Intimate Enemy. Marilyn Pappano
Lys slowed to a stop behind her and rolled the passenger window down, looking from Jamie to the pickup truck beside her before frowning. “You see Prince Charmless?” she asked sourly.
“Yeah, I did. What are you doing out?”
“Picking up a pizza.”
“You know, Luigi’s delivers.”
“Yeah, but this way I get to anticipate that first bite all the way home. Want to come over and share?”
Jamie shook her head. “It’s been a long day. I just want to get home.”
“You’ll regret it when you’re looking in your freezer at nothing but boxed dinners. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Be careful.”
“Always,” Lys replied with a grin before driving away.
Jamie got into the car, started the engine on the first try and headed home. Her house was little more than a mile from downtown, in a neighborhood where the yards were big, the houses were old and the trees were older. The house was white siding above dusty red-brick, with the shutters painted black. The steps leading to the front door were brick, as well, and arched out from the foundation in half-round tiers, each anchored by pots of brightly blooming flowers.
She pulled into the driveway, stopping even with the sidewalk. She unlocked the gleaming black door, an elegant contrast to the brass kick plate, then braced herself before opening the door. Mischa, best friend, companion and confidant, rocketed into her with enough force to knock her against the jamb, then abruptly the dog dropped to her haunches, eyes wide, just the tip of her broad pink tongue showing. It was as close to a smile as a dog could get.
“Hey, sweetie, I’ve missed you, too. Do you know I turned down Luigi’s Pizza just so I could come home and be with you?”
Mischa’s ears perked at the magic word. She loved Jamie, pizza, an old red shoe and snuggling when she slept—not necessarily in that order.
“Don’t you drool on my rug,” Jamie admonished as she set her bag down at the foot of the stairs, then kicked off her shoes. “I said I turned down the p-i-z-z-a. We’ll have to make do with what’s in the kitchen.”
Still looking hopeful, Mischa followed her down the hall and into the kitchen. A lone light burned above the sink, showing clean counters, gleaming pots hanging from a rack and a cooktop that looked as if it had come straight from the factory. Jamie wasn’t much of a cook; the only appliance she used with any regularity was the microwave.
And Lys was right: she did regret turning down the pizza when she faced the stacks of frozen dinners in the freezer. Disappointed by her chicken-and-pasta choice, Mischa padded over to her food dish and munched on dry nuggets.
“Another exciting night,” Jamie murmured as she punched the microwave buttons. “You and me alone.”
Mischa looked at her, then went back to crunching.
Dull and alone were okay, Jamie reminded herself. She’d had excitement for a time, and it had almost killed her. She could handle dull and alone. She could even handle seeing Russ twice in one day.
Though, if that became the rule rather than the exception, it just might kill her, too.
Chapter 2
Predawn wasn’t an unusual time for Russ to be out and about. He could get a good deal of work done before the crews or the office staff showed up. Getting up that early for Robbie, slumped in the passenger seat beside him, was apparently cruel and unusual punishment. His head tilted against the window, his eyes were closed and his snore was quiet. The guy could stay up until 5:00 a.m. partying, but ask him to get up then for a purpose, and he barely managed.
“Hey.” Russ poked Robbie’s shoulder as he merged onto the Bobby Jones Expressway in Augusta. “We’re almost there.”
One eye opened. “Almost where?”
“The airport. Remember? The Keys? Fishing? Catching the big one?”
“I’ll do that tomorrow. Need sleep.”
“You can sleep on the plane.”
“I could sleep right here if you’d shut up.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who wanted the first flight out this morning. You should be damn grateful that I offered to drive you.”
Robbie straightened in the seat, looking as if he was coming off the end of a three-day drunk. “I should have scheduled a noon flight.”
“You lazy bum. You give the rest of us a bad name.”
“With the old man gone, someone’s gotta do it.” Robbie rubbed his eyes, then combed his fingers through his hair. Once he got around the other passengers and the flight crew, especially if any of them were female and pretty, he would shake off his fatigue and act like the TV bunny, going and going. It was easy for him.
Not so for Russ. Oh, he had the energy. He just didn’t like expending it on people.
Bush Field was coming to life as employees prepared for another start of business. Russ pulled to the curb near one of the entrances and faced his brother. “Have fun.”
“I always do.” Robbie opened the door and slid halfway out, then turned back. “Listen, if you don’t mind…keep an eye on things, would you?”
He sounded serious—a rare enough occurrence in Russ’s experience. “What things?”
“Just…things. If anything seems strange or wrong, tell Tommy about it.”
Tommy Maricci’s father had been a shift foreman in the Calloway logging operation for years, and Tommy, Russ and Robbie had raised a lot of hell before they’d all gone off to college. Now a detective with the Copper Lake police, Tommy was still raising hell with Robbie.
“What kind of things, Rob?” Russ asked again. “Are you in trouble?”
“No. But someone I know might be.”
Someone he knew would include the whole damn town of Copper Lake. Narrowing down which one of them would take more energy and interest than Russ possessed.
Robbie got out, heaved his bags from the pickup bed, then grinned. “Give my best to Amanda Saturday.”
Russ snorted. “I’ll give my best to her. I don’t want to get punched for mentioning your name. Have fun. Bring back some fish.”
“Will do.” Robbie slammed the door, picked up his bags and headed inside the terminal. Before he even reached the entrance, he’d fallen into step beside a pretty flight attendant and said something to make her flash a million-watt smile.
Grinning, Russ pulled into the lane and headed back toward the expressway and home. It was a long drive back to Copper Lake, the sun slowly rising on the horizon behind him, his schedule for the day playing through his mind. An inspection at the Forsythia Drive address, a problem with the tilers at the new clinic on the highway out of town, an appointment with the interior designer, the kitchen designer and the lighting designer at the condo project on the west side of the river, a stop by the accountant’s office. If he was lucky, he might squeeze in an hour or two to work at River’s Edge.
And if his luck ran the way it usually did, he’d run into Satan while he was there. At least he knew what car to look for this time. Idly he wondered if her car was in the garage and why she’d been working late last night. Whether he knew the person whose life she would be ruining next. How that piece of wood had gotten wedged behind her tire.
And the wind just blew it over, she’d said sarcastically. Not likely. Now that he took the time to consider it, neither was his theory that it had fallen from the Dumpster. The wood had been set securely behind the tire, nails up, a flat waiting to happen.
Was Jamie