Intimate Enemy. Marilyn Pappano

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      Slowly he stood, and she watched. His jeans, cleaner than what he’d worn earlier, fitted just as snugly, and his T-shirt looked a luscious size too small. With his impressive muscles flexing, his dark hair cut really short and his jaw stubbled with beard, he looked too damn sexy for her own good.

      “Sorry,” he said in a tone that clearly said he wasn’t. “I didn’t hear the portals opening.”

      The portals of hell. She’d heard some of the names he called her—bloodsucker, Satan, queen of the dark. She would have been amused by them, maybe even proud of them, if they’d come from someone else.

      “What are you doing to my car?”

      His gaze dropped to the object in his hands. He turned it over a time or two, then held it out. “This was wedged behind the tire. I pulled it out.”

      When she didn’t reach for it, he laid it on the hood of the car. It was a thin piece of wood, maybe six inches long, with nails hammered through, their points extending several inches on the other side.

      “Is that one of those strips used to hold carpet in place?”

      “Not with 20d nails. It must have fallen out of the Dumpster when they emptied it this afternoon.”

      “Yeah, and the wind just blew it behind my tire.” And backing out over it would have surely flattened the tire.

      Apparently the same thought occurred to him. His scowl deepened and turned about ten degrees colder. “If I wanted your tire flat, there are quicker ways to do it that don’t leave evidence behind. Like this.” He slipped a knife from his pocket and unfolded the blade with ease, then twirled it between his fingers.

      Blood rushed, echoing in her ears, and for a moment, just a moment, her chest grew too tight to allow any but the smallest of breaths. She took a step back, then forced herself to hold her ground, to breathe, to swallow the knot of fear in her throat, as she struggled to concentrate on his words.

      “I didn’t even know this was your car, and I don’t give a damn whether you get a flat.”

      Her gaze locked on his face. He wasn’t someone to fear. He might hate her, but he wouldn’t hurt her. And she had no doubt he was being truthful. He had no interest whatsoever in her, beyond the fact that her existence annoyed him.

      But the wood hadn’t just magically appeared underneath her car, wedged, as he’d said, against the tire. It hadn’t been there when she parked, or the tire would have already lost its air.

      Maybe the mystery guy had left it. Better yet, maybe someone walking along the street had kicked it. Maybe a passing vehicle had caught the edge of it and sent it spinning, or some juvenile delinquent had put it there deliberately.

       “You always look under neighboring cars before you get in your own?” she asked, edging forward enough to pick up the wood without getting close to him.

      His mouth flattened, and one side quirked downward. “I opened the passenger door to get a flashlight and some papers fell out.”

      She could believe that. In law school, she’d never gone anywhere with him that he hadn’t had to clear papers, books and other detritus to make room for her.

      “I should thank you, I suppose, for not leaving it there to ruin the tire.”

      His mouth thinned even more. “Like I said, I didn’t know it was your car.” Closing the knife with a snap, he returned it to his pocket, took a heavy-duty flashlight from the bed of the truck and started across the street.

      She watched until he disappeared into the shadows of a live oak before she unlocked the car door. She tossed her bag on the passenger seat and the wood strip in the floorboard, and was about to slide inside when a familiar car turned the corner.

      Lys slowed to a stop behind her and rolled the passenger window down, looking from Jamie to the pickup truck beside her before frowning. “You see Prince Charmless?” she asked sourly.

      “Yeah, I did. What are you doing out?”

      “Picking up a pizza.”

      “You know, Luigi’s delivers.”

      “Yeah, but this way I get to anticipate that first bite all the way home. Want to come over and share?”

      Jamie shook her head. “It’s been a long day. I just want to get home.”

      “You’ll regret it when you’re looking in your freezer at nothing but boxed dinners. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

       “Yeah. Be careful.”

      “Always,” Lys replied with a grin before driving away.

      Jamie got into the car, started the engine on the first try and headed home. Her house was little more than a mile from downtown, in a neighborhood where the yards were big, the houses were old and the trees were older. The house was white siding above dusty red-brick, with the shutters painted black. The steps leading to the front door were brick, as well, and arched out from the foundation in half-round tiers, each anchored by pots of brightly blooming flowers.

      She pulled into the driveway, stopping even with the sidewalk. She unlocked the gleaming black door, an elegant contrast to the brass kick plate, then braced herself before opening the door. Mischa, best friend, companion and confidant, rocketed into her with enough force to knock her against the jamb, then abruptly the dog dropped to her haunches, eyes wide, just the tip of her broad pink tongue showing. It was as close to a smile as a dog could get.

      “Hey, sweetie, I’ve missed you, too. Do you know I turned down Luigi’s Pizza just so I could come home and be with you?”

      Mischa’s ears perked at the magic word. She loved Jamie, pizza, an old red shoe and snuggling when she slept—not necessarily in that order.

      “Don’t you drool on my rug,” Jamie admonished as she set her bag down at the foot of the stairs, then kicked off her shoes. “I said I turned down the p-i-z-z-a. We’ll have to make do with what’s in the kitchen.”

      Still looking hopeful, Mischa followed her down the hall and into the kitchen. A lone light burned above the sink, showing clean counters, gleaming pots hanging from a rack and a cooktop that looked as if it had come straight from the factory. Jamie wasn’t much of a cook; the only appliance she used with any regularity was the microwave.

      And Lys was right: she did regret turning down the pizza when she faced the stacks of frozen dinners in the freezer. Disappointed by her chicken-and-pasta choice, Mischa padded over to her food dish and munched on dry nuggets.

      “Another exciting night,” Jamie murmured as she punched the microwave buttons. “You and me alone.”

      Mischa looked at her, then went back to crunching.

      Dull and alone were okay, Jamie reminded herself. She’d had excitement for a time, and it had almost killed her. She could handle dull and alone. She could even handle seeing Russ twice in one day.

      Though, if that became the rule rather than the exception, it just might kill her, too.

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