Foul Play (6 page)

“You don't seem like the torturing type,” she said, lacing her voice with false bravado.

“Oh? What type am I?”

The loving type, she thought. She didn't mean it in the physical, sexual sense. She simply thought that he was a lovable person, and she understood why the checkout ladies had given him such an enthusiastic recommendation. His positive good humor inspired good feelings in others. She was sure his success as a veterinarian was
partially due to this. With the possible exception of Mr. Billings's cat, animals immediately responded to him.

She heard his breath hitch and realized she'd drawn a line across his lower lip with the tip of her finger.

“Criminy,” she said, pulling her hand away as if it had been burned. “I didn't mean to do that! Gee, I'm really sorry. I mean, you don't go around fondling your employer. It was just one of those unconscious nervous gestures…like cracking your knuckles or drumming your fingers.”

She was going to be struck down dead for lying. It had been seduction, plain and simple, and they both knew it. And if that weren't bad enough, she'd panicked like some preteen dimwit.

Jake frowned. “Why do I still make you nervous? I thought you only got nervous on the first kiss.”

“Sometimes on the second kiss,” she said breathlessly, surprised at how badly she wanted that second kiss.

“I wouldn't want to be responsible for
any unnecessary stress,” Jake said, moving his lips lightly across hers, more of a caress than a kiss, more tantalizing than satisfying. “How about the third and fourth?”

Amy felt intoxicated by his nearness, by the prospect of more kisses. He ran his finger across her lip, just as she had done to him, and the gesture was almost unbearable in its tenderness. “Not many men get to the third or fourth,” she answered honestly, watching his mouth slowly descend to hers. It was a gentle kiss, velvety soft and languorous. The kiss deepened, almost enveloping her in its dreamy intimacy.

He pulled away and watched her for a moment, enjoying the desire he found in her eyes. There was something special going on between them. They both knew it, though she was more reluctant to act on it. He suspected her personality was more cautious, tidier and more analytical than his.

He tentatively explored the curve of her spine and the angle of her hipbone with a gentle hand. The silk shirt was slick under his touch, the woman warm beneath it. He
kissed her again, moving his hands along her rib cage until his thumbs rested on the underside of her breasts.

Now what? He wanted to go on. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and make passionate love to her, over and over again, until they were too exhausted to continue.

“Oh hell,” he muttered.

Amy blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“Don't you have some steak to cook?”

Amy stiffened in his arms. One minute he was all lovey-dovey and then he was grumpy. “Boy, you sure are moody.”

“It's my stomach. It's hungry. And I've got this chicken thing on my mind.” And I'm in love, he thought. I'm trying to do the right thing, here, but it's damn frustrating.

Amy took the steaks from the counter and carried them to the grill on the back deck.

“Yeah. I guess I can understand that. I'm upset about the rooster, too. Poor thing. I hope it's okay.”

It was twilight when they finally rose from the picnic table and carried their
dinner remains into the kitchen. Amy made coffee and handed Jake the cookie jar. “Did the police ever figure out how the thief got into the building?”

Jake nibbled on a chocolate chip cookie. “It looked like he just came in through the front door. The police said our locks aren't especially secure. In fact, they showed me how to open them with a credit card. First thing Monday, I'm having a locksmith change all the locks. And I've hired a night attendant. This isn't going to happen again.”

“Do you suppose it could have been an inside job? Someone with a key?”

Jake shook his head no. “Allen and I are the only ones with keys.”

“I don't like Brian Turner, either,” Amy said, “but I can't see him stealing a rooster. I can't see him getting his hands dirty with something like that.”

“Maybe he didn't actually do the taking. Maybe there was someone else involved.”

Amy served the coffee and took a cookie from the jar. “Who'd you have in mind? Henry Chickenhawk?”

“How about Veronica Bottles?”

“Why would she want to steal her own rooster?”

Jake shrugged. “She's dumb enough to do anything. I'm open to ideas.”

“Good. Here's my idea. How about we forget this whole thing and go for a nice, relaxing five-mile run.”

Jake choked on his coffee. “
No!
I mean, that'd be great, but what about justice? Your honor is at stake. And besides, I have an obligation here. I lost the bird, so I should find the bird. After all, I have a reputation to uphold.” Not to mention excruciating cramps in my legs. “And I don't have any shorts with me,” he added lamely.

Amy worried her lower lip. She really wasn't the dashing, daring detective type. She was early-to-bed, early-to-rise, dependable Amy who liked children and small dogs. She had no aspirations to be Wonder Woman, and she didn't think her honor was in imminent danger, but she did care about Jake's reputation as a veterinarian. Darn that chicken. He was nothing but trouble.

With a resigned sigh, Amy presented Jake with the phone book. “I suppose you're determined to do this.”

Jake sent her a sheepish smile and thumbed through the alphabet. “Turner, Brian. He's on Ridge Road. Bet he lives in a condo with a Jacuzzi. Bet we find feathers on his driveway.”

His eyes traveled the length of Amy. “I think it would be best if you changed your clothes. Wear something dark. Jeans and sneakers, in case we have to run.”

Amy grimaced. This was going to be a disaster. They were going to get caught and arrested and sent to prison. What would she tell her mother? Who would feed her cat?

Ten minutes later they were seated in Jake's car. The engine churned, the car backfired twice. Amy suggested, for the sake of a fast and silent getaway, that they use her car.

Jake looked over at the sleek, low-slung red sports car and smiled wide. “Can I drive?”

Amy hesitated. There was something in his voice, in his eyes, in the way he leaned
forward when he looked at her car. It was the way she looked at cheesecake.

“You'll be careful, won't you? It isn't paid for.”

He ran his hand over the front fender. “Bet this baby can really move.”

“I don't know, actually. I don't drive very fast. I bought it because it was pretty.”

“Oh man! Teakwood steering wheel!”

Amy held the keys tight in her fist. “Except for the steering wheel, the whole car's fiberglass. They tell me it'll tear easily. Just crumple at the smallest bump.”

Jake slid behind the wheel and worked the gearshift. “Vroom, vroom, vroom,” he said.

Amy rolled her eyes and dropped the keys in his lap. She marched around to the passenger side and strapped herself in.

Jake was her employer, her friend, her partner in crime. He was something else. Boyfriend? No, boyfriend implied dating. Lover? Not yet. She didn't know what to call it, but they were definitely in deep like. There was some sort of special relationship
growing between them. Relationships required trust, right?

Jake put the car in gear and slowly backed out of the driveway. Okay, nothing to worry about. She trusted him. He put his foot to the accelerator, the result snapping her head back, pressing her into the back of her seat.

“What pickup,” Jake shouted, rocketing down Wheatstone Drive.

Amy clutched the dashboard. “What are you doing? This isn't a racecourse. This is a family neighborhood. There are dogs and cats and kids scurrying across this road.”

A hint of scarlet spotted his cheekbones. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

“Men.”

Jake looked at her sideways. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Men are always getting carried away. It must be in their DNA. Too much adrenaline. Not enough vitamin B. Too much testosterone.”

“Ah hah! Now we're getting somewhere. I assume you're speaking from personal experience? You know someone with too
much testosterone?” Give me his name and address, Jake silently raged. I'll neuter him.

Amy thought about it for a minute. She'd always accused Jeff of being obsessed with sex. In her mind, it had all been vastly overrated, anyway. She'd never been all that tempted to go the distance. Until Jake.

Jake had an invigorating effect on her hormones. Maybe she should reconsider her ideas about getting carried away. Now that she thought about it, she'd gotten sort of carried away when he kissed her for the first time, and she'd definitely been carried away when she was drunk. And tonight…she'd melted in his arms. “Son of a gun.”

“Would you like to elaborate on that statement?” Jake asked.

“Nope. I don't want to touch it.”

Lord, how do you tell a man he turns you into farina? Especially a man who gets hungry for steak in the middle of a clinch. No sir, you could never accuse Jake of getting carried away. He was the epitome of self-control. He was a brick. And it was really beginning to annoy her.

Amy squinted into the darkness. “Is this the way to Ridge Road?”

“This is the way to my apartment,” Jake said, pulling into a parking lot. “I need some detective equipment.”

Amy studied the red-brick garden apartments. Boring, she thought. Sterile. Two large brick boxes with mean little windows evenly spaced, and flat, uninviting doorways at regular intervals. Most of the grass lawn had been trampled into rock-hard dirt. She inwardly cringed at the thought of Jake living there.

Jake opened his front door and motioned Amy into a small foyer leading to a narrow flight of stairs. Spot bounded down to greet them.

“Spot is the reason I took this apartment,” Jake explained. “It's only five minutes from the clinic, it's the only apartment building within five hundred miles that allows pets, and it backs up to a patch of woods and a pond.”

He vigorously scratched the dog's ears. “Spot likes to swim.” He pushed Spot up the stairs. “I've thought about getting a
house of my own, but I can't seem to find the time.”

Amy stood at the top of the stairs and searched for a polite word. She couldn't find any. The apartment was small and impossibly cluttered. The furniture looked comfortable but threadbare. An expensive ten-speed bike leaned against one wall. A microwave sat on an end table near the couch. Veterinary journals were stacked on the floor by the microwave. A vacuum cleaner sat in the middle of the living room rug, and a well-worn swimsuit edition of
Sports Illustrated
with a coffee-cup ring on the cover occupied a prominent place on the coffee table.

“It's a placemat,” Jake said.

Amy believed him…almost.

Jake searched through a mound of clean, unfolded laundry, which had been dumped in an overstuffed easy chair.

“I really need more room. I need some place I can use as an office. And I could use a garage or a basement. I grew up in a small town, in a big old farmhouse. It wasn't used
as a farm anymore, but we had lots of elbow room and a bunch of outbuildings.”

He found a wool sweater that had shrunk to the size of doll clothes. “Guess I shouldn't have put this in the dryer,” he said, throwing the garment across the room for Spot. “Go fetch,” he shouted.

“I like Fairfax. The people are nice, and I like the activity, but I miss the sense of space and order I had as a kid.”

Jake grinned while he pulled on a black T-shirt. “I guess this apartment is like your yard. Out of control. I'd like to fix it up, but I don't know where to begin. Your house is nice. It feels like home. It's peaceful.”

Amy folded a towel. “I like it, too. I have a year's lease with an option to buy. Now that I've lost my job at the TV station, I don't know whether I'll be able to secure the mortgage.”

She had a small savings account from a trust fund. She'd intended to use it as a down payment, but if she didn't get a better-paying job soon, she'd have to start dipping into the account to pay bills. She
thought of the expensive red car sitting in the parking lot and pressed her lips together. Hindsight.

Jake took a pair of binoculars and a camera from the hall closet. “The professionals always take these on a stakeout. You don't always see them, because sometimes they leave them in their cars.”

“Don't you need a trench coat, too?”

“It's at the cleaners.”

“This is an expensive town house,” Amy said, checking the address Jake had written on the notecard with the address in front of her. “I guess station managers do all right for themselves.”

It was a new complex of red-brick Georgian row houses, complete with underground garages and corniced entrances. Several skylights bubbled from the pitched roof and the lined edges of expensive draperies framed long casement windows. A professional arrangement of shrubberies and flowers hugged the house and the small front porch. Light glowed golden in the downstairs front room. The rest of the house was dark.

“He must be home,” Jake said. “I guess that eliminates breaking and entering.”

“What a shame. I had my heart set on it.”

Jake cut the engine, and they sat motionless in the dark car, the silence feeling heavy in the humid Virginia air. Jake stared straight ahead into Turner's windows, one hand casually draped over the polished wood steering wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, between the black-leather bucket seats.

Amy was more intrigued with the man beside her than the town house windows. She watched his chest rise and fall, studied his calm profile, the strong column of his neck. She wondered why he was doing this. She suspected it was partly play, partly something more. Who knew? Maybe in another life he had been Robin Hood, Zorro…Indiana Jones.

“Now what?”

He kept staring at the house. “I don't know. I'm new at this. It's Saturday night. I was counting on him to be out.”

“Why are we doing this? The police are conducting an investigation…”

“The police suspect
you
!” How could he tell her what that did to him. How it tore him up inside. It was so dumb! A rooster, for crying out loud. Dammit, it burned him up to have that weasel Turner pointing his nasty finger at her, and it galled him to watch her garbage get pawed through.

Man, love was the pits. It made you crazy. It was painful. Sometimes love was soft and incredibly beautiful. He couldn't tell her how he felt. She'd think he was nuts. She might be right.

Besides, there were other reasons. “Someone broke into my clinic and took a sick animal. I feel violated and outraged and disgusted. I know this is stupid, but I need to feel like I'm doing something helpful. I hate sitting around, feeling impotent and victimized.”

A car pulled into the small pipestem parking lot, flashing headlights into Amy's rear window.

“Uh-oh,” Jake said, “we should look busy. I'd hate to be recognized here.”

He hauled Amy halfway across the gearshift and wrapped her in his arms. “I
think I've just found another good reason why I'm doing this,” he said, as his mouth closed over hers.

For the first moment they kept their eyes open, watching the car pull into the parking space next to them.

“Holy cow,” Amy whispered, “that's Veronica Bottles.”

She felt Jake's arms tighten around her, pulling her down across the seat so that she was almost under him. He kissed her again, and the reality of Jake's body pressed against hers drove out all thoughts of the brunette next to them. Amy closed her eyes and wound her arms around Jacob Elliott.

Jake knew the moment it happened…when they had stopped hiding and started loving. He felt it in Amy's body, the way it suddenly grew pliant, yielding under him. And he felt it in her mouth. Soft and inviting. He was lost to the feel of her under him and wanted nothing more in life than to be a part of her. He wanted to be her lover, and he wanted all the responsibilities and privileges it carried. He wanted to take care of her when she
was sick, and laugh with her when she was happy, and he wanted to make her feel like a well-loved woman.

He swept his tongue into her mouth as his hand slid under her shirt. He heard her breath catch in her throat. It was a sound that brought such a rush of emotion it frightened him.

Lord, she was sweet. He wanted to taste every inch of her. He wanted to teach her the pleasures of passion. And that wasn't going to happen here, he thought, dragging himself up from the depths of his own desire.

He held Amy tight for a moment, coming to terms with his own runaway emotions. He kissed her hair and looked into her eyes, hazy with longing. “We can't do this here.” His voice was tender, almost a murmur.

Amy didn't respond immediately. She was lost in her newfound sexuality, struggling to comprehend Jake's words, struggling with the knowledge that she hadn't wanted to stop. She was touched by the tenderness in his voice, and was
suddenly guilty about her motives. She'd selfishly encouraged something that, deep down inside, she'd known was doomed from the outset. It was physically impossible to lose your virginity in her car. Well, maybe not impossible, but definitely difficult. She owed him an apology.

“I'm sorry.”

“Are you sorry we stopped, or are you sorry we started?”

“Both. And I'm not ready to elaborate on the fact that I'm sorry we stopped.”

Jake grinned at her, his smile devilish in the darkness. “I bet you're not as sorry as I am.”

“Oh yeah? Just how sorry are you?”

He sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Very, very sorry.”

Amy laughed softly and pushed herself up to a sitting position. “Good heavens, what must Veronica Bottles think?”

Jake looked surprised. “Veronica Bottles! I'd forgotten all about her. What the devil is she doing visiting Turner, anyway?”

He trained the binoculars on the front window, but he couldn't see anything
through the narrow slit in the draperies. “Come on, Amy, let's do some snooping. I want to see what they're up to.”

Amy adjusted her clothing and got out of the car. Snooping. Great. Well, nobody could say her life was dull.

“Jake! What are you doing?” she whispered. “Get out of those bushes!”

Jake had his nose pressed against Turner's front window. “Damn, I can't see a thing. They must be in the back part of the house.”

He grabbed Amy's hand and pulled her down the sidewalk, to the last house in the row. They skirted the end house and started making their way through dark yards.

“The fifth house,” Jake said. “This is it.”

Glass sliding doors opened to a cement patio. Gas barbecue, round wood picnic table with umbrella, red geraniums in oak casks. The downstairs rooms were dark; above them, light poured from a bay window, making checkered patterns on the black-looking grass.

“I can't see from here,” Amy whispered.

“You'll be able to see perfectly when I get you up in this tree.”

Amy's eyes widened.
“No.”

“Yes,” Jake said, hoisting her above his head. “Grab the limb.”

Amy scrambled to get a hand hold and swung her leg over the lowest branch.

“Can you see them?”

“Perfectly. They're in the kitchen. Oh, goodness,” she gasped.

“What goodness? What are they doing?”

“They're kissing, and…um, fondling. Right in front of the window. Holy cow, this is embarrassing.”

“Well, now we know how she got your job, don't we. Do you see a rooster in there?”

“No rooster,” Amy whispered. “They've stopped kissing, and they're talking. Wow, he didn't like something she said. Hey, this is really getting good. He's pacing around, waving his arms. Now she's mad. Now she's crying. Now they're back to kissing. Now they're…Oh, geez. She just put her hand on his—”

“She put her hand on his what?” Jake whispered.

“I'm getting down, and don't you ever tell my mother I did this.”

Jake caught her as she dropped out of the tree. “On his what?” he practically shouted.

“On his what do you think!” Her cheeks were burning. She put her hands to them to cool them off. “Veronica Bottles doesn't waste much time on preliminaries.”

Jake smiled and gathered Amy to him. “I'm sorry. I was hoping you'd see Red…not an X-rated love scene.”

A light flashed on in an upstairs bedroom, and the shades were drawn. “I think they'll be busy for a while,” Jake said.

He peered into the dark, ground-level windows. Nothing. He walked the length of the yard, carefully checking flowerbeds.

Amy stood behind him while he inspected the mulch around a small dogwood. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure nothing's been buried here,” he said grimly. He took Amy by the hand and led her to the front of the buildings, back to the car. “I think this would be a good time to check out Veronica Bottles. We'll stop by the clinic and get her address from the files.”

Amy took one last look at the town house
and shivered before getting into her car. “Veronica Bottles and Brian Turner together. In bed. Yuck.”

“Not a nice mental image, is it?”

“I feel like I need a shower. Geez, you should have seen them groping at each other.” Amy made a face. “Not very romantic.”

Jake turned onto the highway. “I suspect romance isn't an important part of their relationship.”

Oh hell, he thought, watching Amy. She was comparing what she'd seen in the window to her own little groping session in the car. She stared stonily out the front window, a small frown hovering in her eyebrows, her mouth compressed.

In retrospect, their one shot at unbridled passion didn't exactly score a ten on the romance scale, Jake decided. In fact, now that he thought about it, there wasn't anything romantic about their relationship at all. He'd met her in the supermarket; she'd run him into the ground on the jogging trail; and now he'd practically jumped her bones in a cramped two-seater
sports car…in a public parking lot. Wow. Amy deserved better than that.

Of course, he had brought her a rose that first morning. He breathed a small sigh of relief. He wasn't completely without points. He wasn't a total clod.

He took Amy's hand and squeezed it gently. “Amy, what you saw in that window doesn't have anything to do with us. People have sexual encounters for a variety of reasons.”

“What was the reason for our…encounter?”

What was the reason? He loved her. How could he tell her that? He'd sound like an idiot. How can you love me? she'd say. You don't know anything about me. You don't know my birthday, my favorite color, my ring size. How can you love me when we've never discussed politics, or gone to a hockey game, or been to a bakery together. Maybe we have totally different tastes in doughnuts. Jake swallowed. “Do you like Boston creams?”

Amy blinked at him. “Um, yeah.”

“There! You see, we have something in common.”

“You mean, I almost lost my virginity because we both like the same pastry?”

“Well, there's more to it than that. There's mutual respect, and experiences shared, and emotional involvement.”

Amy sank deeper into her seat. “What emotion did you have in mind? Lust?”

Jake had to admit there was a fair share of lust. “Lust would be one of them.”

“Lust,” Amy repeated. “It's such an ugly word. There's no music to it, no depth.”

“You're right. Lust is out. How about passion? Libidinous desire, sensual appetites, erotic hunger? Personally, I like libidinous desire. There's a lot of lip action on that one.”

Amy smiled. He was teasing her, trying to lighten her mood. Trying to weasel out of a serious discussion. Avoiding a verbal commitment. She couldn't blame him. They'd only known each other a few days. She couldn't expect him to be in love with her…even though she suspected she was in love with him. “Ridiculous,” she said.

“Okay. Ridiculously libidinous. How's that?”

He pulled the car into the clinic parking lot and stared dumbstruck at a squad car. “Now what?”

“Attempted break-in,” the police officers told Jake. “We've got our report. We were just leaving. Good thing you have a night attendant. He really used his head.”

Jake looked at the college student he'd hired. A purple bruise was forming on his forehead. “Are you all right?”

The boy touched his hand to his head and grinned sheepishly. “I thought I heard someone in the parking lot, so I came in the front room to investigate. I tried to look out the little window in the top of the door, and
wham
, the door opened and bonked me in the head. Whoever it was, they took off before I could get to them.”

“Were they in a car?” Jake asked.

“I think so. That was what I heard in the parking lot. A car. But I never actually saw it.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“About a half hour ago,” the boy replied. “At least they didn't get any more animals.”

Jake looked puzzled. “Yeah. You did a good
job. Would you like to go to the emergency room? Get that bruise looked at?”

The young man shook his head and brushed his sandy-colored hair out of his eyes. “I'm fine. I'd rather stay here. I'm studying in your office. This is a great job. I get paid for studying.”

Jake looked at Amy, rifling through the files. “Did you get the address?”

“Yes. It's not far from here.”

“It wasn't Turner,” Jake said when they were in the car. “He was in his house when the break-in attempt occurred. I guess it could have been Veronica Bottles, but it doesn't add up. Why would she want to get into the office?” His voice rose an octave. “There's no possible reason for her to want to get into the office.”

“Maybe she left something there. A clue. Maybe she returned to the scene of the crime to get rid of the evidence.”

“You're starting to sound like Miss Marple. Finally getting into this detective stuff, huh?”

“Turn right at the stoplight,” Amy directed. “She lives in the apartment complex
at the bottom of the hill.” She studied the building numbers and pointed to a parking space. “Here. I have to admit, this gets curiouser and curiouser. I never thought there'd be a second break-in.”