THEY CALLED HIM A HERO FOR DOING HIS JOB. AND IF THAT weren't bad enough, damn if they weren't making him talk about it.
Special Agent Samuel Wellington Kincaid received a standing ovation when he finished his lecture. He gave a quick nod then tried to leave the podium and the auditorium, but he was pulled back by another FBI agent who insisted that, as soon as the cheering and clapping stopped, Sam answer questions.
Knowing he should cooperate, he nodded again and waited for the audience of cadets and future FBI agents to quiet down. Like most people, Sam hated giving speeches, especially those concerning his work in intelligence, but this was a training seminar and a goodwill mission, and he had been ordered by his superiors to talk about his role in the dramatic capture of the notorious Edward Chester, a radical white supremacist and one of the most elusive criminals in many years.
Despite his reluctance, Sam had been scheduled to conduct five of these seminars around the country. He'd already completed the first in D.C., and this one in Chicago was the second. Next week he would fly to Seattle for the third and then on to Los Angeles. His final stop would be at the naval base in San Diego where he would address Navy SEAL trainees. Inwardly, he groaned at the thought of three more appearances in front of inquisitive audiences who wanted only to hear sensational details of the capture.
This particular audience, however, also wanted to hear how Sam, while helping out on another case, saved the life of Alec Buchanan, a local Chicago FBI agent. The incident had happened six weeks ago, and since then, a few stories had been circulating. Agent Buchanan had been on medical leave, so they weren't able to get any facts from him. Before Sam was introduced to the crowd, he had been warned about their curiosity and the questions he might face. Was it true Agent Kincaid had gone into a blazing house to get Buchanan? How many gunmen were in the house when he'd broken in? Had he carried Buchanan out seconds before the house exploded?
What happened was a matter of public record. Sam still didn't want to go into it, but now that he stood at the podium, he was trapped by a group who wanted all the gory details.
Yet the first question Sam was asked had nothing to do with the Chester case or Alec Buchanan. It was the same one that was asked almost every time Sam was introduced. "Agent Kincaid, I couldn't help but notice your accent. Is it &hellip; Scottish?" a female cadet asked.
"Yes it is." Sam was accustomed to people's curiosity about his background, and so his answer was polite but brief.
"How is that possible?"
He smiled. "I'm from Scotland, and that's probably why I have a bit of an accent."
The cadet blushed. Not wanting to embarrass her, Sam continued, "What you really want to know is how someone from Scotland could become an FBI agent, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"I have dual citizenship," he explained. "I was born in the United States, but I was raised in the Highlands of Scotland. I did my undergraduate work at Princeton, my postgraduate work at Oxford, then moved to D.C. to get my law degree. I started with the FBI just after I passed the bar."
Sam evaded disclosing anything more about his personal life by calling on another eager cadet whose hand was raised, and for the next twenty minutes he was bombarded with questions.
Toward the end of Sam's lecture, Agent Alec Buchanan and his FBI partner, Jack MacAlister, slipped into the room and took seats near the rear door. Alec, still recovering from the wound to his back, shifted forward to find a comfortable position. Neither federal agent had seen Sam for a few weeks, but during the time they had spent with him in D.C., he'd become a good friend.
Jack leaned toward Alec to whisper. "He really hates doing this, doesn't he?"
Alec grinned. "Yeah, he does."
"We ought to mess with him a little bit."
"What have you got in mind?"
"I could raise my hand and ask him a couple of questions about his sex life"
Sam heard Lyra's laugh and shook his head. She was messing with him. Their kiss obviously hadn't fazed her, and if she wasn't going to make a big deal about it, then neither would he.
Sam had been trained to read people, and it didn't take him any time at all to figure out Lyra. She wasn't into casual sex. He doubted she had ever gone into a bar with the intention of hooking up for the night. She just wasn't the type. She had to have an emotional connection with a man before she let him touch her.
At that moment his cell phone rang -- it was Alec -- and Sam welcomed the distraction.
"A new bodyguard will be there early tomorrow morning," Alec said. "His name is Brick Winter."
"Is he FBI?"
"No," Alec answered. "He's with Mead Security Company out there in L.A. Detective O'Malley recommended him, and I checked him out. He's good. He knows what he's doing."
"Have you got a file on him?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Email it to me. I want to check him out, too. I'm not about to leave Lyra with just anyone."
"Sam, the guy does this for a living. He's been in Iraq, Special Forces, two tours. What's bothering you?"
"I want to be convinced she'll be in safe hands." Sam didn't realize how transparent his words were.
"What do you think of her? She's a sweetheart, isn't she?" Alec asked, a smile in his voice.
"What do you mean 'What do I think of her?' She's a job. That's all."
"She's gorgeous, isn't she?"
"I haven't noticed."
Alec laughed. "So you like her?"
"Just email me the damn file." Sam ended the call.
So you like her? What kind of question was that? Alec sounded like a teenage girl.
Sam's concern made perfect sense -- to him. If he was going to bail on Lyra, the least he could do was make certain he left her in good hands. Assuming that Brick was going to work out, Sam thought he should probably call and schedule his lecture to the cadets, but something held him back. He'd call tomorrow, he told himself, as soon as he had talked to -- and evaluated -- Brick.
Lyra was coming down the stairs with her laptop and her cell phone. She had changed her clothes and was wearing a short skirt that showed off her tanned, shapely legs, and a white T-shirt that showed off her other assets.
"I've just talked to O'Malley," she said. "I told him about the yard sale. He wants to look through those boxes of books and DVDs, and I explained they won't get to the ranch for a couple of days. I also told him I can't imagine anyone knows I have them."
"What's on the schedule today?"
"I haven't made up my mind what I want to do for the short film and I thought I'd do some research today, but then I got a text from Sidney. She ran into Professor Mahler, and he wants to see me in his office. So I guess we're headed back to campus. But after that, I need to stop at Paraiso Park and switch out the memory card. Do you have any leather boots &hellip; thick boots?"
"Not with me."
"Then you'll have to wait in the car. You can't get around in that run-down park or climb its hills in those loafers."
"You're not going up there without me."
"Okay, then. We'll stop and buy some boots."
"When do you want to leave?"
"Five minutes?"
It was twenty minutes before she was ready. He put her boots and backpack in the trunk and was walking around to the passenger door when she asked him if he wanted her to drive. Instead of answering, he just smiled as he opened the passenger door for her.
They found a sporting goods store off the highway and, at Lyra's insistence, Sam bought a pair of sturdy hiking boots. She looked them over and approved. Hopefully, none of the stray needles on the hill would get through the thick soles.
"This brand is more expensive, but they're worth it," she told him.
"How many times do you expect we're going up that hill before I leave tomorrow?"
"Just once."
With this reminder that he was leaving, Sam thought he saw sadness in Lyra's eyes. It was there, then gone in a flash.
Nevertheless, she continued to work on her children's film, and with another professor's blessing resubmitted it the following semester. She won first place. She received multiple offers from production companies in Los Angeles and New York, but she declined them all. Lyra didn't want to work for anyone. She loved the freedom of writing and directing her own work, and had come up with an idea for a children's series she wanted to pursue. She could work from anywhere, which was fortunate, because three months later Sam took her to their home in the Highlands.
Her husband was full of surprises. The first surprise was that their home was a castle. It had been built centuries ago and was magnificent, but cold and formal. Fortunately, their small apartment on the second level was cozy and charming. The estate, or holding as Sam called it, was the most beautiful place she'd ever seen.
The second surprise was that Sam would inherit a couple of titles. As a landowner, he would become Laird Kincaid, but he was also in line to become Earl of Cairnmar.
The third surprise was the most astonishing to Lyra. Her sweet, loving husband turned into a brutal warrior on the rugby field.
Sitting beside Sam's parents on a hill, Lyra watched with great trepidation a match between Sam's team and the one from the next town over. At one point in the game, when she saw Sam emerge from a pile of huge, muscular men, she grabbed her father-in-law's arm. "Did he just break &hellip; ? Did his elbow &hellip; ?"
Sam's father, seeing the horrified look in her eyes, sympathetically patted her knee. "Do you know what's been said about rugby? It's a hooligan's game played by gentlemen. Don't worry, he's fine, my dear."
Nodding, she turned back to stare at her husband. He was covered in mud, and his uniform was spotted with blood, which she didn't think belonged to him. His teammates were just as beaten up. What she found most amazing, however, was that once the game was over, both teams laughed and carried on as they dragged one another off the field.
Sam saw her in the crowd and made his way over to her. He had a cut over his eyebrow, and he was muddy from head to toe. Oblivious to the fact that she was wearing a white blouse, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. That wasn't good enough for Sam. He kissed her passionately, ignoring his cheering teammates.
When he finally came up for air, he said, "Now that's the way a husband should greet his wife when he returns home."
Blushing because of their audience, she said, "You were thirty feet away from me."
"Exactly," he replied, and kissed her again.
She leaned into his side. "I'm relieved you're still intact."
"It's a sport, sweetheart."
A sport? They actually called the mayhem she'd just witnessed a sport? "Does it have to be so rough? I don't want you to get hurt."
He laughed. "A few minor cuts and bruises won't kill me."
He picked up his duffel bag, put his arm around her shoulders, and began walking toward their car. "I got a call from the FBI this morning. They want me to fly to D.C. tomorrow to consult on a case. I'll be leaving before dawn. Want to come with me?"