by Sheryl Lynn
Wide-eyed and openly impressed, Easy assured her he hadn’t. She handed him a copy and pulled another from the envelope.
Easy whistled in appreciation as he leafed through the contract His thick eyebrows knit into a puzzled frown. “All this for some pictures?”
“For twenty books worth of pictures.” She trailed her fingers over the bright white cover page marked with Tabor Publishing’s logo. Now the deal was real.
Easy laughed as he handed her back the contract. “Congratulations, Tink. It’s cool knowing somebody famous.”
“I’m not famous.” Feeling suddenly shy, she examined her grimy fingernails. A major sore spot in her life was that she had so few people to be happy about her successes. Grandma had been her biggest supporter, but Grandma was gone. Her parents were singularly unimpressed by her artistic endeavors. Her friends lived far away, with families and jobs to occupy them. Easy sounded genuinely pleased and happy for her. She remembered how in school he’d never been intimidated by her intellect or threatened by her academic successes. He was as self-contained and self-confident as a cat. He didn’t have a selfish bone in his beautiful body.
“I’ve worked hard for this.” She studied his reaction. “I’m going to paint my brains out.”
“If anybody can do it, you can. I’m really proud of you.” He puffed his chest and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Your name on all those books. Wow, I don’t know what to say.”
The knot in her belly melted. He said everything perfectly, without even trying. “About the other day,” she said, softly, hesitantly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
He waved off the apology. “Don’t sweat it. I’m the one who should apologize. You want to be friends and nothing more, I can respect it. I don’t have to like it, but I respect it.” He extended his right hand in a gesture of peace. “Are we friends?”
For a long moment she stared at his hand. She lifted her gaze to his eyes, seeking any insincerity or hint of a trick. He gazed back at her with the solemnity of a preacher. She shook his hand. “We’re friends.”
His smile rivaled sunshine. “Then how about a friendly lunch to celebrate? You’ll love riding my bike. I guarantee it.”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on! I just broke the biggest case of my life and you’re a millionaire. If that doesn’t call for celebration, I don’t know what does.” He leaned in like a conspirator and waggled his eyebrows. “I brought an extra helmet, just in case.”
She’d been scraping dirt and old paint off the deck all morning, and had made precious little progress. She hadn’t been off the property for days. She was suddenly sick of the house. “I’m filthy.”
“I don’t mind waiting while you clean up.”
Clean…She slid a look at the door. “The house is a mess.”
He showed his empty hands. “No white-glove inspection. Promise.”
Sighing, she invited him inside. When he took in the havoc she’d wrought while stripping down her studio, he lifted his eyebrows, but made no comment
She showered and dressed in record time. Garbed in jeans, boots and a T-shirt, she skipped upstairs. Easy lounged on a chair, leafing through a magazine. He wore a funny little smile, one of pure orneriness.
On the way out the door, she glimpsed the dry-erase board she used for reminders. In the center of it, a bright red heart surrounded by lacy frills enclosed the declaration: Easy+Catherine 4ever. She opened her mouth to protest, then decided, what the heck, let him have his little joke.
A joke that made sitting behind him and wrapping her arms around his lean waist all the sweeter.
As he’d promised, she loved riding on the motorcycle. With the roar of the powerful engine, Easy swept her back to sweeter times. The speed and sensation of flying over the road exhilarated her. She outran her worries, leaving them far behind. The world looked fresh and bright; anything was possible.
Easy drove a meandering route, with no apparent destination. On open rural roads, he cranked up the speed. Catherine alternated between whooping in joy and yelling at him to slow down. When they reached the city limits, he drove as if the traffic laws were burned into his brain. His concern made her feel like a girl again.
Easy bought her lunch in a charming café in Old Colorado City. He reduced her to helpless giggles with stories about his army days. He rode her up and down the downtown streets, and she knew he remembered she loved the old Victorian-era houses. When they stopped at a light and a car full of teenagers practically drooled over the sight of the monster bike, she grinned. She felt with-it and too cool for words.
By the time they finally returned to her home, the sun had reached the mountaintops. Wispy clouds made a light show of orange, pink and purple. At the sight of her driveway she almost cried out in relief. She ached to her bones and her arms were chilled. The thought of a hot cup of tea and a soft, unmoving chair almost made her salivate.
Easy slowed the motorcycle. Catherine relaxed to follow him into the turn. He suddenly gunned the engine and sped down the road. Catherine clutched him.
“What are you doing?” she cried. It took several seconds to realize he couldn’t hear her through the helmet face plate and over the engine noise. He turned left on the next street and her confusion grew complete.
He drove about a quarter mile then stopped. With one foot on the ground for balance, he idled the bike. He used his thumb to flip up his face plate.
Catherine struggled with her face plate. It stuck and she envisioned a deep-sea diver yelling soundlessly, trapped in the murky deep. Finally she managed to lift it. “What are you doing? You can’t be lost.”
Eyebrows lowered in a scowl, he stared in the direction of the main road. “Did you see the brown car?”
She saw only a layer of dust in their back trail. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s a car parked across the road from your driveway. No-neck is sitting behind the wheel.”
“Who?”
“The dirtbag who sucker punched me. He’s watching your driveway.”
Chapter Thirteen
Catherine crouched next to the fence post. She peered cautiously up the road to where the brown car was parked beneath a stand of cottonwood trees. Enough dusky light remained for her to make out the shape of the car, but she couldn’t see the driver. “Are you positive it’s the man who hit you?”
Easy fingered the healing scar in his eyebrow. “Positive.”
“What is he doing?”
“Either waiting for you to come home, or waiting for you to leave.” He turned a narrow-eyed gaze west to the mountains, where the sun had vanished behind the peaks. “Or maybe he’s waiting for dark.”
Catherine scrubbed at the creepy-crawly flesh on her arms. “Don’t tell me that! Call the police. I know you have a cell phone.”
He chucked her chin lightly with a knuckle. “You’re so cute. What do I tell the cops? There’s a bad guy parked on a public road?”
She harrumphed. “What do you suggest, smart guy? It’s. getting kind of cold.” She shifted uncomfortably. “A bathroom would be nice, too.”
He straightened and extended a hand for her. “Let’s go talk to him.”
She clamped her arms over her chest and pressed her back to the fence post. “Not on your life! What if he has a gun? What if he hits you again? Or me? No!”
“He won’t hurt you. I promise.”
“I promise,” she mocked. “You’re insane and I’m crazy for having anything to do with you.”
“I know you want to know what he’s up to.”
Even in the gloamy light, his eyes sparkled, radiating self-confidence and pure devilment. The awful part was, she did want to know what Jeffrey and his minions were up to. He’d humiliated her the other day downtown by yelling insults in public. He was a coward, as well, sending bully boys to do his dirty work. She pushed away from the fence post. “All right. What are we doing?”
“I’ve got a plan.”
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A plan—Catherine remembered his plans. During the homecoming game, he’d talked the cheerleaders into wearing glow-in-the-dark bloomers. At halftime, he arranged for a friend to cut the football field lights, treating the spectators to a show of bobbing, glowing butts. Another time, he’d created an official-looking memo with the president of the school board’s signature forged on the bottom. It declared caffeine a dangerous drug which would no longer be allowed on school grounds—which meant getting rid of the coffeemaker in the teachers’ lounge. The teachers had almost gone on strike.
“Your plans are dangerous.”
“Yeah, but they’re fun.” He stared thoughtfully at the brown car, now nearly invisible in the shadows. “Walk up to the car. Go around the front, and keep the driver’s door between you. Talk to him.”
“That’s it? That’s the plan? What do I say?”
“Ask him why he’s so ugly.” He shrugged. “Just catch his attention and keep it. See if you can get him out of the car, but behind the door. If he makes a move toward you, run like hell.”
Before she had time to reconsider, Catherine marched down the road. “Run like hell,” she muttered. “Good plan, Easy. Terrific.” Despite her misgivings, curiosity and anger kept her walking.
Several cars passed. Their bright lights illuminated the interior of the parked car. Catherine finally understood what Easy meant by calling the thug No-neck. Even seated inside the car, he looked as bulky as a gorilla. The temperature had cooled dramatically with the setting of the sun, but sweat trickled down the nape of her neck and between her breasts. Her leg muscles ached to run. Across the road from the car, she paused, sizing up her escape routes. A barbed wire fence enclosed the land next to the car. Her best bet would be to dart back across the road and into the forest. If she didn’t kill herself by running into a tree, she could make her way to the house. She shoved a hand in her pocket and made sure her keys were accessible.
Another car approached. While waiting for it to pass, she noticed No-neck noticing her. His bullet-shaped head turned, following her progress. She sauntered across the road, attempting a nonchalance she didn’t feel. Moving around the front of the car, she stopped before the side mirror. No-neck had the window down.
“Uh…hello,” she said. “What are you doing?”
He leaned an arm on the window well. What an arm, she thought in amazement It had to be as thick as her leg. She swallowed hard. Talk to him, she thought in dumb dismay. Her ability to make coherent speech fled.
He had beady eyes, which appeared even smaller because his muscle-bound jaw flared into cartoonish proportions. Stupid eyes, she surmised. He stared at her as if she had horns. His expression almost made her laugh.
A faint crunch of gravel startled her. She remembered in time to not jump. She forced a broad smile. “Why are you watching my driveway? I’m calling the police.”
He started the engine. The headlights flared.
Easy suddenly loomed out of the darkness behind the car. He jerked open the driver’s door. “Hey, No-neck, the lady asked you a question!”
The huge man roared in fury and burst from the car with the speed of a striking snake. Too surprised to scream, Catherine froze with her mouth hanging open. Run, her rational brain said, but her feet remained rooted as she stared in awe at the sheer amount of man flooding from the car.
Easy punched him. The blow sounded like a hammer hitting a sack of cement. In the wan light from the car interior, the big man stood stock-still. Catherine pressed her hands to her mouth. She was about to witness Easy’s murder by pummeling, and there wasn’t a thing in the world she could do about it. Easy drew back for another punch. No-neck crumpled in almost graceful slow motion to the ground.
Catherine gingerly grasped the top of the door and peered over it. The giant stretched out on the gravel. Easy shook his right hand, then rubbed the knuckles.
Her gorge rose. “You killed him.”
“I only hit him once.”
“See if he’s breathing.”
Easy backed a step, pulling a face. “You see if he’s breathing.”
“Easy! Maybe he had a heart attack.”
He drew his hand closer to his face, peering intently as he formed a fist. “I have been working the bag at the gym. Must have paid off.”
She clamped her hands on her hips.” Earl Zebulon Mar-tel! If you killed this man, I’ll never forgive you. Or my-self!”
“He hit me first.” Easy reached out with the toe of his boot and lightly touched the huge man’s shoulder. “He’s breathing.”
Frightened by the idea of No-neck playing possum, Catherine swallowed several times, working up her nerve. Finally she sidled as close to him as she dared and reached out with her fingertips. She touched his neck. It was as solid as an oak block. Below his ear, she found a pulse, steady and strong.
She scrambled out of possible reach. “Okay, he’s alive. Now what? Should we call an ambulance?”
Easy grabbed her arm and jerked her to the side. He dropped to a crouch behind the car, pulling her with him. She opened her mouth to protest, but he clamped a hand over her mouth. “Somebody’s coming,” he whispered in her ear. He scooted toward the trees, away from the circle of light coming from the car.
Catherine heard male voices and footfalls on the road. She scrambled after Easy, trying to be quiet as she wriggled her way into concealment. The two of them crept behind the thick trunk of a cottonwood, and scootched down into a hollow formed by the roots. Tall grass and brush offered some cover, but not much.
Catherine recognized Jeffrey’s voice. Her heart nearly stopped.
Jeffrey and a taller man walked across the road. Jeffrey broke into a run, calling, “T.J.! What—?”
Both men skidded to a stop, looking down at their fallen companion. Catherine recognized the tall man. He did odd jobs for Jeffrey, cleaning up and doing repairs on rental properties. Jeffrey had never introduced her to him, but she had waited in the car a few times while Jeffrey and the handyman discussed business.
Easy rested a steadying hand on her back. The huge man finally began to rouse. A string of cars passed by. Easy and Catherine pressed closer to the tree trunk, trying to make themselves small. Catherine noticed Jeffrey ducking away from the car lights as well. She didn’t want to think about what he’d been doing at her house.
Jeffrey and the handyman helped the groggy T.J. into the car’s back seat. The handyman slid behind the wheel. Jeffrey hurried around to the passenger side. They drove off, spewing gravel and skidding when the wheels touched blacktop.
Catherine stood to watch the receding taillights. “What was he doing in my house, Easy? Oh, the dogs!” She pushed her way through the brush and ran across the road. Heedless of ruts and potholes, she raced up the driveway. The security light next to the garage lit the front of the house.
She stopped at the base of the porch. “Oscar? Bent?” She tried to whistle, but her dry mouth foiled the attempt.
Easy ran up behind her. “Damn, Tink, you really did get in shape.” He huffed a few hard breaths, then asked for her keys.
“My dogs. Do you think he hurt my dogs?”
“I’ll check. Stay here.” Keys in hand, he jumped up on the deck and went to the front door. “It’s locked,” he called. He fumbled a moment with the key, then opened the door.
Oscar and Bent streaked past him. Catherine could have wept to find them safe and sound. She opened her arms to the greyhounds and let them fawn and lick her face. She hugged them tightly and kissed them in return. Easy turned on lights inside the house.
“How am I supposed to tell if he did anything?”
Feeling a bit testy over his reference to her trashed house, she said, “If the doors were locked, he didn’t get in. He must have been waiting for me to come home.”
She glumly eyed the night sky and wondered how much harassment she’d be able to take from Jeffrey. She prayed the district attorney arrested him soon.
“Tink?”
&nb
sp; “What?”
“He got inside.” He beckoned with his fingertips. His grim expression frightened her.
Reluctantly, she edged her way back inside the house. She followed his pointing finger. On the dry-erase board, Easy+Catherine 4ever had been slashed through by two, angry red lines.
“LUCKY FOR YOU the hardware store stays open late on Saturday,” Easy said. He tightened a screw on the new dead bolt he installed on the door leading to the deck.
“If you say one more word,” Catherine warned, “about me not changing the locks before, I will drill a hole in your head.” To give meat to her threat, she depressed the trigger on the electric drill. The motor whirred. “You’re just mad because I won’t call the cops.” She glanced at the clock. After midnight, she noted with an inner groan.
“That and you insist on putting yourself in danger. He’s not playing games with you, Tink.” He shook the screwdriver at her. “He means business.”
“Other than him crossing out your little note, there’s no sign he was in the house. What there is evidence of is you nearly killing No-neck. If I call the police about Jeffrey, he’ll call about you. And you’re the one who’ll get in trouble.”
He smiled sweetly at her and batted his lashes. “I have a witness who says that dirtbag swung first.”
“I can’t lie to the police.” She began coiling an extension cord. “We checked this house from top to bottom. He didn’t steal anything, he didn’t vandalize anything. He didn’t hurt the dogs.” Venting anger on Easy was much, much better than brooding over what exactly Jeffrey had been doing in her house.
“Let me think. If I wanted to get even with an ex-fiancée, what kind of mischief could I pull?” He tapped his chin with the screwdriver and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Hmm, I could go through her files and pull utility-company account numbers so I can turn off her water and electricity. Lift her credit card numbers and run up big bills. Go through her address book and find out all the names and numbers of her friends so I can send them nasty notes. I could—”
