Drake Sisters 04 - Dangerous Tides

should be. He tends to take shortcuts because he wants recognition more than he wants to get it right." He was suddenly all too aware of the silence of the others around him. That was the way it was with him. He didn't fit in, no matter how hard he tried. Most conversations seemed trivial to him when his mind was always working on unlocking some key and preferred to keep working no matter how hard he tried to shut it off.

    "This internal drug isn't even your department," Sam said. "I'll bet old Harry doesn't like you much, does he?"

    "Well, no," Ty admitted reluctantly. Harry didn't like him at all. He doubted if many people did. He wished it mattered to him, but only Sam really counted. He didn't like letting Sam down. "But it isn't a popularity contest. This drug could save lives. And the new drug is based on my earlier work in cell regeneration. If they get it wrong, I'd feel responsible."

    "Great. You're going to spend your off time in that makeshift lab in our basement, aren't you?" Sam asked. "I planned white-water rafting and a couple of rock climbing trips as well as parasailing. You'd better not back out on me again."

    Ty sat back in his chair and studied his cousin's handsome face. Sam managed to look petulant at times.
    He was the only man Ty knew who could pull off the look and still appeal to women. He'd seen it a million times. Sam had charm. Ty often wished he had just a little of whatever it was that Sam had. Sam got along with people. He could bullshit with the best of them and everyone liked him.

    Ty knew he had embarrassed Sam more than once through the years with his abrupt, abrasive manner.
    How many times had he missed some trip or outing Sam had planned because time got away from him Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    and fun with the boys wasn't nearly as exciting as working in the lab, following the trail of an inhibitor that might work on T-cells? The bottom line was, it didn't matter that he had an enormous IQ; he felt awkward in the company of others—and he probably always would—but he just didn't care enough to make time to improve his social skills.

    It was always an adjustment, living with Sam for three months out of the year. Ida Chapman had left her son, Sam, and her nephew, Tyson, her house when she'd passed away five years earlier. Ty always looked forward to visiting Sam, but that first month was difficult. Ty was used to being alone and not speaking to anyone, and Sam liked conversation. "I don't back out of our trips," Ty said. His frown deepened as Sam remained silent. "Do I?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He probably had, more than once. Disappointing Sam yet again.

    Sam shrugged. "It doesn't matter, Ty. I'm just giving you a hard time. You're a biochemist. They're all crazy."

    "And helicopter crews aren't?"

    A roar of laughter went up. Sam held out his hands, palms up. "All right, you've got me there."

    "I want to hear more about Ty's saint. Is she blond and built?" Rory Smith asked. He rubbed his hands together. "Let's get to the good stuff."

    "That's your idea of the perfect woman, Rory," Doug Higgens observed, jabbing the firefighter in the arm. "And you definitely don't want a saint. What does she look like, Ty? You found her yet?"

    Sam's mouth tightened. "He thinks he's found her."

    An image flashed in his mind before Ty could suppress it. Her face. Pale. Midnight black hair. Large green eyes. A mouth to kill for. Ty shook his head. "She has to be intelligent. I can't spend more than a couple of minutes with someone who's an idiot." And that was the problem, would always be the problem. He wanted to talk about things he was enthusiastic about. He wanted to share problems at work with someone. Not even Sam had a clue what he was talking about and Sam actually tolerated him.
    Most women's eyes just glazed over when he started talking. And God help him if a date started talking about hair and nails and makeup.

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    "Geez, Ty. What the hell is wrong with you? Who gives a damn if they have brains? You're just doing the wrong things with her," Rory said. "Stop trying to talk and get on with the action. You need help, man."

    Another round of laughter went up.

    Three tones blasted through the air and the men went instantly silent. The three tones chimed again and they were on their feet. The radio crackled and command central announced an