Authors: Lois Greiman
Unscrewed (26 page)
“The yellow pages. L.A. Counseling. Christina McMullen, Ph.D.” He was blushing again. Kind of sweet, but when I glanced onto the street, I felt my suspicions fire up. Maybe they’re innate. But maybe the attempts on my life had had an adverse effect on my naturally optimistic nature. “Where’s your car?”
“I’m sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.” He backed down the steps. “I’ll let you get back to what you were doing. Give me a call sometime…if you want to.”
Suspicions. Maybe this was why I was sans five fat babies and the ubiquitous minivan. “No. This is fine.” I followed him down the steps. “Did you…want to take a look at the garage?”
I turned left, giving him time to recover.
“I thought your secretary would have told you to expect me.”
“The Magnificent Mandy doesn’t like to be conventional.”
He laughed, sounding nervous. “Hank needed the truck. I took a cab over. Cost me an arm and an ear.”
I immediately felt guilty. I mean, yeah, I did need a new garage, but I was a little more interested in how his forearms flexed when he cleaned windshields. “Listen, Will, I don’t know if I can afford—”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” We’d reached the corner of my garage. It canted toward the south as if fighting a stout nor’westerly. He glanced down Opus Street. There was no traffic this time of night. “I didn’t mean it like that. Man, I’m terrible with hot—” He paused, flustered.
My ears perked up…along with my self-confidence. “What were you saying?”
We made eye contact. The sun was setting, casting a rosy glow over the ensuing night…and my mood. He shuffled his feet. “Hank can charm the socks off pretty girls. But I…” Another shrug.
I remembered our conversation at the gas station. It had actually been rather witty. “I think you do okay.”
“You kidding? I’m sweating like a greased pig. Of course, in Oshkosh they find that sexy.”
I laughed. He exhaled sharply, stared at me for a moment, then turned nervously away. “So this is the alleged garage.”
I gave it a jaundiced glance. I’d once parked Solberg’s Porsche in it. He’d threatened litigation. “Can it be saved?”
He made a face. “Are you religious?”
“When I have to be.”
He tapped a rotted board with his foot. “Now’s the time.”
“I’ll buy a rosary.”
He glanced at me. “You’re kidding. You’re Catholic
and
beautiful.”
Our gazes locked again. “Am I going to have to pay extra for the flattery?”
“We don’t see a lot of girls like you in Oshkosh,” he said and took a step toward me.
I should have stepped back, but it wasn’t as if Prince Charming was waiting in the wings. Hell, Rivera wasn’t even waiting in the wings. Still, my nerves were jumping. Nice girls don’t make out on the first day. Of course, it had been about a decade and a half since I’d considered myself a girl. And the rules are less stringent for aging women who have been inadvertently celibate for twenty-one months, two weeks, and six days.
“Thought my heart was going to stop when I saw you across the parking lot,” he said, and stepped a little closer. He smelled kind of woodsy, like fresh-cut timber.
Harlequin galloped around the corner of the garage, chasing nothing.
“Would have sold my kidneys just to see you smile.”
Things were heating up rapidly. “Listen, Will—” I began, but then he kissed me with mouthwatering sweetness.
“I’ll leave if you want me to,” he whispered. “Or—”
He froze, glanced at the street.
“Or what?” I whispered, but suddenly something popped.
“Fuck it!” he swore, and lurched behind me.
Another pop. I spun toward him, numb, disoriented, and
sure,
absolutely
certain
someone wasn’t shooting at me. Not again. Wood sprayed into the air. I screamed. He shoved me forward. I fell onto my knees. A bullet whizzed through my hair. I dropped onto my belly, chanting Jesus’ name.
And it must have worked, because the night went silent. My heart was beating like bongos against the dirt. I lifted my head a quarter of an inch. No pinging.
Behind me, something whined and suddenly I felt sick. Sick and shaky.
“Harlequin.” I turned on scathed hands and bloody knees.
Will Swanson was sprawled on the ground in front of me. Eyes staring, hand slack around the pistol that lay beside him.
Also by Lois Greiman
UNZIPPED
UNPLUGGED
*1
Janet Evanovich
UNSCREWED
A Dell Book / February 2007
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2007 by Lois Greiman
Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-440-33677-8
v3.0