Someone had entered the building. Although the extraction room couldn’t be seen from the front entrance, they jumped apart like guilty teenagers. A few seconds later, Lisa stood in the doorway.
“Hey.” She nodded to them both. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“Of course not.” Jackson propped a hip against the table, carefully folding his hands in front of his lap. Carla choked back laughter, staring at the floor until the urge passed.
Jackson cleared his throat. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been reading over the paperwork we’re submitting for the Atlantis grant and had a few questions I wanted to run by you.” Lisa glanced over at Carla who was busy trying to look busy. “Unless this is a bad time?”
“This is fine.” Jackson gave a professional nod to Carla, transforming himself in a nanosecond from her lover to her boss. “You know what to do with the equipment. Is there anything you need?”
“Nope. I’m good here.”
“Okay. I’ll…ah.” He lowered his voice so Lisa wouldn’t hear. “I’ll see you tonight in the caf, around seven?” She nodded and Jackson turned to go, but before leaving, he let out a slow, deep breath, as if getting himself under control. She looked back down at the equipment, hiding the smile that tugged at her lips.
Once she finished everything she needed to do, she remembered he’d asked her earlier to bring out additional handling equipment from the storage room for the next day’s extractions. She went to the room and turned the knob, only to find the door locked. Jackson was supposed to have left her the keys but, as he had admitted, she’d distracted him.
Crazy man. She’d give him a hard time about that later, although right now she needed to figure out how to get the room open. What about the large key ring in his office, the one she usually saw on top of his desk? Would he mind if she took it to see if one of those keys opened the storage room?
It’d be easy enough to give him a call and ask, she decided, pulling out her phone. Her finger tapped on his name, quickly found since it was already stored in her favorites. She shrugged off her internal cringe of embarrassment about having done that as she waited for Jackson to answer. No such luck. Once connected, the call went straight to voicemail.
Carla thought for a minute. She didn’t want to invade Jackson’s privacy by going to his office without asking first; on the other hand, he’d asked her to do something and she meant to do it. Besides, it’s not as if she were going to snoop.
Minutes later she arrived back at the house and stood in the hallway in front of the office door.
“Jackson?” she called his name upon entering, but the room stood empty. Switching on the lights, she walked toward the desk, her gaze searching the smooth, polished wood. No keys. Damn.
Now what? She looked around. Maybe one of the desk drawers? She pulled the top one open, ignoring the illicit little thrill shooting through her as she searched his personal things.
Pens, pencils, paperclips, phone charger, USB drive, notepads, envelopes, glasses cleaning cloth, and no keys. In other words, a whole lotta nothin’.
Sighing, she shut the drawer and pulled out the one below. It was a file drawer and, to no surprise, filled with files. No keys there, either. She carelessly flipped through the files, not even sure why since clearly she wouldn’t find what she was after. But as she went to shut the drawer, she heard the clink of metal. Could that be the keys?
Frowning, she opened the drawer wider and resumed her search. She sorted through the files, jiggling each one to find the source of the sound. At last she came across a thick brown folder, stuffed full. Something in there clinked. She pulled it from the drawer.
Easing the file on top of the desk, she opened it and her eyes flicked over the words on a somewhat crumpled letter stuffed inside. Dear Mr. Jackson, It is our esteemed honor to present you with the Jenson- Hobart Award for outstanding scientific research in monoclonal antibody for the treatment of relapsing- remitting multiple sclerosis…
Behind the letter was an elaborate gold-leafed certificate printed on heavy card stock. It seemed as if the certificate should have been in a frame and hung on the wall, not here, haphazardly stuffed in a folder. As she scanned the rest of the contents, her mind flashed back to the conversation with Bryce. Awards, certificates, letters of merit, just like he’d said. But why did Jackson seem to have such little regard for all this distinction? Everything was shoved in the file as though they held no higher meaning than the monthly electric bill.
Finally her fingers alighted on the last item in the folder, a small wooden container, much like a jewelry box. Unable to resist temptation, she opened the box and found, lying atop soft velvet lining, a gold round disc hanging from a ribbon, like an Olympic medal. This was the source of the clinking. The medal had come loose within the box and must’ve knocked against it when she pulled open the drawer.
Also in the box was a photograph of no less than the President of the United States placing the award around Jackson’s neck. She sucked in a breath. This had to be the National Medal of Science. Her fingers skimmed the raised letters and engraved drawing of a kneeling man on the front.
Unable to resist, she lifted the medal out of the box. It had a solid, prestigious weight to it. She held it by the ribbon and then, because she just couldn’t help herself, placed the medal around her neck. What would it be like to receive such an award?
“My esteemed colleagues,” she muttered to herself, “I’d like to thank all of you for this distinguished honor. It’s such a tremendous—”
“Looks good on you.”
Her head snapped up and she gasped, mortified. Jackson stood in the doorway, eyes glinting as he studied her.
“I…I didn’t mean…” She didn’t mean what? Not to snoop? To invade his privacy? But she had, and he’d caught her, and now she sat feeling like a naughty child with her hand in the cookie jar.
He stepped toward her, arms crossed. She was reminded of the day she’d first met him, Mr. Grunter, intimidating yet sexy as hell. Just like now. Except, if she wasn’t mistaken, a ghost of a smile broke through his stern expression, like peeks of sunshine chipping away at black clouds.
He took a seat opposite her.
“You wanna tell me what you’re doing here?”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I was looking for keys. To the storage room.”
He raised an eyebrow. “In my office?”
“You were supposed to have left them for me in the extraction lab. But you forgot them.”
The right-hand corner of his mouth rose in a smooth grin. “That’s right, I was. But I recall getting distracted. Something about a short skirt comes to mind.” He eyed her legs once more, his gaze slow and deliberate as it traveled the length of them.
She relaxed in her chair, grateful he wasn’t angry. Still, she owed him an apology. “I remembered seeing the large key ring usually on top of your desk and thought maybe the storage key would be there. But it wasn’t, so I started—”
“Snooping?”
“Looking. For the keys.” She let out a light breath. “But you’re right. It ultimately turned into snooping and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
His quiet chuckle was like music. “If you didn’t snoop, I’d assume you have no curiosity.”
“There’s curiosity and then there’s manners. Something I showed very little of just now.”
He brushed his hand in the air, as if waving aside a fly. “T’en fais pas, Carla. Don’t worry about it.”
“Well… Okay. Thank you.”
They sat for a moment in companionable silence, and Carla wondered if she’d be pushing her luck if she asked him about the awards. He seemed to have so little interest in them. Then again, could there be some painful association, something he preferred not to talk about? A shadow passed through her mind as she considered whether Katherine had anything to do with Jackson hiding the awards. She nibbled at her bottom lip, wrestling with whether or not to ask the question.
Jackson nodded toward her. “That medal looks better on you then it ever did on me. Why don’t you keep it?”
“Keep it?” she sputtered. “But this is a major award, such an honor. It would be like giving away your Oscar, or Nobel prize, or—”
“Not to me.” His voice was quiet yet firm. In the back of his jaw a muscle jumped, outward indication of his steely determination.
Suddenly she knew why the awards didn’t matter. “Your eye is still on the prize you haven’t achieved.”
He sat still as granite, gaze boring into her, before at last giving her a tight nod.
“That’s right.”
She understood how he felt. The cure was his prize; nothing less would do. She equated that with Paris. The promotion, the new title, successful completion of her fear assignment…those were all fine. But Paris is what she’d always really been after. Nothing less would do. Or so she thought, anyway.
She looked back at Jackson. “Everyone always says to enjoy the ride.”
“What?”
She reached up to finger the medal still hanging around her neck. “You know, the ride. The journey you take on your way toward the prize. We’re supposed to be enjoying that.”
He nodded. “And are you?”
Funny how easily he turned the conversation around to her when it was supposed to be about him. Still, talking to him felt easy, comfortable. Like being with an old friend. Things were so different now compared to the day they’d met. Mr. Grunter’s icy exterior had melted.
“I’m not sure.” The words surprised her the minute they left her mouth, but she realized they were true. She didn’t honestly know if she were enjoying her journey or not. “I sometimes feel as if I’m…”
He waited, relaxed, not pressing her to finish the sentence before she was ready. She liked that about him. He had a way of putting her at ease, his calm composure a tonic for her nervous anxiety. He also gave her the courage to admit things out loud she’d never even admitted to herself.
Her voice was soft as she finally said, “As if I might be on someone else’s journey.”
His eyes filled with understanding. “Do you ever feel that way?”
He shook his head. “That I’m on someone else’s journey, no. But I can’t say I’m enjoying my own ride.”
Her brows lifted with surprise. “Why not?”
He shifted in his chair and she wondered if she’d gone too far, made him uncomfortable. But he didn’t look as if he wanted to bolt. On the contrary, he looked as if he were settling in. “Like I said, I know I’m on the right path. I’m on my path. I know what I’m supposed to be doing. But I’m not a patient man, Carla, and I always feel like I’m racing against the clock, charging ahead of time.” He let out a slow, deep breath. “It can be…unsettling.”
“At least you know you’re headed in the right direction.”
“Am I? Sometimes I wonder.”
“Of course you are.” She nodded vigorously, emphasizing her point. “These awards, these prizes.” She held up the medal. “All of this is your proof, Jackson. Proof you’re going the right way. The discoveries you’ve made confirm you’re getting closer toward the ultimate prize. These are all victories, and they shouldn’t be stuffed in a drawer. You need to bring them out and celebrate your achievements.” Her voice rose with the passion of her conviction. She felt her cheeks heating and ordered herself to calm down before Jackson started thinking she’d gone off the deep end.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, nodding. “Perhaps I’ve been thinking about them in the wrong way. I’d always thought they diverted my focus away from what I really want. Maybe they’re actually proof that my focus is on track.”
He stayed silent and stared off in the distance for another minute, as if contemplating his own words, before seeming to remember Carla was still in the room. A slow grin eased its way across his lips. He rose from the chair and in a couple of short steps closed the distance between them.