A few minutes later, Zack stepped outside into the night air. He stood there hoping it would clear his head. It did not. He tried to find logic in Maggie’s earlier statement. It eluded him. She did not seem like a woman who wanted sex without strings attached. This was Maggie Davenport, respected pediatrician and loving mom. Stop being a dumbass, he told himself. It was his job. She’d made it plain it was his job. He didn’t blame her. She had no business getting involved with a man who spent much of his time living on the fringes of society and crawling through sewers looking for bad guys. And it wasn’t like he didn’t know. He had already tried a couple of times to have a serious relationship, but both had turned into one big flop.
Bottom line, he had chosen the sheer adrenaline rush of each new assignment over love. It was the reason he’d spent sleepless nights rehearsing in his mind the smallest details and committing them to memory so he wouldn’t make a mistake. And get shot. The reason he struggled with paranoia, not always knowing who his friends were, unable to trust anyone in case . . . Well, in case he got shot. Seemed like he was always one breath away from a taking a bullet.
Zack nodded. Yep. Maggie Davenport would do well to stay as far away from him as possible. And Carl Lee needed to show his sorry ass so he could do his job and move on because he knew he was in too deep.
His cell phone rang and he reached for it.
Maggie grabbed the Better than Sex chocolate ice cream and scooped several large servings into a bowl. Several times she had to refrain from turning on a light.
She stepped inside her bedroom a moment later, kicked her shoes off and sprawled across the bed on her stomach. She spooned a mouthful of chocolate into her mouth, closed her eyes, and sighed.
Zack’s perfect naked body sprang to life in her mind. Wide shoulders and chest, flat stomach, and—What was wrong with her? Had she gone wacko?
Zack was right. It was the sex talking. Leave it to Maggie Davenport to fall head over heels in love with the first man to climb between the sheets with her in Lord knew how many years.
This was what being a prisoner in your own home did to a person, Maggie thought. She was obviously suffering a breakdown of sorts, thanks to Carl Lee Stanton. That would explain her irrational behavior; why she had acted like the worst kind of slut with a man she barely knew, and then—She closed her eyes and groaned. Then, she had confessed she might be falling in love with him.
Okay, it was not her fault that she had made a complete and utter fool of herself in front of Zack. She would simply and calmly explain to him about the breakdown, and he would understand and maybe not run in the opposite direction when he saw her.
Knowing and accepting her problem was half the battle, Maggie reminded herself; then she wondered if that meant she was already half cured. She needed to look at it from a physician’s perspective.
People in the throes of emotional problems usually lost interest in food and activities and sex. She spooned more ice cream into her mouth and thought about Zack’s body again. A shiver climbed her spine and raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.
That had to be a good sign. Maybe she wasn’t having a breakdown after all. She was just confused and stressed, and who the hell wouldn’t be under the circumstances, thank you very much! So what if she and Zack had enjoyed a roll in the hay. So damn what! Like, wasn’t it about time she enjoyed herself a little? Must she always be elbow deep in diaper rashes, sore throats, and ear infections? Must her life always revolve around a hormone-ridden thirteen-year-old?
So she was edgy. Who the hell wouldn’t be edgy? There was a madman after her; her daughter was making her nutso. She had a root doctor boiling herbs and innards in her kitchen; and a black hen running around in her chicken coop for reasons unbeknownst to her. She had a cage full of rabbits breeding at the speed of light. Just when she thought she had all of them spayed and neutered, she found two or three new ones that looked just like the other ones. She had a goat with crooked eyes in the backyard who could literally eat her out of house and home. She had overhead at work.
And to top it all off, there was a drop-dead gorgeous FBI agent in her house who had seen her naked. And vice versa, she reminded herself with an eye roll. She was going to have to back off, she told herself; otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to think straight. No more thinking about his body. No more hot kisses and hot sex. She was sure she could do it. She was a disciplined person.
“Maggie?”
The soft whisper startled her and she almost dropped her bowl of ice cream. Maggie turned and found Zack peering through a crack in her door.
“Huh?” It wasn’t the most intelligent thing that had ever come out of her mouth.
He stepped inside and closed the door. “Are you okay?”
“Um.” Another single-syllable word. Nobody would have guessed she’d spent a gazillion years in college and medical school.
He slid across the bed next to her. “Is that the famous, one and only, Better than Sex chocolate ice cream I’ve heard people whispering about?”
“Yep. It’s the real enchilada.”
He grinned. “May I have a bite?”
“What? You think you can just waltz into my bedroom willy-nilly and eat my ice cream?” she said. She sighed, scooped up a spoonful, and fed it to him. She waited until he tasted and swallowed. “Well?”
“It’s good, but it’s not that good.”
She shrugged. “One less person I have to share it with.” She noted the thoughtful expression on his face. “What?”
“There were a number of accidents this afternoon on I-20, east of Atlanta. A big pileup due to fog and rain,” he added. “An eighteen-wheeler turned over, the gas tank exploded, and a bunch of people were rushed to the hospital.”
“What about the driver of the eighteen-wheeler?”
“He’s going to live, for what it’s worth. I didn’t mention any of this because I didn’t want you to start fretting about something else, but I just found out this guy has been linked to Raymond Boyd, Stanton’s buddy.”
“Was Carl Lee in the truck?”
“Yeah. He and Boyd were dressed as priests, and caught on camera shortly after the accidents robbing a convenience store. The police have confirmed it. And that’s the last they’ve been seen or heard from.”
She didn’t try to hide her disappointment.
“I’m sorry, Maggie. I want Stanton caught even more than you do.” He gave an impatient sigh. “I feel like I need to be out there working it, you know? Instead of getting information secondhand, this time a little later than I should have,” he added.
“All the big guns are on it, but Stanton keeps slipping through their fingers. Back to what I said before, he’s either very smart or very lucky.”
Maggie set her empty ice-cream bowl on her night table, dragged a pillow from the top of her bed and propped it beneath her chin. They were quiet for a moment, caught up in their own thoughts. “I don’t blame you for being frustrated, Zack. You’re accustomed to being in the thick of things, not babysitting. I just want you to know that I am glad you’re here. Mel and I need you right now.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You and Mel are top priority. I’d like to be the one who nabs Stanton. I’d like to come face-to-face with him.”
“Why is that so important to you?”
Zack averted his gaze. “He’s a cop killer. Cops don’t like cop killers.”
“Yeah, well, neither do I,” she said. “I hate him. I hate him for making my daughter afraid. I’ve never hated anyone this much.”
Maggie touched his arm. “I’m sorry. Could you just hang out with me for a while?” she asked. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Carl Lee opened his eyes and blinked several times as he took in the wooded area through the windshield of Ed’s Cadillac.
“Did you sleep okay, Carl Lee?”
“What time is it?”
“Seven A.M.”
“Shit!” He sat up quickly. “Why the hell did yo
u let me sleep this long?”
“We’re in the homestretch, Carl Lee. Your big day,” he added. “I figured you’d want to have a clear head.”
“Do me a favor. Don’t try to think for me.”
“Why are you so grumpy, man? You’re going to see her today. After fourteen long years,” he said with a grin. “You’re going to get your money. I’m going to get paid.”
“I’ve got to get to the money first,” Carl Lee said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s in her house. The cops are going to be watching it, remember?”
“You forgot to mention that.” Cook looked out his window.
“But first we have to get through the roadblocks. We’ve been lucky so far, but our luck could run out.”
“It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with luck,” Cook muttered. “What the hell do you think I did for two months? What the hell do you think I did the two weeks I spent in Beaumont? You think I was sitting in my motel room watching HBO? Hell, no. I know every road leading in and out of that place.
“This really pisses me off, Carl Lee. You don’t appreciate anything I’ve done for you. Maybe you’ve forgotten who helped you escape. I got us fake IDs, a car, and I’ve paid our way.”
Carl Lee glanced in the backseat again. “I wonder if the old man has anything on him. I’m sick of him anyway.”
Cook’s expression changed to horror and disbelief. “You’re going to kill an old man and take his money? What is it with you? Are you crazy or just mean as hell?”
“Don’t you pay attention to the news, stupid? I’m a cold-blooded killer.”
Cook reached to the floor and grabbed Ed’s travel bag that held his medication. He passed it to Carl Lee. “Open it. There’s a flap beneath the prescription bottles.”
Carl Lee frowned but did as Cook said. He dumped the plastic bottles in his lap and searched. “Well, now, this is more like it.”
“There’s two grand in there. The old guy has probably been tucking away what he could spare from his Social Security checks,” Cook said, “but I know that doesn’t mean a damn thing to you so go ahead and take it. Just leave him alone.”
Chapter Eleven
Maggie opened her eyes and found Mel standing over her, face scrunched in what looked to be confusion and disbelief. “What’s wrong?” Maggie asked.
Mel pointed.
Maggie turned and gasped at the sight of Zack sleeping beside her. “Oh, well, I can explain that.”
Zack opened his eyes and looked from mother to daughter. “I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing in your mom’s bed. Am I right?”
“Did you guys have sex?”
Zack looked at Maggie. “Did we?”
Maggie sighed and put her hand to her forehead. “Look at us, Mel. We’re fully clothed. Does it look like we had sex? We were eating ice cream and talking and I guess we just fell asleep.”
“I just wanted to tell you we have company,” Mel said.
Maggie heard a noise at the door and saw Queenie and Everest peering in. Queenie wore a wide grin. “Finally!” she said.
“Oh, great,” Maggie muttered.
“Look at the lovebirds,” Queenie said.
“They claim they didn’t have sex,” Mel said, eyeing her mother and Zack suspiciously.
“I knew this would happen,” Queenie said.
“Yeah?” Maggie shot her a quizzical look. “Mind telling me how you knew? Or what part you played in it?”
Queenie looked surprised. “What makes you think I had anything to do with it? I told you Zack was hot for you the first day. And now you’re hot for him.”
Maggie could feel her daughter’s gaze on her. “I am not hot for Zack.”
He looked crestfallen. “You’re not?” He looked at Mel. “Your mother is one fickle woman.”
“This is so dumb,” Mel grumbled, scooting past Queenie. She went into her room and closed the door.
Queenie looked at Maggie. “We really need to do something about that girl’s hormones.”
“It’ll pass in about ten years,” Maggie said and climbed from the bed. “I need coffee.”
“I think it’s romantic,” Everest said, following the women into the kitchen. “But how are you and Zack going to form a relationship when he works undercover most of the time and doesn’t come home?”
“We’re not.” Maggie poured her coffee, which was timed to go off at six A.M. when she got up for work. Which meant it had been sitting a while. She suddenly noticed they were dressed up. “You two look nice this morning.”
“Granny Queenie and I have to be in church in half an hour.”
“Would either of you like coffee?” she asked.
Everest shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m in FBI training.”
“None for me,” Queenie said. “You and Zack were meant for each other.”
Maggie shot her a dark look. “If I find out you’re working spells, that’s it!”
Queenie opened her mouth to answer, but her cell phone rang. “This is Queenie Cloud,” she said. “How may I help you?” She listened. “Mm-hmm. Oh, my. Yes, that’s bad. Well, you would need a dirt-dauber nest for that. And a lot of spit,” she added.
“Oh, geez,” Maggie said. “Another day at House of Weird.” She sat down at the kitchen table and leaned forward on two elbows.
Zack walked into the room and headed for the coffeepot.
“I’m pretty sure I have one or two dirt dauber nests in my home office,” Queenie went on, “but they’re pricey. I have to pay a boy to get them for me, and every time he gets stung he asks for a three-percent rate increase. I can’t find a decent dirt-dauber nest from supply stores these days, and I am very particular. Yes, call me when you decide.” She hung up and faced Maggie. “My black hen didn’t lay an egg. That’s why we came by.”
“That’s too bad,” Maggie said. “You could have used it to put a hex on the man who sold her to you.”
Queenie looked at her. “Now I know where Mel gets her mouth. But I’m going to let it slide because I know you’re tense.”
“They say the waiting is the worst,” Everest said softly.
Maggie smiled at him because she knew he meant well. But her gut told her there was much worse that could happen.
Carl Lee and Cook sipped their coffee in the front seat of the car outside of a convenience store while Ed went to the bathroom. “I don’t know if he bought that story about why we changed clothes,” Carl Lee said. “We’re going to have to watch him closely.”
“His memory isn’t that great,” Cook said. “He has probably already forgotten.”
“Why do you take up for him all the time?” Carl Lee said. “He’s a pain in the ass.”
Cook, who’d asked Ed to buy him a Savannah newspaper when he’d sent him in to pay for their gas, mumbled something incoherent as he turned to the next page. “Oh, hell,” he said.
Carl Lee glanced over and stared openly at Ed White’s picture, beneath the headline ELDERLY MAN VANISHES.
He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “Now we have to worry about somebody recognizing him too.” He made a sound of pure disgust. “It’s all crap,” he said. “Just one damn thing after another.” He started to look away but something caught his eye. “Read the article up above it,” he said. “Something about Beaumont and Elvis.”
Cook scanned it. “There’s an Elvis impersonator convention going on. There are, at last count, two hundred Elvis look-alikes in Beaumont, South Carolina, it says.”
The two men looked at each other.
Jamie dragged through the double doors leading into the Gazette and stopped in her tracks at the sight of Vera at her desk. “Isn’t today Sunday?”
“Last time I checked.”
“Why aren’t you in church?”
“I don’t have to be there until eleven o’clock.”
“What about Sunday school? Sunday school starts at nine-thirty. It’s—”
�
�Eight A.M.” Vera gave her a funny look. “What are you, the church police? I don’t go to Sunday school anymore. Remember, I stopped going when they made Eileen Denton our teacher.”
“Is she a bad teacher?”
“Oh, no, she’s one of the best.”
“If she’s so good why did you stop going?”
“She made that snotty remark about my dress.”
“Which dress?”
Vera paused. “I don’t remember.”
“So what did she say?”
Vera rubbed her jaw. “I don’t remember that either. That was six months ago, Jamie. Why are you still carrying on about it? Why are you so crabby? I’m the one who should be crabby. Who do you think Mike calls every time he needs something from the pharmacy or feels like complaining, which is all the time? Me, that’s who,” she said. “What have you got to be crabby about?”
Jamie looked at her. Max had inquired about her sour mood as well. “I guess I’m tired of living in an insane asylum!” she said. “I can’t walk through a room without tripping over a board or getting wet paint all over me. Men all over the place, yelling, accusing each other of stealing their tools,” she added. “And after spending a fortune on the master bath, the toilet runs all the time and the faucet drips.”
“I hate a leaky faucet,” Vera said, “almost as much as I hate the sound of Mike’s voice on the other end of the line.”
“And it’s loud!” Jamie said. “Max sleeps right through it. I should move to a hotel. Or maybe start sleeping in my office.”
“Go pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee, and you’ll feel better.”
“No, thanks. I’m getting to where I don’t even like the taste of it anymore.”
“Since when?”
Jamie started to answer but was interrupted when Destiny opened the front door and stepped inside. Jamie and Vera stared openly. Destiny wore oversized sunglasses that had been fashionable in the early eighties. One lens was badly scratched, and one stem had been taped in place with a Scooby-Doo Band-Aid. Her long hair was hidden beneath a wrinkled lime-green scarf that matched the blousy, ankle-length shift she wore. A man would have been hard-pressed to find a curve. Paint-splattered sneakers covered her feet.
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