Justine Davis - One of These Nights

“Even for his own safety?”

“Especially that. He agrees his work needs protecting but won’t have anything to do with a bodyguard. And I can’t say that I don’t understand. He needs space and time to let that incredible mind of his run.”

“He’s that smart?”

“Not in the traditional sense. He thinks outside the box, as they say. That’s why he’s so good at what he does.”

“Which is?”

“They call him ‘the professor,’ but he’s an inventor.”

Einstein suddenly shifted to Edison in her head. “We still have those?”

“A few,” Josh said with a grin. “Most inventing is done by committee nowadays, but Ian is a throwback. Lucky for us.”

“And where did you find this one?”

It had become legend, Josh Redstone’s knack for finding gold in the most unlikely places. It seemed every employee had a story of how Josh found them in a place they didn’t want to be and gave them the chance to find the place they belonged.

“He was trying to market a new deicing chemical for planes that he’d come up with, and after he got turned down by all the big and small airlines, he came to Redstone Aviation. He’d already invented a new computer cable that reduced signal noise, and a fireproofing treatment for already existing roofs, but hadn’t been able to sell those, either.”

And on the strength of what would likely be seen in the business world as three failures, Josh had hired him anyway, Sam thought. Typical.

“They didn’t work?” she asked.

“They worked,” Josh said. “But Ian is in no way a salesman.”

Sam smiled inwardly. Not necessarily a bad thing in my book. “So Redstone took that off his hands?”

“And let him do what he does best.”

“Invent.”

Josh nodded. “And nobody else can quite follow the way his mind works, so he works alone. And lives alone.”

That could make things either easier or harder, Sam thought. “Not married?”

“Not for several years.”

Burned, or impossible to live with? Sam wondered. “How alone is he? A recluse?”

“No. He doesn’t socialize much, outside of Redstone, but he does get along fine inside. He works out in the gym with a regular group, that kind of thing.”

Something in Josh’s expression told her she was wasting her time trying to think of an approach. “You’ve already got this set up, don’t you?”

One corner of her boss’s mouth quirked upward. “I always did say you were perceptive.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I hate lying to him, but I’d hate even more having to negotiate for his safety. Or go to his funeral.” Josh reached into his pocket and pulled out two keys on a ring, with a paper tag attached. He slid them across the table to her. “You just bought a house.”

Sam blinked. She looked at the keys, then at her boss. “Lucky me,” she said.

She picked up the ring, glanced at the tag, at the address scrawled on it.

“Let me guess,” she said. “The professor’s nearby?”

“Right next door.”

Already planning her packing, she lifted an eyebrow at him. “Did they want to sell?”

Josh’s mouth quirked. “They did in the end.”

“At twice market value?” she guessed, knowing how Josh worked. “Enough to set them up in a brand-new house with cash to spare?”

Josh shrugged. “The important thing was to get you close. So Ian’s got a new neighbor.”

Sam pocketed the keys with a grin. “There goes the neighborhood.”

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.