Dallas Read online

  She wondered if he was feeling the strain as much as she was. She’d managed to get him to quit his psychiatry practice a year earlier to join her in her endeavor to save humanity from itself. It was shortly after she’d miraculously secured what had seemed like a fortune in pharmaceutical research money and was on top of the world. Now after paying the rent on their meager office and lab setup, all the equipment they’d needed, and finding funds to pay the test subjects, she realized how precarious everything was. If these trials didn’t work out and they lost what she now knew was a mere pittance from their drug benefactors, they’d both be out of jobs. Of course he was as stressed as she was.

  He shook his head and sighed. “Miranda, we shouldn’t rush the human trials. I’m sure you believe that as much as I do.”

  She let out a deeper, longer sigh. “We’ll lose everything if we lose this money.”

  He snickered and waved his arm around her somewhat bleak office. She was always so focused on her work that she hadn’t bothered to hang anything on the walls except for her diplomas. It wasn’t only her lack of decorating, though. The thin, gray carpet was shabby and the walls had cracks leading up to yellowing ceiling panels. The one thing that might have been considered cheery was her red stapler, and she’d only gotten that because it was on clearance. Bergen’s meaning was clear. There wasn’t much to lose.

  Except her whole life. Despite their budget surroundings and constantly cutting corners, they were making progress. The medication was ready, she was certain of it.

  “You said yourself only a month ago that you felt confident about this current formulation,” she said.

  “Confident we’re going in the right direction.” The small spark of fire in his eyes blinked out and he sagged. “It’s late and I’m starving,” he said, looking at his watch.

  “I only have one more person to interview,” she told him. “I feel good about this one.” She didn’t actually know anything about the next person and luck hadn’t been on her side so far, but she wanted to put a good face on things.

  “Another interview?” he asked, clearly alarmed. “It’s past eight o’clock.”

  She swivelled her head to look behind him out the lab windows and sure enough, the light from outside was only a darkened glow peeking out from between the warehouses that surrounded them. She could see he was irritated, not sure if he should leave. She would have preferred he stayed, not because she felt unsafe but because she wanted him to keep his nose to the grindstone. She pursed her lips, trying to decide whether or not to guilt him into staying another hour or two. Even if her interview was a bust, there were plenty of things to do. Before she could decide, he huffed and stormed back toward his own office.

  She pushed down her sense of triumph mingled with remorse that her face alone was capable of browbeating him into staying. Eloise always had something stashed in their shared fridge. She’d bring him something as soon as she talked to the last candidate. Realizing that Eloise hadn’t brought her the last one yet, she called out again. Still no answer.

  Miranda poked her head into the reception area. “Eloise, where’s the last—”

  Her assistant was nowhere to be found, nor was the last applicant. The preliminary trial had to start Monday, Tuesday at the latest. She planned to go to the local mall that weekend and set up a table begging for volunteers if this final person wasn’t qualified. She’d need to set them up in the lab as soon as possible for stress tests and observation. And now Eloise had up and left. She cursed herself for letting her mother coerce her into hiring her younger sister. At least she knew where she got her extreme guilting skills.

  After taking several slow breaths to keep from making an unpleasantly loud noise, she snatched Eloise’s clipboard off the desk and ran down the list of names and numbers until the last one jumped out at her.

  “Mr. Izlacky?” she called softly. “Rudolph Izlacky?” she called a bit louder. Irritated beyond belief, she stomped toward the door bellowing, “Number 65!”

  The door flung open and a tall, muscular man burst in. Dark blond hair flowed about his broad shoulders, brushing against strong cheekbones and highlighting mesmerizing blue eyes. She took a step back at his sheer size and then blinked several times in disbelief. He was wearing a kilt. A kilt. She’d never seen a man wear one in real life before. This particular man wore it very, very well.

  “Uh, Andreas Izlacky?” she squeaked. Quickly cleared her throat. “Weren’t you instructed to wear comfortable clothes? You’ll be doing some running on a treadmill.”

  He looked down at his kilt and then held out his hands as if he saw nothing odd about it. “This is quite comfortable. I dare say I’ve done my share of running whilst wearing it. But, nay, lass. I am not Mr. Izlacky as ye say, but Toren Dallas. I am number 65, though.”

  She continued to gawk at him. He wasn’t only wearing the kilt, he had the whole Scottish brogue to go with it. A deep, rumbling one. The way Torrrren had rolled off his tongue made her want to hear him say her own name, close up, in her ear. How odd. That had never happened to her before. It had to be his looks. She didn’t get out much, didn’t watch too much television either, so she couldn’t compare, but she was certain this was one of the most handsome men she’d ever laid eyes on. He was so good looking she forgot for a second that her chances for finding a suitable candidate were all but ruined now if he was not who he was supposed to be. It came back to her soon enough and she shook off the distraction, disgusted with herself. Men who looked like him and her unbidden reaction to him were one of the many reasons she had to get her drug on the market.

  “You’re not— but how did you get here? This is a locked building.” Her disappointment about losing the last interview turned to slight worry. A supremely strange, extremely large man had somehow found his way into her secure lab.

  “Aye, I figured that out straight away,” he agreed affably, taking a step into the tiny reception area.

  She slid behind Eloise’s desk to put something between them and reached for the phone to call security when Eloise flounced into the office, wearing an almost indecently short, purple satin tube dress and sky high, patent leather boots. Something seemed to crackle in Miranda’s exhausted brain. This had to be a joke. Or she’d fallen asleep at her desk and this was a dream. In which case, her sister needed to skedaddle so she could see what the Scottish delusion her subconscious had conjured might have up his kilt. She shook her head hard, knowing full well she was awake. Possibly losing her good sense, but awake.

  “What is going on?” Miranda yelped, waving at her assistant’s outlandish outfit and then at the even more outlandish Highlander taking up three quarters of the space.

  Eloise gaped at the big man with unadulterated interest. “Yowzers, who’s this?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.” She picked up the phone, ready to jam in the number of building security.

  “I have no idea,” Eloise said, still staring. “I ducked out to change for my party when the last interview cancelled.” She looked pointedly at the clock on the wall and sniffed. As Bergen had already let her know, it was past eight. “Most people with low paying office jobs get off at five.”

  “My name is Toren Dallas,” the Highlander reminded them helpfully. “Number 65?”

  Eloise perked up and edged around their huge visitor toward her desk. “Are you from Dr. Deenan’s office? Let me check the messages. They called at lunch time and said they might have someone to send over.”

  “Aye, that’s it,” he said. “Aye, Dr. Doonan was the man who sent me. Indeed, it was him.”

  Eloise narrowed her eyes at Toren Dallas. “Dr. Deenan. And she’s a woman.”

  His handsome face flamed to rival Eloise’s horrible dress and he coughed extravagantly. “Aye, o’course. I only just ...”

  “It’s fine,” Miranda cut in, her desperation to find a viable candidate returning. He was dressed like a madman but what were the odds he was actually a raging lunatic? He had to have gotten the d
oor code from someone and the local psychiatrist had sent them several of her patients already. Dr. Deenan had been surprisingly interested and supportive of her research and Miranda had given her the codes to the building for after hours times like this. “I’m sure it’s fine,” she reiterated at Eloise’s disbelieving look. “Let me interview him as long as he’s here and then you can leave for your party.” It would only take five minutes to know if he could help her or not.

  She waved Mr. Dallas into her office, giving Eloise a death glare to stay put until they were finished. He hadn’t gone three feet in front of her when alarms started wailing up and down the halls.

  Chapter 3

  Was this it? Was this Toren’s chance to do something truly heroic? And only a few minutes into his quest. It seemed almost a shame for it to happen so fast when he would have liked to have seen what the interview was all about. He found he longed for some good, earthly conversation. He spent most of his ghostly time in silence or moaning about how awful the English were. It seemed that wasn’t to be, however. He had to save these women from whatever was causing that terrifying wail.

  Except they didn’t seem terrified or overly concerned. The one in the outrageous purple dress looked annoyed. The prettier one in the white coat sighed for so long he thought she might blow away.

  “This is the most ridiculous time imaginable to have a fire drill,” she said, then coughed. Then grimaced. “Oh no, is that actually smoke?”

  He took a deep inhale and smelled it as well. “I think this is no drill,” he said, ready to carry them each out of the building.

  The two women, instead of reasonably heading toward the hall where there was a known exit, headed in the opposite direction toward the now distinct smell of burning chemicals. Exasperated, he followed them. Purple dress flung open a door at the back wall of another office and white billows of acrid smoke poured into the room.

  “Miranda, it’s a real fire!” she shrieked.

  The modestly dressed woman, presumably Miranda, grabbed a few folders off her desk and turned to the door behind her. “Take these and go on ahead. I need to make sure Bergen’s okay. The smoke’s coming from his office.”

  The young girl shook her head wildly. “Dr. Bergen left already. I said goodbye to him when I came back in from getting changed. Come on!”

  They both nearly bowled Toren over in their hurry to get out.

  Stunned, he stood there for half a second. They were perfectly capable of getting out of the building of their own accord, and this other doctor was safely elsewhere, so what was he here for? Another whiff of smoke assailed his nose. He didn’t want to die, again, before he could complete his quest, so he caught up with them in the hallway as they hurried toward the exit.

  As purple dress reached the locked door she skidded to a halt on her totteringly high heels, a look of horror on her face as she turned to run in the opposite direction again. “Oh no! What about Ambrose? He’s still in the lab!”

  Miranda grabbed the back of her stretchy dress to stop her. “We have to get out, Eloise. We’ll call 911 when we’re outside. They’re probably already on their way.”

  Eloise balked, but as more smoke crept from under Dr. Harrold’s door and something crashed from within his office, she tearfully allowed herself to be herded back toward the exit.

  At last Toren knew he’d found his reason for being there. “I’ll save Ambrose for ye,” he hollered as he ran toward the far office from which they’d just come, the only way he knew he could get into the burning lab.

  He heard them yelling at him as he tore after his chance to save the poor, probably unconscious lab worker. Perhaps he was trapped under whatever had made that crashing noise. The smoke was now so thick in Miranda’s office, he had to drop to the ground and scrabble along the floor to find the door to the lab. He wrapped a bit of his plaid around his mouth and nose and bravely moved forward, finally reaching another door. He rose and kicked it open, releasing another cloud of toxic fumes. If Ambrose was trapped in such a place, Toren knew it would be a miracle to find him alive. Still, he had to try. He thought of the lad’s family, as heartbroken as all the family members of his fallen brethren at Culloden, and knew he had to keep going. It was his only reason for being here, being alive again and able to do something to gain his place in the hereafter.

  He struggled forward, breathing as shallowly as possible through his plaid. He could barely see a foot in front of him for all the smoke and heard another crash to his left amidst the crackle of flames. He faltered, waiting for a burning beam to crush him, and when he remained uncrushed, kept moving further into the lab. The fire was a roar now. He must be very close to where it had started.

  He came upon a long white curtain blocking a good portion of the room, still unscathed by flames. “Ambrose?” he shouted through the din. “Ambrose, lad, can ye hear me?”

  From behind the curtain rose the most bloodcurdling scream Toren had ever heard. And he’d died in battle.

  Chapter 4

  Miranda gaped at the mad Highlander as he thundered toward her office, his kilt flapping around muscular thighs. What in the world was he doing? Eloise cried in earnest and was about to pop out of her ridiculous tube dress trying to break free from Miranda’s grasp.

  “Why isn’t the sprinkler system going off?” she demanded to the air as she yanked Eloise back. She took her by the shoulders and shook her. “Get out and call 911. I’m going after that crazed idiot so we’re not held liable when this damn place collapses around his ears.”

  “I can’t leave you and Ambrose,” she sobbed. “And that hot guy’s going to get burned to a crisp!”

  “We might be the only ones left in the building at this hour,” Miranda explained as patiently as she could while another crash sounded on the other side of Bergen’s lab door. “The whole building’s going down if no one’s alerted authorities yet.”

  If it weren’t for Ambrose they’d all be safely on the street right now. No, if it weren’t for Eloise remembering Ambrose and causing their Highland hero to go flying to the rescue, they’d all be waiting for the fire trucks. She immediately felt a stab of guilt and punched in the exit code herself, ready to shove Eloise toward the stairwell. A beep let her know she’d flubbed the code and she steadied herself and carefully entered it again. Another beep.

  “Try yours,” she said, trying not to let her growing fear show.

  Eloise tried her code to no avail, then punched in another one. “Dr. Harrold’s doesn’t work either.”

  Not bothering to ask how Eloise knew Bergen’s door code, Miranda squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force out an idea. “Try every code you’ve ever known. And if nothing works, go to the supply closet. Maybe there’s an emergency kit that has one of those rollup ladders. I’m going after that damn baboon.”

  “Ambrose isn’t a baboon,” Eloise said tearfully as she continued to pound in numbers.

  Miranda didn’t bother to explain she’d meant the Highlander. Pulling off her lab coat, she tossed it over her head and held one of the sleeves across her face. She cursed the errant sprinkler system as she punched in the code for Bergen’s door. Thankfully it opened, releasing a billow of smoke. She dropped to her knees and rolled just in time to avoid being smacked by a falling ceiling tile. A ball of fire quickly started eating up some papers that had drifted to the floor. Grappling the fire extinguisher from the wall, she pointed it at the small blaze. A tiny stream of white foam spewed uselessly from the nozzle. She shook it and tried again, only releasing another pathetic dollop. The door, the sprinklers, now this. Why was nothing working?

  Exposed electrical wires sizzled and flailed above her and she crept toward the sound of Ambrose’s desperate shrieking. Thanking God he was still alive in all this mess, she saw Toren burst through from her side of the lab, low to the ground and with his kilt over the bottom half of his face. Despite everything, she felt a little thrill in her belly at how bravely he’d swooped in to help them. She then felt slightly stup
id in her head at how handsome she thought he looked while doing it. Another ceiling tile crashed down, inches from his shoulder. She called out to warn him of the wild electric lines that snaked down everywhere like vines in a jungle, but he didn’t hear her over Ambrose’s squalls.

  “He’s behind the curtain,” she bellowed, trying to crawl closer to help him while avoiding the snapping cables that continued to unfurl from the ruined ceiling.

  He must have heard her because he reached for the curtain, only to draw it back as a sparking cord missed his hand by inches. She yelped and then coughed as a gust of smoke overtook her.

  Concerned, Toren moved to help her but she waved him back to his original mission. “Get him,” she choked out. “Hurry.”

  “I’m coming for ye, lad,” he said, standing valiantly and ripping down the heavy curtain. At that moment the sprinkler system finally decided to do its job. And do it well. Gushing torrents of water burst from above, dousing the flames slowly but surely.

  “Thank goodness,” she breathed, coughing again from the lingering smoke.

  They wouldn’t lose everything. Already her mind starting spinning the silver lining of the fire. It might gain her an extension to start testing. Pushing her sodden lab coat off her head, she smiled triumphantly at the Highlander, unable to keep from noticing how his soaking wet shirt clung to his brawny form. He stared open-mouthed at Ambrose, who flung himself from side to side and rattled fearfully at the bars of his cage, water flying off his tawny orange fur.

  “This is Ambrose?” he sputtered. “This is— what is this?”

  She laughed, ducking under one of the still sparking wires to unlock the cage. “He’s an orangutan. He’s usually docile, just let me—”

  A thick cable crashed down between them, as another ceiling tile gave way and crumbled in a pile of soggy fiberboard. The live wire spat and zapped as the water splashed all around it. It swung toward her as another bit of ceiling fell and she slipped trying to duck out of its way, keeling toward it instead.