Full Tilt

  Jamie couldn't hide her surprise. "No kidding?"

  "The auditor is so old he should have retired when Elvis was still popular. Alexa claims he gets confused easily, which means she has to go over his work carefully, which means—"

  "She has the inside scoop," Jamie finished for him.

  "Money is going everywhere. This town has so many bogus committees you wouldn't believe it. There are committees and subcommittees, some of which are operated by only one person."

  "Frankie mentioned the ridiculous number of committees in his speech," Jamie reminded him.

  "Yeah, that's why I wasn't surprised when she told me. The person running that committee doesn't really have to do anything except grant favors, which is why he or she is there to begin with."

  "Alexa told you all that?"

  "She wanted to tell me more, but I think she's scared. I also think she'd like to leave her job, but she's afraid there are people who would make it hard on her if she did."

  "Sounds paranoid if you ask me."

  "You don't like Alexa very much, do you?" Max asked, his expression amused. "Or maybe you just don't like that I took her to lunch. You're not jealous, are you?"

  "Give me a break."

  Muffin came on. "Okay, Max, I just ran a check on Alexa Sanders. She's so clean she squeaks. She has a son—"

  "She mentioned him."

  "He's sick," Muffin went on. "Childhood-onset diabetes."

  Max frowned. "I didn't know."

  "Her ex-husband left as soon as he found out she was pregnant," Jamie said.

  "Nice guy," Max said. "What else are you working on, Muffin?"

  "I'm digging into Benson Grimby's past. Do you believe the man is in his nineties, for Pete's sake? How can he still be auditing the city's books?"

  "Alexa said he was old. By the way, I want you to run a check on a man named Tim Duncan."

  "Frankie's top security man?" Jamie asked.

  "I'm not taking chances."

  "I have a question," she said. "I already know you guys are breaking into a lot of secure locations.

  Surely they have a system that keeps track of visitors. Maybe that's why everybody is after us."

  "They can't keep track of us," Max said. "Our firewall is impenetrable."

  "You sound awfully confident."

  "We change passwords several times a day. It's a little more complicated than that, but that's just one way we keep people confused."

  "How do you keep up with your passwords? Took me forever to remember mine."

  "Muffin and I use a very complex system," Max said.

  "Yeah, stud, tell her how it works," Muffin said.

  "Jamie isn't interested."

  "Yes I am. In fact, I'm intrigued."

  Max didn't respond.

  "Tell her, Max," Muffin cajoled. "What's wrong, afraid she'll think badly of you?" When Max didn't answer, Muffin went on. "He uses the names of women he's, uh, dated."

  Jamie frowned. "I don't get it."

  "The names are alphabetized," Muffin said. "Each month, we return to the letter A. If Max goes out with another woman in the meantime, which he often does, we slip her name right into the alphabet and keep going. True, it's more complicated than that, it would take too long to explain, but that's the basic setup. For example, we're still working with the letter B today so this morning's password is 'Bunny.' "

  Jamie laughed out loud. "You actually dated a woman named Bunny?"

  "He not only dated her, he married her," Muffin replied.

  Jamie shook her head sadly. "I'm really impressed with your system, Holt. It is so politically incorrect and sexist, but more than that, it's stupid."

  "Wasn't my idea," Muffin said, "but then I would never have given voice recognition a name like Muffin with a Marilyn Monroe voice."

  Max's grin was almost boyish. "It was all done in fun," he said.

  "And marrying a woman named Bunny, of all things," Jamie went on.

  "Her real name is Bethany Elizabeth Phister. A real mouthful," he added. "So her friends called her Bunny."

  "That's what the ladies say about Max," Muffin said. "They tell him he's a mouthful."

  Max shifted uneasily in his seat. "Okay, that's enough, Muffin."

  "My God, the man is blushing," Jamie said. "How do you know all this, Muffin?"

  "You should hear some of the things that go on in this car. Good thing Max has me to remind him not to run off the road."

  "Let's go, Jamie," Max said.

  Suddenly, the safety bar closed over Max, locking him in. "I'm trying to be a good sport, Muffin, but this is getting old fast. Raise the bar."

  "Jamie wants to hear the rest of my story."

  "I'm giving you three seconds."

  "I'll talk fast," Muffin said. "Anyway, Jamie—"

  "Frankenstein," Max said.

  "Oh, shit." They were the last words out of Muffin's mouth.

  "Disable AI," Max said.

  "What are you doing?" Jamie asked.

  "Putting the car on manual overdrive so I don't have to listen to Muffin's mouth."

  Jamie tried to look serious. "So how does one go about doing all the things you do in a car this size?"

  He relaxed and his mouth turned up in a lazy smile that made Jamie think of rainy afternoons and lovemaking, cold mornings and warm bodies embracing.

  "Very carefully," he said, still smiling. They stared at one another for a moment.

  Jamie pressed her lips into a grim line. For some reason she didn't like the idea of Max swapping kisses and God only knew what in his car with another woman. It was silly, of course, but there it was. She climbed out, then realized she'd left her cell phone in her car. She started for it. She did not see the man behind the bushes take aim, only the startled look on Max's face before the first shot was fired.

  Jamie barely had time to process what was going on before Max shoved her hard, knocking her completely off her feet. Another shot rang out, this one pinging off something metal. She peered over the hood of her car. Where the hell were the shots coming from?

  The side window of her Mustang shattered. "My car!" she cried.

  "Stay put," Max yelled.

  Security men raced from all directions, drawing weapons as they headed in the direction of a fountain surrounded by flowering shrubs. Max followed. He stopped short at the sight of Swamp Dog standing over the body of a heavy set man. His throat had been cut.

  "What the hell happened?" Max demanded.

  Frankie and Duncan joined them.

  "Oh, man," Frankie said. "This is bad."

  Swamp Dog looked at Max, his eyes expressionless. "Those bullets were meant for you. I was on him like white on rice the minute the bastard fired the second shot. Slit his throat." He swiped the knife across his jeans, and tucked it into his boot. "That's what you're paying me for, right?"

  Chapter Twelve

  Swamp Dog swaggered off as though he hadn't a care in the world.

  "Jesus Christ," Duncan said.

  Max sighed heavily. "Frankie, please take Jamie inside."

  The big man looked toward the cars. "Yeah, sure." He started off.

  "Who is he?" Max asked Duncan.

  "Vito Puccini." He rolled the dead man on his side and pulled a wallet from his back pocket. He flipped it open and handed it to Max. "One of the guys I just hired."

  Max glanced through the man's identification. "You say he checked out?"

  "Clean as a whistle. Came with a letter of recommendation from his last employer, some hotshot preacher who travels with bodyguards."

  Max looked up sharply. "Harlan Rawlins?"

  "Sounds familiar," Duncan said, "but I'd have to check my files. I've got a lot of men on this job."

  "I want to see everything you have on Puccini."

  "No problem. Oh, there was another guy traveling with him. Lenny Black. They both worked for this minister."

  "Where is Lenny Black now?"

  "I posted him at the front gate. Naturally
I plan to question him."

  "Please find him immediately. And round up the other new men, as well. I'll meet you at the back of the house in five minutes. And call nine-one-one."

  Max hurried into the house where he found Snakeman guarding the front door. "The boys and I have been watching the doors all day," he whispered. "We're armed."

  "Does Deedee know?"

  He shook his head. "Frankie wants us to keep it under wraps as far as she's concerned. Probably not a bad idea considering she's, uh, hormonally challenged."

  Max nodded and headed for the living room where everyone had gathered, including the staff and two of the security guards. "Everything's okay," he said. "Duncan is calling the police."

  "Is he really dead?" Deedee asked, shuddering. Frankie stood next to her.

  "Yeah."

  "I understand he took a shot at you and Jamie," she went on.

  Max nodded and looked at Jamie. She was comforting Beenie who was not taking it so well. He mopped tears with a jewel-accented handkerchief while Choker looked on in disgust.

  "Who was he?" Jamie asked.

  "Vito Puccini. Anybody recognize the name?"

  Big John perked. "Heavyset guy?"

  "Yeah."

  "I spoke with a man named Vito earlier. He and another guard were having lunch together when I went out to get something from my car. Said he was a big wrestling fan. Had a Jersey accent."

  "What did the other guy look like?"

  "Tall and skinny. Longish hair. Brown, I think. He had it tied back. He didn't have much to say, but this Vito was pretty talkative."

  Deedee's voice trembled. "You think these guys are the ones who have been after us?"

  Max hesitated. "We're looking into it. I seriously doubt the other man is still on the property."

  "I don't like it," Frankie's campaign manager said. "This has gone too far. I'm thinking we should definitely pull out."

  Frankie looked at him. "I thought we agreed not to."

  "There's a guy out there with his throat cut. Who's to say one of us won't be next?"

  "Are you throwing in the towel?" Deedee asked.

  "After I've already decided I will make a great mayor's wife?"

  The man's shoulders sagged. "I don't know what to do anymore."

  "Well, I'm not quitting," she told Frankie, matter-of-factly. "After being stuck in this house for so long I realize I need to get out and do something. I'm not about to let that hoity-toity Annabelle Standish get all the credit. Besides, Beenie reminded me I would be expected to ride in all the parades with Frankie." She looked at her husband. "I'll need new clothes, of course."

  Frankie took Deedee's hand. "I'm so proud of you, sweetheart."

  Max, Frankie, and Big John met with Duncan and four other men, none of whom matched Big John's description. "Lenny Black is missing," Duncan said. "We're searching the grounds now. You want me to add another man inside the house?"

  Big John spoke. "Don't bother. Me and the boys will kill the person who tries to get by us."

  As soon as they were alone, Frankie pulled Max aside. "This Swamp Dog person. He saved your and Jamie's life, right?"

  "Looks that way."

  "I want him close by at all times."

  "Frankie, I have to level with you. Right now I don't trust anyone."

  Max knocked softly on Jamie's bedroom door a few minutes later. She opened the door, a portable phone to her ear. She motioned him in.

  After a moment, she hung up. "I wanted to check messages at my office. Seems like Mike and Vera have everything under control."

  "You sound disappointed."

  She gave a self-effacing smile. "Well, naturally I'd like to think they can't run the newspaper without me."

  Max glanced around the bedroom. "It smells like you in here."

  "I don't wear perfume."

  "You've got your own scent. I've spent enough time closed up in the car with you to know."

  Jamie had memorized his scent as well. She was certain she could pick him out of a crowd with her eyes closed.

  "Jamie, I need to talk seriously with you for a moment." He sat on the edge of the bed. She joined him, eyes curious. "It may not be safe for you to stay here anymore," he said.

  "You think I should go home?"

  "No, I don't want you to be alone right now, and I know you don't want to stay with the Standishes. Is there anyplace else you could go for a few days?"

  "I have a couple of girlfriends, but I would be afraid I'd be putting them in danger."

  "I don't think you're the target here. In fact, I'm sure of it."

  "Then who?"

  "That's what I'm trying to figure out. It could be Frankie or me or both, but anyone around us could become a casualty. I'd like to get Deedee out of here, as well. Maybe the two of you could visit that spa she mentioned."

  Jamie rolled her eyes. "Get real, Holt. Do I look the spa type to you?"

  He grinned. "No, you're definitely not the type."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "When I think of you I think of lazy Sunday mornings and rainy afternoons. You don't want to hear the rest."

  "Go ahead," she said, intrigued.

  "Promise you won't punch me in the jaw?"

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  He studied her for a moment. "I visualize you with mussed hair and long T-shirts, wearing absolutely nothing beneath them."

  She arched one brow. "Actually, that's exactly what I sleep in."

  He groaned.

  "Lately, though, I've been wearing all this frilly stuff of Deedee's. I don't think I'm the frilly type."

  They sat in silence for a moment, simply looking at one another. Jamie wondered what it was about the man that drew her to him, even when he was at his most irritating. She knew exactly why women flocked to him. Max Holt was larger than life. He'd traveled all over the world numerous times, and he rubbed elbows with people she'd only read about.

  He was the one people came to when they were in trouble. He could be counted on.

  "What are you thinking?" Max asked.

  "I was thinking how different we are."

  "You and I have more in common than you think, Jamie."

  "Oh, yeah? I'll bet you've never shopped at an outlet or secondhand store. You've never eaten canned soup for a week because you were low on grocery money."

  "You're right, I haven't. But if the need arose I could. I easily adapt to situations." He paused. "It has always been easier for me to pay someone to shop for clothes and food and whatever else because it frees me up to do what I think is important. I like to think I've made contributions to this world."

  Jamie suddenly felt foolish. Max Holt had contributed to the world. One only had to pick up a newspaper to learn how his technological know-how and financial support had made life easier both in the States and in third-world countries. He might have an ego the size of Mother Earth, but he was a generous man.

  "I'm not criticizing you, Max," she said. "I'm just pointing out our differences. It would explain why we have so many, uh, disagreements."

  One corner of his mouth lifted. "I can think of other reasons, but you don't want to hear them."

  She knew the direction he was traveling and changed the subject. "I don't want to leave," she said. "Deedee would be crazed with worry over Frankie if we left under these circumstances."

  "And you? Would you worry about me?"

  "Of course I would. I'd be worried sick about everybody." She noted a flicker of disappointment in his dark eyes. It wasn't the answer he'd been looking for.

  Max stood. "If you change your mind—"

  "I won't." He nodded and walked to the door. Jamie stared at it for a long time after he was gone and wondered if there was a reason they'd been thrown together. In many ways she wished they had never met. She had planned her life so carefully, and Max Holt had come along and changed everything.

  Finally, she exited the room and walked toward the bedroom Deedee shared with Frankie. She
tapped lightly on the door and went in. The room was all rose-colored walls and white French provincial furniture. Tall crystal vases were filled with white roses, and delicate figurines adorned bedside tables. Jamie had to smile. She couldn't imagine Frankie sleeping in such a room.

  Deedee lay on an elaborate chaise, a satin eye mask in place, Beenie fussing over her like a mother hen. "Look, honeykins, Jamie is here."

  Deedee removed her eye mask. "Hi, honey. I was just trying to catch my breath after all that's been happening. I don't want Frankie to see me fretting."

  "You're hanging in there like a real trouper," Jamie said. "I'm proud of you."

  Deedee smiled ruefully. "I'll bet you're beginning to wish you'd stayed with Phillip and his mother after all. Annabelle would have taught you two hundred ways to fold linen napkins by now."

  Jamie chuckled and sat on the foot of the chaise. "Don't be silly, there's no place I'd rather be right now than with my best friend. Are you okay?"

  "I'm okay until I think how close you and Max came to being shot on my own property." Her eyes misted. "I could have lost both of you."

  Beenie, ever watchful, handed Deedee a tissue. "And then to think that a man was actually brutally killed outside my front door." She shuddered.

  "He was a very bad man," Beenie said. "A coldblooded killer."

  She sighed wearily. "I know. But this has always been a happy place. Now, we have security guards running all over the place."

  Beenie sniffed loudly. Both women looked up. "I'm sorry," he said, snatching a tissue from the box. "I feel so sad. My nerves are shot, and every time I get anxious I start eating chocolate. I've gained three pounds. And look at my nails." He held them out. "I've started biting them. I've had to take off my rings so as not to draw attention to them."

  "Oh, Beenie," Deedee said. "It's going to be okay. Once this nasty business is behind us we'll both go in for a manicure. In the meantime, there are a million things to plan."

  He looked hopeful. "Like what?"

  "I'm going to be the mayor's wife. I think I need a whole new look. My husband will be a public servant."

  "Yes, you will definitely need a new look. You'll want an elegant-working-girl look. We'll have to tone down the makeup and choose a simpler hairstyle." He drummed his fingers along his bottom lip. "Oh, my?"

  "What?" Deedee said.