He didn't stroll or smile or laugh. He sighed, as bored with his life as his students were with his lectures, and walked down the concrete steps to the parking lot and his very practical, very serviceable silver-gray Ford Taurus. For the money he'd paid, the car was the most dependable car on the market, according to his research. So what if this particular model hadn't come with too many extras? Who needed extras? It had A/C, a cassette player and power windows. No power locks. No sun-roof. No cruise control. No CD. Heck, he might have preferred one or two of those options, but for the money, this car was perfect.
He stuck the key in the lock, turned it and opened the door. As he did, a deep-throated roar caught his attention, and he straightened up to look. A handsome young jock cruised by in his Porsche Boxster, gleaming cherry-red, with chrome so shiny it reflected the sunlight and nearly blinded him for a moment. The radio was blasting, and a gorgeous coed sat in the passenger side.
The driver waved. "See you next week, Professor Ingram."
"Have a good weekend, Derek," he replied with a wave.
For a moment, just a tiny moment in time, Zach Ingram felt something stir in his belly, something a little like envy, but mostly, a dull yearning. He shook it off and told himself that he was the consummate boring professor. He was not a jock. He wasn't macho. Women would occasionally give him a second look, but rarely a third. It wasn't that he was unattractive, he supposed. He and his brother looked so much alike people were constantly getting them confused, and his brother attracted women like honey attracts bees. But his brother was tough and masculine, athletic and adventurous, bold and intimidating, not to mention considerably wealthy. A real hero type.
Zach was ... well, just Zach. He wasn't sure how he'd perform in a crisis, since he'd never had to. Jake was always there to jump in, take charge.
Sighing, Zach got into his car, fastened his seat belt and started up the engine. But just as he went to put the vehicle into reverse, another car drove up behind him and stopped. He couldn't back up without smashing right into the driver's door of the blue sedan. And the driver, a harmless-looking woman of perhaps sixty, very frail, with a thin face, sat there staring at the steering wheel and shaking her head.
Pressing his lips together, Zach got out and walked around behind his car, and up to hers. "Ma'am, is there something I can help you with?" he asked.
"Oh, dear, I just don't know what's wrong. It won't go."
He smiled just as little as he glanced in at the controls. "You've got it in neutral," he told her gently. "Just move the shift a little to the right."
She lifted her brows in surprise. "Oh, my! How silly I feel! Dear young man, would you mind doing me one more favor?"
"Of course not, ma'am."
"Just open that back door for me, if you don't mind."
"The back door?" Zach glanced at the rear door on the driver's side.
"Yes, that one right there. Would you open it for me?"
Shrugging, he moved to the back door and opened it, expecting it to stick or something, but it opened easily. He stood in the opening, glancing into the back seat.
"Oh, that's so much better," the old woman said.
"Now if you'll just get into the car."
"Get into the -" He glanced up at her as he spoke, then stopped at the sight that greeted him. The sweet little lady had a handgun and she was pointing it at him.
"Get in," she said.
It was a prank, he thought. It had to be some kind of fraternity prank or something. It couldn't be real.
But then he felt a looming presence behind him, and even as he turned, there was a jab in his thigh. He'd been stabbed!
But no. It wasn't a knife. It was a hypodermic needle. And within the time it took for him to realize that, Zach's head was swimming and his knees had turned to water. He sank slowly, and the large, blond-haired man behind him shoved him into the car, got in beside him and slammed the door. Then the lady drove.
The last words he heard came from the old woman as she said, "Just relax now, Jake. Everything's gonna be just fine."
* * *
Dr. Maisy Jane Dalton was sealing a very large envelope, sighing in contentment at a job well done and looking forward to her first free afternoon in six months, when the telephone rang.
She closed her eyes and told herself to let the machine get it. She'd been working for more than a year on her second book. The first, Hypnosis and Memory: An In-Depth Perspective, had been acclaimed as a breakthrough work on the subject by the entire psychiatric community. This new one, Deprogramming the Human Mind, had been eagerly anticipated, and for a while she'd been sorely afraid she would never get it done by her publisher's deadline. But as of today, as of about an hour ago, in fact, it was finished.
The telephone rang again.
She needed time off. All she wanted to do today was go to the Austin post office, drop the envelope into the outgoing mail and take the rest of the day, followed by the rest of the month, maybe, to just let her brain rest.
The phone rang a third time.
Then again, she thought, it was probably better to keep her mind occupied. Less time for regrets that way.
Sighing, hoping it was nothing even remotely work-related - like another talk show appearance or print interview or government agency in search of a consultant - she picked up the phone. "M. J. Dalton," she said.
"Dr. M. J. Dalton?" a woman asked. "The psychiatrist?"
Older, Maisy thought. And she sounded nervous, under stress. "Yes, that's me."
"Oh, thank God! You've no idea how relieved I am to hear your voice. Dr. Dalton, I am in desperate need of your help!"
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Enemy Mind by Maggie Shayne Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.