d been holding across the desk. It bounced and hit the floor.

Ken picked it up and handed it back. “I gather you don’t care much for Ms. Sainsbury.”

“I suppose you think she’s gorgeous.” Juliana bit off the words as if they didn’t taste good. “Half the men in Colorado Springs have developed an interest in art since she took over the museum.”

He shrugged. “Frankly, I prefer something a little less obvious. Are she and Quinn an item?”

“I hope not.” Consternation dawned in her eyes. “I really hope not. But she does seem to be showing up a lot to discuss this project.”

“Quinn’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.” Did Julianna have a personal reason for her concern? “Is there something I should know about between you and Quinn?”

She seemed to forget her annoyance with him in her surprise. “Quinn? No, of course not. We’re friends, that’s all.”

He wasn’t sure why that should make him feel relieved, but it did. “Well, whatever she thinks, I’d say his interest in Ms. Sainsbury is strictly business. The company can’t afford to lose any jobs, from what I understand.”

“True enough. I shouldn’t let her get to me that way, but if she calls me ‘girl’ one more time, I might knock her off her high heels.”

“Wait till we’ve finished her project,” he suggested.

That earned him one of those rare smiles that lit Julianna’s face and made her eyes sparkle. He’d like to see that expression more often, but it hardly seemed likely.

He leaned against her desk. “Look, about what we were saying earlier. Please believe me. I don’t suspect Jay because he’s Native American.”

“Pueblo,” she said. “He’s Zuni Pueblo. Like me.”

“Pueblo,” he agreed. “Wasn’t your father—”

“My father was Anglo,” she said evenly. “I never knew him. He left before I was born. I barely remember my mother. My grandparents raised me after her death.”

Add that to the list of things he’d never bothered to learn about the shy girl who’d sat in front of him in senior English. “I’m sorry. That must have been rough.”

“Not at all. My grandparents were wonderful. Still are, in fact.”

She’d mentioned that her grandfather knew Jay’s family, he remembered. It was a link that probably made her unwilling to think anything bad about the boy.

“In any event, I’m not suspicious of Jay because of his ancestry. Just because he was here, and because of what you said about his connection to a street gang.”

She frowned, but at least she wasn’t reacting with anger. “I can see why you might think that. All I can say is that I know Jay, and I don’t believe he’d do anything that would hurt me. Surely he’d realize I’d be affected by vandalism where I work.”

“Teenage boys sometimes don’t think with their heads.” He grinned. “Believe me, I have vivid memories of the stupid things Quinn and I did at that age. Luckily our parents never found out about most of them.”

She smiled in response, but he could still read the concern in her eyes. “Just…be careful of what you say to Jay. He admires you.”