FULL
BLAST
ALSO BY JANET EVANOVICH
ONE FOR THE MONEY
TWO FOR THE DOUGH
THREE TO GET DEADLY
FOUR TO SCORE
HIGH FIVE
HOT SIX
SEVEN UP
HARD EIGHT
VISIONS OF SUGAR PLUMS
TO THE NINES
AND
TEN BIG ONES
(COMING SOON IN HARDCOVER)
FULL
BLAST
Janet
Evanovich
and Charlotte Hughes
St. Martin’s Paperbacks
NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
FULL BLAST
Copyright © 2004 by Evanovich, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 0-312-98330-1
EAN: 80312-98330-7
Printed in the United States of America
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / April 2004
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Many thanks to Jen Enderlin aka SuperJen for giving us a great book idea! Special thanks to Eric Hughes for coming up with the title for this book.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
JAMIE SWIFT HAD BEEN IN THE NEWSPAPER BUSIness long enough to realize it was a lot like being a waitress. You had to meet the needs of those you served—the rich, the poor, the in-between, even the crazies who complained no matter what you did. And like a waitress, you had to hope the tips were good. A big tip could make all the difference. A big tip in her case meant headlines, and she was in the business of finding headlines. But they didn’t come easy in a small Southern town where life was, for the most part, uneventful, even predictable. She had to scramble for newsworthy events.
So here she was, once again, sitting at her desk, sifting through stories, looking for a new slant or an idea to make it more interesting to the reading public. She was so intent on what she was doing that she jumped when someone tapped on her door.
Sixty-year-old Vera Bankhead rushed into Jamie’s office and closed the door behind her. “You are not going to believe this!”
Jamie glanced up. “What is it?” she asked, straightening in her chair and trying to work the kinks out of her neck from sitting in one position for so long. She had come in early, hoping to work undisturbed. “You got a good tip for me?” she asked the woman before her. “Give me a headline, and I’ll kiss the ground you walk on.”
“This is even better.” Vera paused, as if to add a little drama to what she was about to say. The hairpins had popped out from her gray beehive hairdo, and her glasses were askew. She shoved them high on her nose and glanced about as if to make certain they were alone. She eyed the large plate-glass window overlooking the courthouse square where automatic sprinklers were doing damage control to a parched lawn brought on by a record-breaking July heat wave. Vera marched over and snapped the blinds closed.
Jamie arched one brow. “This must be big.”
“It’s bigger than when Lorraine Brown caught her husband doing the nasty with Beth Toomey on a sofa in the back office of the VFW Hall.”
“Wow. Wasn’t she jailed for going after them with a letter opener?”
“Yeah, and Tom refused to bail her out until she signed an agreement stating she wouldn’t do him bodily harm afterward. She kicked his butt anyway the minute they released her.”
“So tell me.”
“You’re not going to believe it,” the woman repeated.
“Vera, out with it already!”
Vera held up a white paper sack. She reached into it and pulled out a brownie. “Taste it.”
Jamie’s mouth watered at the sight of the chocolate goodie. “I really shouldn’t. I’ve already had three doughnuts this morning. I can barely button the top of my jeans.”
Vera gave her that look, the one that said she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. And Vera could be fierce. Although she still worked as Jamie’s secretary, fear and intimidation had prompted Jamie to promote her to assistant editor of the Gazette, as well. That and the fact Vera carried a .38 Smith and Wesson in her purse. Jamie was almost sure she wouldn’t pull it on her; Vera was the closest thing she’d had to a mother, but it was best to humor her.
“Okay, okay.” Jamie reached for the brownie and tasted it. “Yum, that’s good.” She finished it off in three bites.
“Do you feel any different?” Vera asked, eyeing her closely.
“Yeah, I want another one. I can always buy larger jeans.”
“This isn’t just any brownie,” Vera said in a conspiratorial whisper. “There are rumors floating around that Lyle Betts is putting aphrodisiacs in them.”
Jamie arched one brow. Lyle Betts owned Sunshine Bakery, and was considered a pillar of the community. He was president of the Jaycees, coached Little League, and played Santa Claus for the children’s unit at the hospital every year. “No way,” she said.
Vera crossed her heart. “As God is my witness.”
Jamie pondered it. Vera was a strict Southern Baptist; she only lied when absolutely necessary.
“Do you have any more?”
“Yeah, I bought extra. I figured we should do a little experimenting. We’ll eat a couple more, and then compare notes.”
“Oh, Lord,” Jamie said, as Vera divvied them up. The last thing she needed was to start feeling horny. It had been three weeks since she’d laid eyes on sexy and mysterious Maximillian Holt, the man who blew into her life from time to time just long enough to turn her world upside down and inside out. The same man she had already voted most likely to climb beneath the sheets with first chance she got.
“I’ve already had three,” Vera said, “and I don’t feel a thing except for a little indigestion. Chocolate does that to me.”
“I’m sure it’s just a bunch of hype to sell brownies,” Jamie said, hoping she was right. Lately she’d been having X-rated dreams where she and Max played starring roles. They did things she was certain were illegal in most states.
“And get this,” Vera said. “Maxine Chambers quit her job at the library and just opened a lingerie shop right on Main Street. And guess what she named it? Sinful Delights.”
Jamie couldn’t hide her surprise. She couldn’t imagine the prim librarian doing such a thing.
“And that’s not all,” Vera went on. “Folks say she’s got a whole display of unmentionables hanging in her window where God and everybody can see them. She just undraped it today. Elbert Swank said his jaw fell open so hard when he saw them that he almost lost his dentures on the sidewalk out front. I would have given anything to see that.”
“A new lingerie shop,
” Jamie mused. “Imagine that.” She tried to keep her excitement at bay. Beaumont needed a good lingerie store, a place where cotton panties and practical bras weren’t the order of the day.
“Of course I got my information secondhand so I’ll have to get over there and check it out personally. You know how I am about getting my facts straight.”
“Maybe she’ll advertise with us,” Jamie said. “We can always use the business.”
“Oh, pooh. We’re going to make money on that new personals section you started. How many people have written in so far?”
“We must have about ten total; seven from men, three from women. Pretty good for a small-town newspaper, don’t you think?” Jamie had hoped the ads would bring in well-needed revenue and attract more readers. It was too early to tell, but she remained confident.
“I’m keeping my fingers crossed,” Vera said. She stepped closer. “One ad in particular caught my attention,” she almost whispered. “It was in yesterday’s paper. The heading read ‘Ready, Willing, and Able.’ Sounds like a winner to me, seeing as how most men in my age bracket have a little trouble in the able department.”
Jamie laughed out loud. “Vera Bankhead, I am shocked!”
Vera grinned. “Hey, even a woman my age has needs.”
“Perhaps you should respond to the ad.”
“What if he’s ugly? You know I can’t abide an ugly man. Maybe you should give me his name first.”
Jamie shook her head. “You know the ads are strictly confidential.”
“I’ll bet I could figure out who he is. I know everybody in this town.”
Which was why Jamie had insisted on handling the personals section, she reminded herself. She kept the ads locked in a file cabinet in her office. As much as she loved Vera, it was a well-known fact the woman was the biggest gossip in town. Jamie shrugged as though it made no difference. “I would see that your letter reached him.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
Jamie sighed wistfully. “Well, one thing is certain. Love is definitely in the air in the town of Beaumont, South Carolina. I think it’s romantic.” Jamie had only recently come to realize just what a romantic she was, and she knew Max Holt was responsible. She had begun to daydream about their relationship, had begun to wonder where it was going. She wanted him in her life permanently, and that scared the hell out of her.
“Sounds more like L-U-S-T to me,” Vera replied. “It’s the heat. Everybody in town is acting strange. If they start eating these brownies, they’re going to be out of control.”
Jamie didn’t want to talk about lust because, once again, it brought Max to mind. Max, who was too gorgeous for his own good and knew it. Max, who clearly lusted after her but kept his true feelings to himself. Not that she didn’t have a bad case of lust, as well; it’s what drew them together like iron shavings to a magnet, what made her skin literally ache for his touch.
It had been that way from the moment they’d first laid eyes on each other, when Max had come to Beaumont to aid his brother-in-law, now the mayor, in an attempt to clean up town corruption. Max had ridden in on his white horse, or in his case, a two-million-dollar car with enough technology to run a small country. Max’s investigation had dragged Jamie right into the middle of it; she’d found herself dodging bullets from hit men, almost getting blown to smithereens by a car bomb, and landing in the path of a monster-sized alligator.
Okay, so maybe she was exaggerating the size of the alligator, but all alligators looked big when you were treading water and happened to be in their path.
Most women with half a brain would have grabbed their purses and said, “See ya,” but not Jamie. She had followed Max to Tennessee to find the person responsible for hiring the hit.
Simply put, Max was a philanthropist with brains and money, and as long as there was a cause or an injustice, he would be there, come hell or high water.
“My stomach feels funny,” Vera said. “I think I ate too many brownies.”
Jamie looked up. “Yeah?” She wouldn’t tell Vera she was having a bad case of butterflies. The woman would attribute it to the brownies, but Jamie knew better. She was thinking about the last time she and Max were together in what could only be described as a compromising position. Sooner or later, things were bound to come to a head.
She and Max couldn’t go on this way forever, but she was afraid to hope for more. She could fantasize all she wanted about a lasting relationship, but Max did not impress her as a man who could be tied down to any woman for very long.
“It’s probably all in my mind,” Vera said. “Lyle Betts most likely started the rumor just to get people into his bakery.” She glanced about the office. “Where is Fleas, by the way?”
“Huh?”
“Are you even listening to me? Where is your dog? You know, that ugly hound you bring to work with you every day because he sulks if you leave him at home?”
“He’s at the vet. And he’s not ugly.”
“I hope he’s getting his anal glands expressed. I can’t live with that flatulence problem much longer.”
Jamie had inherited Fleas, a wrinkled, forlorn-faced bloodhound some weeks back. At the time she had desperately needed a vehicle, and, trying to save money, had bought a rust bucket of a pickup truck. The car salesman, who claimed the dog was attached to the truck, had knocked fifty bucks off the price of the truck as an incentive for her to take the dog. They were bonding rather well, or at least as well as could be expected with a dog that had chronic gas.
“He’s being neutered today,” Jamie said. “Poor thing,” she added. “I’ll bet Dr. Adams has his nuts on a chopping block as we speak.”
Vera shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
They were interrupted when someone tapped on the door. “Pardon me,” a female voice said.
Vera and Jamie glanced toward the door. Jamie felt her jaw drop to her collarbone. Vera gaped, as well.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” the woman said, “but there was nobody out front.”
Jamie continued to stare. The woman had coal-black hair that fell to her waist. Sparkly blue eye shadow colored her lids, and her lashes were long enough to paint the side of a barn. “May I help you?” Jamie managed.
The woman stepped into the room. Her skirt was short and tight; her low-cut blouse, emphasized perfect oversized breasts. Jamie decided either God had been very generous in the boob department or the woman was stuffed to the gills with silicone.
“My name is Destiny Moultrie,” she said in a husky voice. “I’m here about the job.”
Vera tossed Jamie a suspicious look. “What job? You’ve decided to replace me, haven’t you? You’d rather have some Elvira–Erin Brockovich look-alike with big knockers sitting out front.”
“I don’t know anything about this,” Jamie said, holding out both hands. She looked at the woman. “What job?” she asked, echoing Vera’s question.
“The advice columnist. You’ve been turning it over in your mind for weeks.”
“I have?”
Vera looked at Jamie. “You have?”
Jamie shifted in her seat. “Um, well—”
“You never mentioned it to me,” a very peeved Vera interrupted. “You’ve always come to me with your ideas.”
The woman looked from Vera to Jamie. “I didn’t mean to cause friction. Perhaps we should discuss this in private, Miss Swift.”
Vera took offense. “Miss Swift doesn’t keep secrets from me. I know more about what’s going on around here than anyone else.” She tossed Jamie a dark look. “At least I thought I did.”
Jamie couldn’t mask her confusion. “Vera, please, not now.”
But Vera was not deterred. “First, you take the personals section away from me because you don’t trust me, and now this. I should quit. I should hand in my resignation and go on one of those senior citizens’ cruises that serves seven meals a day. I could meet a nice widower, and sow a few wild oats. I still have a fe
w oats left, you know.”
“Vera—” Jamie fought the urge to crawl beneath her desk. They were acting anything but professional. But she knew better than to argue. In Vera’s mind, Jamie was still an unruly kid who’d never been properly disciplined by her father.
“Seven meals a day?” Destiny said. “That’s a lot of food. I would bust right out of my clothes.”
“You’re already busting out of your clothes,” Vera said. She turned to Jamie. “On second thought, I’m not quitting, because I’ve been here longer than anyone, and I’m not going to risk losing my benefits. Furthermore, you can’t fire me. It was your daddy, God rest his soul, who hired me, not you.” She gave a huff and marched from the room, but not before slamming the door behind her.
“Uh-oh, I blew it,” Destiny said.
Jamie turned to her visitor. She was intrigued. “Please sit down, Miss Moultrie,” she said, using her professional voice. She smiled serenely, as though it were an everyday occurrence for her secretary to pitch a fit. Okay, so it was an everyday occurrence, she reminded herself. Vera was probably out front right now polishing her .38.
“Please call me Destiny,” the woman said. She took one of the chairs directly across from Jamie’s desk. “I’m sorry for barging in like this, but I sensed you would be making a decision soon, and I wanted to be the first to apply.”
Jamie merely looked at her.
“You have been thinking about starting an advice column, right?” Without warning, the woman smacked her forehead. “Oh, man, I hope I’m not in the wrong place.”
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