Stella, Get Your Man. Nancy Bartholomew

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СКАЧАТЬ she spoke, I saw Spike appear in the doorway, her head cocked to one side as she listened. I turned to appeal to her.

      “So do you think it’s my fault Jake got shot, too?” I asked.

      Spike shrugged and walked over to the table.

      “I think Nina has a point.” She spoke slowly, as if weighing her words. “I mean, granted, we’ve all got skills in the same area. I’m a lawyer and you used to be a cop. Jake’s former Special Ops and Nina’s… Well, Nina’s…” She paused and smiled at her girlfriend. “Nina’s just Nina. Now, while it was a good idea to decide to go to work together, we haven’t really talked about it since then. All we did was rent office space. You and Jake started taking on freelance investigative work and repos, but Nina’s right, we do need to think about where we’re headed.”

      “Yeah,” Nina said. “I answer the phone. I mean, that is so bogus! What a waste of my talent!”

      Once again I had no idea what Nina meant. The only talent she had that I was aware of was mud wrestling, and where could you go with that?

      “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” Nina continued. “I think I have a calling and I think I ought to follow it.”

      The phone rang, startling us all. Spike and I stared at it, then looked at Nina, who sat smiling like the Cheshire cat.

      “So are you people going to get that, or must I do everything?” Aunt Lucy came in from the back porch, followed by Lloyd, and grabbed the receiver off the hook.

      “Hello?” There was a brief pause as Aunt Lucy listened. “Who? Private investigators? Hold on a minute.” She turned to glare at me. “So now you got clients calling the house?”

      I was already halfway across the room, reaching my hand out for the phone, but she jerked it back, insisting on an answer.

      “Actually,” I said, “I believe you can blame this one on old Jake. He had the calls forwarded to his apartment after business hours. I suppose he had them sent here after you insisted that he recover over here instead of in his own bed in his own apartment!”

      I snatched the phone from her, listened to a muttered diatribe in Italian, and ducked into the kitchen pantry where I could attempt to hear.

      “This is Stella Valocchi, may I help you?”

      The answering voice on the other end of the line was female and muffled, intentionally muffled, I thought.

      “Yes, I need to make an appointment, as soon as possible. Is Mr. Carpenter available?”

      It was starting to steam me, the way everyone was assuming that Jake ran the business, rescued damsels in distress and took a bullet to save my hide, when in fact, the reverse was true. What had he been telling people?

      “Actually,” I said, “he’s a little under the weather, so he’s not taking any appointments today. However, you’re in luck. I’m Stella Valocchi. I own the agency and Jake works for me. I’ve had a cancellation in today’s schedule and could work you in around four o’clock. Is that soon enough?”

      There was a brief hesitation on the other end of the line. “I suppose,” she said, sounding just like a whiny kid who had to settle for vegetables instead of candy. “But I really wanted Jake.”

      I sighed. “Take a number,” I muttered.

      “Excuse me?”

      “I said, ‘Do you know where the office is? Four Wallace Avenue, second floor?’”

      “I’m sure I can find it,” she snapped.

      “I’m sure we’ll be able to handle your case without any difficulty. Trust me.”

      “Oh, all right!” she said, and hung up.

      I looked over and saw the others hanging on my every word. “Of course, you do know that we charge a thousand dollars a day, plus expenses?” I asked the empty line.

      Nina’s eyes widened into saucers.

      “And we will need a week’s deposit in advance.”

      The line began to hum.

      “Fine then, I’ll see you at four.”

      I hung up and turned back to the assembled group at the kitchen table. “Now, what was this about a mission statement?”

      Chapter 3

      Just once I’d like to have a plan go my way. Just one time. Was that too much to ask? I stood in what had been my bedroom, clutching my towel and clean clothes to my chest, watching as Jake rolled off the bed, fully dressed, and proceeded to search for his shoes. He should have been fast asleep.

      “She asked for me. I’m going.”

      I adjusted my towel turban, tightened my hold on the jeans that were wrapped around my underwear and bra, and gave him the no-shit-I-mean-business stare.

      “You are mortally wounded, remember?” I said. “That’s how you scammed your way into Aunt Lucy’s house and my bed, isn’t it? You’ve been gut shot. You need my aunt to tend to your every need. You can’t go see clients in the office. I’ll handle it and you can hear about the job later.”

      Jake found his lizard-skin boots, pulled them on slowly and gave me a look of his own. I was working on becoming immune to the way he looked at me, but so far I found myself weak-kneed every time.

      “What’s the matter, Stella? Afraid I’ll be tougher than you? Afraid you can’t keep up?”

      He stood and took two steps toward me.

      “Be careful. Remember, you’re wounded.”

      Jake smiled. “Funny, it hardly hurts at all.” He reached me, his hands reaching to grip the sides of my arms.

      “Jake, you’re out of your mind on pain medicine. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

      I felt my grip go weak on the clothes I held in front of me and clutched tighter to keep my towel wrapped securely around my body. He stepped closer, towering over me, his breath hot on the side of my neck.

      “Why, Stella, you’re not afraid of me, are you?”

      “I’m not scared of you, Jake.” My voice cracked into a squeak that told him I was lying, only believe me, I wasn’t really afraid of him, just a little…apprehensive maybe? I actually had come in only because I’d forgotten to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom. If I’d known he was awake, I would have asked my aunt to get them.

      Jake ran the index finger of his right hand down the side of my face, the work-roughened skin exciting every nerve ending as it moved.

      “I think you’re scared, Stella,” he whispered, cupping my chin with the crook of his finger. “I think you’re very scared.”

      He bent his head toward me. My stomach pitched and his lips met mine. СКАЧАТЬ