Ex Marks the Spot (Harlequin Next)

by Merline Lovelace

  Angling her head, she looked into his eyes. This decision came easily and without hesitation.

  “Sounds good to me, Armstrong.”

  CHAPTER 14

  When UPS ground service delivered the first shipment of books, Andi felt as though Christmas had arrived three months early. Like a six-year-old who’d snuck downstairs to find presents heaped under the tree, she shivered in joyous anticipation.

  Karen was every bit as eager. “Go ahead,” she urged. “Open one.”

  Both women had dressed for a day of bending, lifting and shelving. Andi was in jeans and a baggy purple T-shirt with the JCS emblem emblazoned in gold across the front. Karen’s hot-pink capris and matching smock made her hair look more orange than red, but their elastic waist and loose fit were designed for easy movement.

  “Okay.” Andi poised the blade of her box cutter over the first carton. “Here goes.”

  The blade sliced cleanly through paper tape. Eager hands folded back cardboard flaps to reveal neat stacks of paperback thrillers.

  “Ooooh!” Squealing, Karen fell on the top one. “Nelson DeMille’s latest. This is the first time I’ve seen it in softcover. I have to buy this for Jerry.”

  Two layers down she yelped again. “I want this Stuart Woods.”

  Andi had ordered only a few copies of each title, opting for variety instead of depth. As she lifted out the next layer, she began to suspect Karen might be her best customer.

  “Good thing I get an employee discount,” the young wife groaned. “Isn’t that Patricia Cornwell’s latest?”

  “It is.”

  Andi fondled the cover with a combination of reverence and exultation. Books had always been her joy, her entertainment, her escape. Now they constituted her livelihood. She knew the more mundane aspects of running a business would eventually blunt the excitement of opening cartons of books, but right now, at this moment, she felt as though she’d raised the lid on a chest crammed with priceless treasures. Alive with the thrill of the moment, she slipped out the printed notice inserted in Cornwell’s book.

  “This indicates the official on-sale date isn’t until next week.”

  “Good!” Greed laced her assistant’s reply. “That gives us plenty of time to read it—so we can give our customers an honest recommendation,” she tacked on.

  “Of course.”

  Paperback in hand, Andi reached for the wireless scanner wand. She’d tested her computerized inventory-and-sales system a dozen or more times on books from her personal library. Now for the real thing.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready,” Karen confirmed, squirming around for a clear view of the laptop perched atop another carton.

  Both women held their breath as Andi aimed the wand at the bar code on the back cover. After a beep and a thin red beam, a string of data painted across the screen.

  Karen let out a whoop of delight. “There it is! The very first entry from the very first carton of your very first shipment.”

  “Our very first shipment.” Battling a ridiculous reluctance to let the paperback out of her hands, Andi set it aside. “One down, several thousand to go.”

  It didn’t take long for the women to develop a smooth rhythm. One opened cartons and scanned, the other shelved. They alternated tasks at regular intervals throughout the morning, breaking only to snack on the Weight Watchers bars Karen had stuffed in her straw tote.

  Andi hadn’t forgotten her trip to the ER She kept an eye on the clock and was just about to call a halt for lunch when the waitress from the seafood restaurant across the street appeared with a large, steaming sack.

  “We saw the UPS truck deliver all these boxes,” the aproned brunette told Andi and Karen. “We—Sam and I—figured you two would be hard at it and might need something to keep you going. Sam’s the cook,” she added for clarification. “I’m Heather.”

  Touched by their kindness, Andi offered repayment in kind. “Thanks, Heather. And please thank Sam for us. If you’ll tell me what kind of books you both like to read, I’ll return the favor.”

  “I’ve got four kids,” the waitress said with a chuckle. “I don’t have time to read, but Sam eats up those Death on Demand books by Carol somebody.”

  “Carolyn Hart,” Andi and Karen chorused.

  Their instant and enthusiastic response made Heather blink in surprise.

  “I love her books,” Karen declared earnestly. “Especially those featuring the Darlings.”

  “Me, too.” Andi added her endorsement to her assistant’s. “I think Carolyn Hart is the greatest writer of traditional mysteries of our generation.”

  “If you say so. Gotta get back to work. Good luck with all these boxes.”

  Heather and Sam weren’t the only ones who’d noticed the UPS truck. The owner of the beachwear shop next door also popped in to take a peek at Andi’s stock and offer a word of warning about window displays.

  “The afternoon sun hits this side of the street full blast. It’ll fade the colors on these book jackets fast. You might want to buy a roll of stick-on window tint or have an awning installed.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Thanks for the advice.”

  AFTER A SMALL BREAK FOR lunch, the two women worked side by side until Karen had to head home to meet her boys’ school bus. Sliding the blade of her box cutter into its plastic handle, she surveyed the stacks of unopened boxes.

  “I hate to leave. We’ve hardly made a dent.”

  “I’d say fifteen cartons is more than a dent.”

  The young mother eyed the boxes once more, obviously reluctant to miss out on the treasures they contained. “You’re not going to stay here all night and open the rest by yourself, are you?”

  “Hardly. I have plans for tonight.”

  Those plans had flitted in and out of Andi’s head all day, adding another fillip of excitement to the thrill of delving into her first shipment.

  “I’ll open a few more boxes, then I have to go home and clean up for a town council meeting.”

  Followed by another more intimate meeting.

  Andi would make a brief appearance at the council as promised. She suspected her session with Dave would run considerably longer. She didn’t have to work hard to figure out which of those prospects made her nipples tingle with anticipation.

  With another reluctant glance at the waiting cartons, her assistant gathered her purse from under the counter.

  “Save the romances for me to shelve,” she pleaded. “I can’t wait to see what you ordered.”

  “You got it. And, Karen…”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for sharing today with me.”

  “You’re welcome. But I’m the one who should be thanking you for including me in this grand adventure.”

  That’s exactly what it was, Andi thought as she dug into another carton. A grand adventure.

  She’d gathered the statistics, knew that a third of all small businesses failed within three years. She also recognized that independent booksellers faced an uphill battle given the deep discounts and incentives publishers offered the big chains. Yet the thrill of being her own boss, of having complete control from start to finish over A Great Read, had brought her rolling out of bed every morning these past several weeks.

  Okay, every morning but this one. She stared unseeing into the carton she’d just opened, remembering how she’d nestled in the crook of Dave’s arm. Remembering as well the yeasty and achingly familiar scent of their lovemaking.

  The muscles low in her belly tightened. She could almost feel Dave driving into her, his hips pumping, hers slamming upward in instinctive, primitive response.

  She’d make her appearance at the town council extremely brief, Andi vowed.

  SHOWERED AND CHANGED into linen slacks and a tropical-print blouse, Andi showed up at the Elks Hall a little before seven. The mayor spotted her immediately. Waving her forward, he sabotaged her plans to sit unobtrusively at the back of the hall and slip out early.
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  “Colonel Armstrong! Glad you could make it. Let me introduce you to the folks on the council.”

  As promised, Frost had shown Andi’s videotape to the attorney kept on retainer by the town of Gulf Springs. He’d also discussed the situation with the council members. They were quick to thank Andi for exposing Talbot. They also agreed the tape might be challenged in a court of law but constituted sufficient grounds to terminate Bud Talbot’s on-call contract as a building inspector.

  Apparently word of the videotape had leaked beyond the council. As Al Frost introduced Andi to some of the other attendees, a number of them commented on it.

  “He put the squeeze on me a few years back,” the operator of a charter fishing service admitted. “Said he’d have to recalculate the weight-stress standards for my pier. I had a six-man charter from Chicago flying in the next day. It was either slip Bud a fifty or move my boat and all my gear to another dock.”

  “He hit me up, too,” the drugstore owner revealed. “Cost me a hundred before he approved the wiring for my new freezer unit.”

  With a look of exasperation on his liver-spotted face, the mayor challenged the two men. “Why didn’t you boys tell me what Bud was up to?”

  “Should have, I suppose.” The boat captain pushed back his cap and scratched his head. “Guess I felt he was doin’ me a favor by fudging his inspection report by a few pounds.”

  “Good thing the colonel here doesn’t go in for those kinds of favors. By the way,” Frost added slyly, “I’ve asked her to fill the empty seat on the council. I’m hoping y’all will help me persuade her.”

  The other men hopped right on that wagon, as did several members of the council, but Andi was too experienced at committee warfare to be roped in so easily. Smiling, she avoided making any commitments and settled in to watch the council in action.

  Fifteen minutes into the meeting, she was mentally admonishing the mayor for not adhering to his published agenda. Discussion rambled from one topic to the next and back again several times before anyone thought to bring an issue to a vote. Anyone in the hall with something to say was allowed to speak, whether on topic or not.

  Andi kept silent during the long-winded debate over an upgrade to the lighting at the public beach just east of town. She also refrained from comment after one of the council members suggested resurfacing the municipal parking lot but offered no solid financials to support the proposal.

  She got sucked in, however, when the mayor introduced a proposal for a memorial to veterans to be erected in the small park at the end of Main Street.

  “So many of our residents are serving or have served in the military,” Frost said with a smile and a nod in Andi’s direction. “We want to honor their service.”

  When he propped an artist’s sketch up on the table, Andi leaned forward for a closer look. The design was really well done, a skillful blend of natural elements like crushed-shell walks and colorful oleanders. A circular granite wall depicted the dates of the country’s major conflicts. Engraved on the wall were quotes from the great personages of each period. A static display of a Navy F-18 Hornet about to soar into flight dominated the center of the memorial.

  “Tom Chester honchoed this project before he vacated his seat on the council and moved away,” the mayor announced. “He’d talked to the Navy about acquiring an F-18 from the boneyard. From all reports, they weren’t very helpful.”

  He’d addressed his remarks to the assembled group, but Andi knew darn well he was talking to her. Reluctantly she raised her hand.

  “F-18s are still the mainstay of the Navy. They take a beating during catapult launches and the controlled crash known as a carrier landing. As a consequence, the Navy cannibalizes older F-18s in the boneyard for parts. It’s doubtful they’ll release one for static display until the airframe is stripped bare. You might want to consider another aircraft for the memorial.”

  “Which would you suggest?”

  He’d reeled her in now. Andi acknowledged as much with a wry smile.

  “As you well know, Hurlburt Field is the home of Special Operations Command Headquarters. Since it’s right across the Inland Waterway, I’d go with a Special Ops airframe. Either a C-130 Hercules or one of their specially configured helos.”

  “She’s right,” the charter boat captain chimed in. “The folks at Hurlburt are our closest neighbors. We ought to be working with them on this memorial.”

  “I understand you have a connection to Hurlburt,” the mayor said with bland understatement. “Think you could talk to him about our project?”

  Andi planned to do a lot more than talk to her connection—when and if she ever got out of this meeting. In the interests of expediting matters, she nodded.

  “I can do that.”

  “Maybe you could also take the artist’s design specs and get some estimates as to labor and costs. Dan Gillmore here works at a Home Depot over in Pensacola. He’ll help with the estimates.”

  “THAT’S ALL IT TOOK,” Andi confessed as she and Dave walked along the beach sometime later. “One artist’s sketch, a little unsubtle arm-twisting, and I find myself agreeing to fill an unexpired term on the Gulf Springs town council.”

  Pant legs rolled up, she splashed through the warm surf alongside Dave. He’d carried his beer with him. Although Doc Ramirez had given the green light concerning alcohol, Andi had opted for a bottle of unsweetened tea. Sue Ellen’s champagne had gone straight to her head last night. She wanted to be completely sober for whatever happened tonight.

  “I can see how a project like the memorial would snag your interest,” Dave said, his deep baritone a counter-point to the bubbling chatter of the surf. “You sure you have the time or the energy for it right now?”

  “I don’t see it taking too much of either. I worked out a preliminary action plan in my head and…”

  “You don’t have to tell me. You stopped at Wal-Mart on the way home, bought a three-ring binder and have already penciled tabs for each phase of the project.”

  “Hey, I’m not that anal.”

  His teeth showed in a quick, slashing grin. “Yeah, babe, you are.”

  “I didn’t buy a binder,” she informed him loftily.

  “Because you already had one at the house?”

  “Maybe.”

  “With tabs?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And the different-colored clips you use to indicate action completed or still pending?”

  Laughing, she came off her high horse. “All right, I like things neat and organized. So shoot me.”

  “How about I get you all messy and unorganized instead?”

  She hooked a brow. “Think you can?”

  “I know I can. Come here, woman.”

  Heat shooting from her neck to her knees, Andi went into his arms. She jumped out of them a half second later, screeching at the ice-cold jolt to her spine.

  “Dammit, Armstrong. No fair using your beer can as a weapon.”

  “You know us Special Tactics types. We use whatever object’s at hand to—oi!” It was his turn to bellow and jerk away from the stream of cold tea aimed at his midsection.

  “Oi?” Smirking, Andi whipped the plastic bottle in a slashing arc and hit him with another spray. “What is that? Some new Special Ops term? What happened to manly grunts and hooh-ahs?”

  “You want grunts? I’ll give you grunts.”

  As wet now from the surf they kicked up as from tea and the brew spilling out of his can, he ducked under her firing arm and caught her by the middle.

  “Dave! No!”

  Ignoring her shrieks, he dragged her down with him. Sand and surf churned as they rolled over and over, each fighting for supremacy.

  It wasn’t much of a contest. Andi was no match for his strength. She thought about resorting to cunning but couldn’t work up any real objections to the feel of his body pinning hers to the sand.

  “Okay, okay,” she huffed, soaked and out of breath. “I concede.”

  He kne
w her too well to accept such an easy victory. Eyes glinting in the light reflected from the iridescent sea-washed shore, he demanded clarification.

  “Is this a surrender or merely a cease-fire to give you time to marshal your forces for a counterattack?”

  A wave flattened against the shoals, foamed up the beach and washed over them. Sputtering, Andi spit out sandy saltwater.

  “I surrender, you moron. Now let me up before we both drown.”

  “Not yet.” Shifting his weight, Dave slid an arm under her shoulders to lift her above the outgoing eddies. “Are we talking complete and unconditional?”

  She knew he was referring to more than this little skirmish. So much for his promise not to push, she thought wryly. And how like the man to choose this time and this place to make a stand.

  Her hair floated around her head. What she sincerely hoped was a strand of slimy kelp was draped over her left ankle. Sand had worked its way inside her slacks and her panties. Yet Andi knew the frolic in the surf had propelled her into another decision.

  She didn’t want this moment to end. Ever. Or the cessation of hostilities.

  Her breath sighing out, she went limp. Her hands came up to frame his face. She searched Dave’s eyes, found what she was looking for and smiled.

  “Complete and unconditional.”

  She got her grunt then. Marveling that such a small, inarticulate sound could convey so much smug male triumph, she was ready when Dave swooped in for the coup de grâce.

  As merciful deathblows went, this one was pretty damned effective. His mouth ground into hers. Teeth scraped. Tongues dueled for a moment or two before Andi locked her arms around his neck in total, glorious capitulation.

  It took another wave to seal the terms of surrender. Crashing onto the shore, the seawater pounded into them and left Andi spitting out sand and salt again.

  “For God’s sake, Armstrong! Do you want to swim, surf or make love?”

  “You need to ask?”

  “Well, we can’t do it here. I have something slimy draped over my ankle and I refuse to bare my butt to the sand crabs.”