Here Comes Trouble

by Leslie Kelly

  When he left this miserable city several months ago, he’d been determined he wouldn’t return until he’d become famous for discovering the next Da Vinci Code. He’d confidently predicted he’d be heading up the acquisitions department at a major New York publisher before he turned thirty. Then, and only then, would he come back to gloat over those who’d doubted him.

  But it hadn’t happened. Despite the fact that Liberty Books had allowed him to resign quietly rather than be fired, word had gotten out in the publishing industry. Every door in Manhattan had been firmly shut against him, and he’d knocked on enough to know it.

  He’d been blackballed. Silently by the big boys and blatantly by the little ones who personally knew his old colleagues.

  Including the woman who’d caused all of this.

  “Sabrina,” he muttered as he walked down Broad Street on Sunday morning, hating the taste of her name in his mouth.

  He had thought he’d gotten over his need to pay his ex-girlfriend back for what she’d done to him. Maybe if she’d only dumped him—something no woman had ever done—he would have been able to let it go at nailing her sister. Since Sabrina had never stopped talking about Allie the whole time they were dating, Peter had known exactly how to cause her as much pain as she’d caused him by ending the relationship before he was ready for it to be over.

  There’d been a few unexpected benefits to his plan, too. Finding out Allie had been a virgin had been one great final fuck-you to her big sister.

  He probably could have left it at that and moved on, having taught her a lesson about who, exactly, was supposed to have dumped who. But, as it had turned out, Sabrina had done more than humiliate him personally. She’d cost him his career.

  Ducking under a covered doorway across the street from his old office building, he stared up at the tenth-story window, which had once been his. His own window. His own office. He’d been a senior editor, the right hand of the editorial director and in line for that job when the fat old bastard retired next year.

  If he’d gotten it, his financial problems would have been over. Peter wouldn’t have needed the money he earned on the side—money given to him by authors desperate to see their name in print—to supplement his income. All of that would have ended and he would have been set—two years as a manager at Liberty and he could waltz right into a job in the big leagues.

  And Sabrina had thought he would give that up voluntarily?

  Unbelievable. When she’d found out about his less-than-honest dealings—right around the time they’d broken up—she’d urged him to invent some reason to resign. She’d even believed he’d do it. The woman had actually convinced herself that her appeals to his honor and code of ethics would be enough to make him give up everything he’d been working toward. Everything. As if the fact that she’d already broken up with him would somehow turn him into some schmuck who’d mourn what he’d lost—namely her—and decide to do the right thing by throwing himself on his sword like a damn martyr.

  Looking back, he realized that’s what he should have done. Either that or killed the bitch. But he simply hadn’t believed she’d do anything about it if he didn’t do as she asked, nor that she could prove it if she did.

  Oh, had he been wrong. Because after giving him a final warning, which he’d again ignored, she had gone to their boss. Armed with letters from authors who’d paid Peter to get their books on Liberty’s publication schedule, she’d skewered him. She’d put him in the line of fire and he’d had to either resign or face public character assassination by being thrown out.

  He’d been too numb with shock to do much more than head out of town after one final sneer at Sabrina and her sister. Confident he’d land on top, anyway, he’d headed to New York and…failed. Nobody would even talk to him. Broke and relying on his family for money, he’d been forced to come back to Philadelphia. He’d been home for a week, trying to figure out what the hell to do, beyond trying to come up with another way to pay Sabrina back.

  And then he’d seen her sister. Her very pregnant sister.

  “Just call me Daddy,” he said now with a humorless smile, ignoring a passerby who gave him a curious glance.

  He had no doubt the kid was his. While at first he’d been panicked like any guy in that situation, he’d quickly realized he was being handed an opportunity. A weapon. He simply had to figure out how best to use it.

  Allie had been an effective weapon the first time—as he’d known she would be. When he’d been dating Sabrina, she’d talked of almost nothing else but her brilliant, beautiful little sister who was moving to the big city to attend college. The two of them, Peter knew, had been incredibly close, bound together by their rough childhood.

  Boo-fucking-hoo. Cry me a river.

  Allie had been easy to track down, and even easier to seduce. But he’d played that card. Which was why it was so nice that fate had given him another one—the baby.

  “Excellent,” he murmured, already knowing he’d start with fear. Scaring the hell out of Sabrina the way he had out of Allie when he’d threatened to try to take the kid away would be effective. Not that he wanted any brat in his life, but he liked the idea of her worrying about it.

  Just one problem—he couldn’t find Sabrina. He’d staked out the office since the middle of last week—even before he’d run into Allie—and hadn’t seen her. Desperate, he’d even gone to her apartment this morning, very early, to avoid being seen by a nosy neighbor. But he’d only spotted her fat sister leaving with a suitcase and Sabrina’s yappy mutt.

  Wondering if perhaps Sabrina was out of town and Allie was leaving to join her, he’d followed the girl to the bus station and had watched her board a bus for western Pennsylvania. But he had no idea of her final destination.

  Which was why he’d called Jane, his former secretary, who now worked for Sabrina. The wary tone in her voice when he’d called told him she knew he was probably going to be trying to get information out of her when they met for lunch today.

  She was right. He’d be willing to bet the woman wouldn’t want her new boss to find out she’d been messing around with Peter while he and Sabrina had been involved. Hopefully, Jane would be so anxious to avoid that, she’d come up with some information on exactly what Sabrina was up to.

  And where she’d gone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MAX WASN’T ENTIRELY certain who the pregnant girl getting out of the white sedan in front of the Dewdrop Inn was, but he had no doubt she knew Sabrina. Because right at the moment he’d thought for sure the beautiful blonde was going to tell him why she’d gone from molten angel to aloof stranger, she went pale. Her whole body jerked and her jaw worked, opening and closing, no sound coming out. She stepped completely out into the open, staring in shock toward the street.

  Once he’d gotten his body back under control, he joined her. As he watched the newcomer, he heard Sabrina’s tiny groan. He couldn’t resist reaching out and grabbing her hand, knowing that whoever this girl was, Sabrina was not entirely thrilled to see her. She squeezed back, giving him a quick look of appreciation before turning her full attention on the newcomer. Interesting. She’d been icy cold toward him a moment before, yet she now seemed grateful to have him by her side.

  Which gave him hope that she might want him to stay there.

  After what they’d just shared, Max knew he was not going to be satisfied with a stolen interlude in the bushes. He wanted to make love to her, to take all her clothes off and fill his senses with that delicate body. To stare at her soft skin and the perfect breasts he could still taste on his tongue. To smell the musky scent of her arousal and the flowery scent of her hair. To caress her arms and stroke her thighs and slide his tongue inside her. Then bury himself in her tight body and lose his mind completely.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Sabrina said, interrupting his heated memories of what had happened—and more heated fantasies of what was yet to come.

  The young woman waved at the people in the car
as they drove away. Struggling with a suitcase and a dog leash, she walked up the uneven driveway. Max instinctively stepped forward and grabbed the luggage.

  When she flashed him a grateful smile, he pegged her as a family member. The smile was the same. So was the sparkle in the bright blue eyes.

  Her hair was much darker, her face rounder. She looked young—not much beyond her teenage years. And she was obviously very pregnant. But he’d be willing to bet he was looking at a sister or a cousin of the woman he’d been about to make love to in the shadows.

  Then he focused on the dog at her feet and figured he was at last meeting the infamous Butch. So, this had to be the sister.

  “Hi,” she said, her smile fading as Sabrina continued to stare. “I guess you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.”

  “You could say that.” Sabrina frowned. “How did you…?”

  “Jane told me where you were.”

  “She wouldn’t have done that.”

  “I had something on her.”

  Ah, blackmail. He began to like this girl.

  “You strong-armed my assistant?” Sabrina asked. Then she quickly glanced toward him, her lips rounding into an O of surprise, as if she’d forgotten he was there.

  “I’ll get out of your hair, I guess you’re going to be busy this morning.” Smiling, he added, “Too busy to go…flying.”

  “Flying?” the girl said, sounding like a kid being offered a ride on an elephant. “You’re going flying?”

  “No. We’re not,” Sabrina said. “You’re going to explain what you’re doing here. You followed me? You have got to be kidding me. What were you thinking?”

  Max didn’t hear anger in Sabrina’s voice, but a confused disappointment. A resignation that he absolutely did not like.

  In the time he’d known her, he’d seen Sabrina Cavanaugh in varying moods. Friendly and helpful at the carousel. Snappy and caustic when they’d walked to the house. Flirtatious with his grandfather. Thoughtful and concerned at the tavern. Even suggestive on occasion. And oh…absolutely sinful in his arms.

  But he hadn’t seen this. This weariness that seemed to pull her shoulders down and put a stark sadness in her eyes.

  Her unhappiness made him instantly stiffen. Where this protective instinct had come from, he had no idea. He hadn’t felt protective toward a woman in years. If ever, considering what his first wife, Teresa, had been like.

  “And Giorgio? You brought the dog on this wild game of hide-and-seek?” Sabrina asked.

  Ah, Giorgio the Doberman stuck in a poodle’s body. Max smiled as he stared at the dog, who was jumping up onto Sabrina’s leg, looking for attention. She crouched down to scratch him beneath his fuzzy beige chin, rubbing her nose against his and burying her face in his fur.

  It was a telling moment. A quiet one, but an interesting one nonetheless. She stayed bent down, hugging the dog like she couldn’t bear to let him go. Couldn’t bear to stand up and finish the conversation she’d been having with the young woman. As if wanting to prolong her freedom for just a little bit longer. He could almost see her mentally dealing with this situation, which, he had begun to suspect, was not a happy one.

  Sensing she wouldn’t appreciate the attention, Max strolled a few feet away, giving them some privacy. But not too far, because he wanted to keep an eye on the pair. Maybe to lend a hand if the pregnant woman needed it. Maybe just to be a silent support system for Sabrina.

  He leaned against the porch railing. Crossing his arms, he feigned interest in the stupid sign Al Fitzweather had had painted for the front of the inn—a drop of moisture falling off a rose. Such subtlety. He could hardly stand it.

  “We probably shouldn’t talk now,” the girl said. “We’ll talk later. I think Butch has to go. He needs some grass. Why don’t I take him for a walk?”

  Max was about to offer to take the dog off their hands, when Sabrina’s head jerked up and she rose to her feet. “Uh-uh. You and I have some things to discuss. We can let Giorgio in the backyard.” Swinging around, she opened the gate, unleashed the dog and gently shooed him in.

  “He’s such a good boy. He’s an angel to travel with.”

  “Why is he traveling at all? Allie, why are you here?”

  The girl—Allie—continued as if Sabrina hadn’t even spoken. “And he’s smart, too. Very smart. No silly speak or play dead tricks for him. I’ve been teaching him to be a guard dog.”

  Guard dog. Right. The fuzzball could guard against any ants who threatened to invade Sabrina’s kitchen. Or guard against bigger dogs, who’d laugh themselves to death the minute this one tried to act threatening.

  “I had to teach him to be a guard dog, you see,” the girl said, her voice growing louder—more shrill.

  And, Max suddenly realized, a little bit hysterical.

  “Because of Peter. In case Peter…”

  Even from here he could see the expression of dismay that flashed across Sabrina’s face. She instantly stepped close, putting her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “He’s gone, honey, he’s never going to bother you again.”

  Max somehow maintained his seemingly indolent position leaning against the railing, though every muscle in his body had tensed. He had a sudden suspicion that this Peter character could be the father of Allie’s baby. And given her youth—and obvious fear of him—he had to wonder if she’d been the victim of rape.

  Jesus. The girl looked barely twenty. He’d never laid eyes on her until now, but Max still felt like going after the man who’d done this to Sabrina’s sister.

  Allie sniffled, hugged her sister back, then glanced at her own feet. “You never know, it’s a small world. Anything can happen.” She opened her mouth, closed it.

  Hell, even from several feet away Max could tell she was hiding something. He wondered what it was the girl was afraid to tell Sabrina. And how it would affect Sabrina when she did.

  Instead, Allie was evasive. “So, because of that, I’ve been working with Butch on his attack skills.” She smiled, though the sheen in her eyes remained. “I took that big cardboard standing-poster of Fabio that you got as a gag gift from work last Christmas and tied a string around it, with a banana and two kiwis hanging down between his legs.”

  Unable to stop it, Max let out a bark of laughter. He didn’t know what amused him more—the thought of Sabrina having a life-size Fabio stuffed in her closet, or the image of Butch going after his, um…fruit.

  Allie glanced at him, looking surprised, as if she’d forgotten he was nearby. So did her sister, who nibbled on her lower lip, obviously embarrassed.

  Max couldn’t help it. When Allie turned her attention back to Sabrina, he lifted one brow and mouthed Fabio?

  She shot him a glare.

  “When I say sic, well, Butch, he just goes crazy.”

  Picturing the rabid little furball, Max couldn’t help smiling. Talk about your ultimate stupid pet trick—he wondered if Butch had a future on Letterman.

  A yappy string of barks indicated that the furball had heard Allie’s command. The dog was barking, growling and practically bouncing off the fence in excitement, judging by the thumps Max heard even from a few feet away.

  The thumps were suddenly drowned out, however, by a loud male voice. “What’s that noise? Whose dog is this?”

  Max and Sabrina met each other’s stares. The way her eyes flared and her mouth dropped open, she had the exact same thought he did, at the very same moment.

  That the mutt wasn’t alone in the backyard—the owner of the inn was there, too.

  And it was Sunday.

  Before he could so much as call out a warning, the morning air was split by a high-pitched shriek. Several more echoed it.

  Max didn’t think, didn’t plan. He merely sprinted toward the gate, his hand touching the latch at the same instant Sabrina’s did. They opened it together, burst into the yard, and were greeted by the kind of sight you just didn’t see every day. Not even in a town called Trouble.

  S
tanding a few feet away, screaming like a young girl being chased by one of the knife-wielding movie psychos Sabrina so loved, was Al Fitzweather. Red-faced, sweaty and naked. A typical weekend look for the man, or so he’d heard.

  Except for one thing—the small poodle dangling between his spread legs, its jaws clamped on the man’s…kiwis.

  IDA MAE WAS WORRIED. Deeply concerned, even. She’d sat on her fears for almost twenty-four hours now, but couldn’t make them go away. Because something she’d seen yesterday was eating at her. And all the Milk of Magnesia in the world wouldn’t ease the tight feeling in her stomach.

  Usually when she spied a person doing some skulking, she was able to find the silver lining. That silver lining sometimes even involved cold, hard cash when the skulkers didn’t want to be exposed. Like the last time she and Ivy had seen some people lurking around the old Stuttgardt place five years ago.

  But this time, she was afraid. Not for herself, but for Mortimer Potts.

  She’d tried to brush off her fears. Why, after all, would anyone want to harm that kind, handsome gentleman? He was nothing like Wilhelm Stuttgardt, whose death, everyone agreed, had been proof of the expression “what goes around, comes around.”

  Ida Mae preferred to think of it as “an eye for an eye.” She snickered at her own wit. Clever, she thought, considering how the man had died.

  But even her certainty that Mr. Potts could not have an enemy in the world couldn’t rid her of this feeling of dread. She felt queasy with worry whenever she thought of the way she’d seen Tom King racing away from the man’s house yesterday.

  After the unfortunate incident downtown, Mortimer had walked her and Ivy home, then headed toward his place. Ida Mae had, naturally, followed, to make sure Ivy wasn’t following.

  Ivy was following, of course. So the two of them had stood guard on each other to guarantee one sister didn’t get an advantage on the other by stealing extra time with their shared beau.

  They’d crept up through the woods on the east side of the house, watching as Mortimer had come walking up the driveway out front. So they’d seen Tom King run out the back and down the hill toward the road, and had heard a car start up a few moments later. Mr. Potts had not.