Intimate Enemy. Marilyn Pappano

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Russ to be out and about. He could get a good deal of work done before the crews or the office staff showed up. Getting up that early for Robbie, slumped in the passenger seat beside him, was apparently cruel and unusual punishment. His head tilted against the window, his eyes were closed and his snore was quiet. The guy could stay up until 5:00 a.m. partying, but ask him to get up then for a purpose, and he barely managed.

      “Hey.” Russ poked Robbie’s shoulder as he merged onto the Bobby Jones Expressway in Augusta. “We’re almost there.”

      One eye opened. “Almost where?”

      “The airport. Remember? The Keys? Fishing? Catching the big one?”

      “I’ll do that tomorrow. Need sleep.”

      “You can sleep on the plane.”

      “I could sleep right here if you’d shut up.”

       “Hey, I’m not the one who wanted the first flight out this morning. You should be damn grateful that I offered to drive you.”

      Robbie straightened in the seat, looking as if he was coming off the end of a three-day drunk. “I should have scheduled a noon flight.”

      “You lazy bum. You give the rest of us a bad name.”

      “With the old man gone, someone’s gotta do it.” Robbie rubbed his eyes, then combed his fingers through his hair. Once he got around the other passengers and the flight crew, especially if any of them were female and pretty, he would shake off his fatigue and act like the TV bunny, going and going. It was easy for him.

      Not so for Russ. Oh, he had the energy. He just didn’t like expending it on people.

      Bush Field was coming to life as employees prepared for another start of business. Russ pulled to the curb near one of the entrances and faced his brother. “Have fun.”

      “I always do.” Robbie opened the door and slid halfway out, then turned back. “Listen, if you don’t mind…keep an eye on things, would you?”

      He sounded serious—a rare enough occurrence in Russ’s experience. “What things?”

      “Just…things. If anything seems strange or wrong, tell Tommy about it.”

      Tommy Maricci’s father had been a shift foreman in the Calloway logging operation for years, and Tommy, Russ and Robbie had raised a lot of hell before they’d all gone off to college. Now a detective with the Copper Lake police, Tommy was still raising hell with Robbie.

      “What kind of things, Rob?” Russ asked again. “Are you in trouble?”

       “No. But someone I know might be.”

      Someone he knew would include the whole damn town of Copper Lake. Narrowing down which one of them would take more energy and interest than Russ possessed.

      Robbie got out, heaved his bags from the pickup bed, then grinned. “Give my best to Amanda Saturday.”

      Russ snorted. “I’ll give my best to her. I don’t want to get punched for mentioning your name. Have fun. Bring back some fish.”

      “Will do.” Robbie slammed the door, picked up his bags and headed inside the terminal. Before he even reached the entrance, he’d fallen into step beside a pretty flight attendant and said something to make her flash a million-watt smile.

      Grinning, Russ pulled into the lane and headed back toward the expressway and home. It was a long drive back to Copper Lake, the sun slowly rising on the horizon behind him, his schedule for the day playing through his mind. An inspection at the Forsythia Drive address, a problem with the tilers at the new clinic on the highway out of town, an appointment with the interior designer, the kitchen designer and the lighting designer at the condo project on the west side of the river, a stop by the accountant’s office. If he was lucky, he might squeeze in an hour or two to work at River’s Edge.

      And if his luck ran the way it usually did, he’d run into Satan while he was there. At least he knew what car to look for this time. Idly he wondered if her car was in the garage and why she’d been working late last night. Whether he knew the person whose life she would be ruining next. How that piece of wood had gotten wedged behind her tire.

      And the wind just blew it over, she’d said sarcastically. Not likely. Now that he took the time to consider it, neither was his theory that it had fallen from the Dumpster. The wood had been set securely behind the tire, nails up, a flat waiting to happen.

      Was Jamie the friend of Robbie’s who was in trouble? Understandable. Russ surely wasn’t the first or last person she’d pissed off. But, knowing how he felt about her, would Robbie ask him, even in a roundabout way, to keep an eye on her?

      Russ’s grin was flat. Yeah. He would.

      The road into Copper Lake took him past the turns for his mother’s house, his grandparents’ place, his own place. Granddad had given each of the grandchildren five acres—one thing Melinda hadn’t been able to touch in the divorce. He had built a house there after she was gone, way back in the woods, damn near impossible to find. Old logging roads crisscrossed the hillsides, most of them leading nowhere. With the nearest house belonging to Rick and Amanda—a weekend place—and few visitors, Russ liked the isolation.

      Once he reached town, he stopped at the mom-and-pop doughnut shop for a cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee, then considered which project to check first. The house on Walton Way was closest—ninety years old, a complete remodel from inside out, nothing special or challenging about it.

      Except that it was directly across the street from Jamie’s house. He’d known that when he accepted the job and hadn’t given a damn…but he also hadn’t been over there before she left for work or after she’d likely be home for the day. Coincidence? Or subconscious decision?

      He would like to say coincidence. He would like to believe it, too.

      “Hey, Russ.” Smelling of sweat and tobacco, Tommy Maricci slid into the chair opposite him. He wore shorts, a T-shirt and running shoes, and his skin was damp, his black hair sticking to his head. A pack of cigarettes showed in the breast pocket of the shirt, and his plate held two jelly doughnuts.

      “You’re the only person I know who jogs across town to get doughnuts and has a smoke on the way,” Russ commented.

      “I’m down to five cigarettes a day. Don’t screw with me.”

      “How’s crime?”

      “Booming. You take Robbie to the airport?”

      “Yeah. If he wasn’t snoring, he was bitching about the time.” Russ thought again of Robbie’s request as he washed down a chunk of roll with coffee. “Is there anything going on with him that I should know about? Is he in trouble?”

      Tommy raised his brows. “Robbie? In trouble?”

      Only since he was old enough to walk and follow Russ and Rick on their adventures. Their family name was the only thing that had kept the three of them out of the legal system when they were teenagers, and the courtesy had extended to Tommy on more than one occasion. Not that they’d been bad. Just high-spirited, their mom said.

      “What about СКАЧАТЬ