Full Tilt

  "I'll bet he has a very good reason."

  "Men always stick together."

  "If you were my date I would have been here early, and I would have brought you a dozen roses.

  But that's just me. I'm the sensitive type."

  Jamie saw the teasing look in his eyes. "Yeah, right. The minute I laid eyes on you I said to myself, "Jamie, there stands one sensitive, touchy-feely guy."

  Max grinned. "Could I get you another drink?"

  "Uh, no, thanks. I've had my limit."

  "And I'll bet you never go over that limit, do you? I'll bet you've never once thrown caution to the wind and said, "Oh, what the hell, I'm going to slam down another tequila shooter whether anyone likes it or not."

  She laughed. "Hey, I've written on bathroom walls."

  "No way."

  Jamie nodded proudly. "In seventh grade I carved Davey Callaway's initials with mine and drew a heart around it."

  Max pretended to look shocked. "I would never have thought it of you."

  "I can be quite brazen at times."

  "Oh, yeah? I'm beginning to hope your fiance doesn't show up after all."

  Jamie realized the wine had gone straight to her head. She tried to pull herself together. "So, Mr., uh, Max. What do you think of our little town?"

  "I've only been here a couple of hours so I haven't had a chance to see it."

  "You should take a complete tour sometime when you have an extra ten minutes on your hands."

  "It can't be that bad. What do people do for fun?"

  "Mostly they go to church. Folks are big on church socials. You know, potluck dinners and all that. You want a good meal in this town you have to join a church. We have a theater we're very proud of, stadium seating and eight different movies from which to choose. Not to mention a skating rink and arcade for the kids."

  "Yes, but what do the wilder, more sophisticated people like yourself do for fun?"

  "We have a steak house and a seafood restaurant. Not to mention a hamburger joint where the onion rings are so greasy they almost slide off your plate. They insist on checking your cholesterol before you're allowed to order them."

  "Sounds like my kind of place."

  "Oh, and we've got this roadhouse on the outskirts that serves the coldest beer in town and plays music on Friday night. The Baptists pretend it doesn't exist so everyone gets along just fine."

  "And here I thought I'd seen and done it all," Max replied. "I'll bet you can tear up a dance floor."

  Jamie's smile faded slightly. "I'm afraid I don't go out much. I own the newspaper so I spend most of my time there." Jamie realized she was enjoying talking to the man.

  "I used to work for my cousin's newspaper," Max told her after a moment.

  "Then you know what it's like."

  "Stressful at times."

  "You should try finding news in a town this size. That's the stressful part. Not much action around here, you know?"

  Max chuckled. "Perhaps you could pay someone to commit a crime."

  "I can't afford it," she confessed. "If you saw my circulation you'd laugh."

  "Why do you stay?"

  "I guess it's in my blood." She smiled. "Maybe I need a transfusion." She drained her glass. "So tell me something interesting about yourself. Anything. Something I can print."

  He shrugged. "I'm afraid you'd find my life rather boring. I live on a farm in Virginia. My house is old and falling apart. I'm in the process of renovating it. When I have time," he added.

  "You're doing the work yourself?"

  "Uh-huh."

  Jamie looked at his hands. They were nice and brown and strong looking. "I should hire you to renovate the newspaper building. It's falling apart, too. I never really noticed how bad it was until today. I've got this big-shot investor visiting tomorrow. I'm sure he'll get a huge laugh when he takes a look at the place."

  "It can't be all that bad."

  "Trust me on this one. The man will take one look at the place and wish he'd never put any of his money in my little newspaper." She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I guess I just needed to talk to someone. I've had a crummy day."

  "You know what you need?"

  "Yeah, a sword to fall on."

  "No, seriously. I know what will cheer you up."

  Jamie's eyes narrowed. He was so easy to talk to she'd forgotten he was drop-dead gorgeous and a little on the flirtatious side. "I'll just bet you do."

  "I've got this cool car. My friends call it my Maxmobile. We could take a ride."

  "I'm engaged."

  "Hey, listen, if I were trying to pick you up I would have used a better line than that."

  "I bet you've got a lot of lines."

  "I don't need them. Most women come on to me."

  Jamie laughed out loud. "You know, I wouldn't want to pay your grocery bill. I'll bet it takes a lot to feed your ego."

  "That's just a front I put on to hide my shyness."

  He gave her a smile that would melt a woman's bones. She might be engaged, but she wasn't blind.

  "Yeah, I was just noticing what an introvert you are."

  "I'm serious about my car," he said. "I have a computer inside that talks to me. She's a real pistol."

  "A computer that talks to you. Now, there's a line I've never heard. And after that we'd want to go by your place to see your etchings. No, thanks. Wouldn't want to miss out on the delicious overdone roast beef they're serving tonight." Probably she would be dining alone. Well, what did it matter? She was a new-millennium woman and all that, and she was on business. Phillip could stuff his tax law business up his behind because she was quite capable of mingling with the best of them, including his mother, Annabelle Standish, Beaumont's Queen Bee of high society.

  "Before you go, would you give me the name of that hamburger joint you mentioned a few minutes ago?" Max asked. "As much as I hate to eat alone, it sounds a lot tastier than this evening's fare."

  Jamie's mouth watered at the thought of Harry's famous burgers and onion rings. And milkshakes so thick it felt as though you would suck your guts out getting them through the straw. She sighed.

  "You're dying for a burger," Max said. "You're practically drooling."

  "Yeah, but I can't. I have to take notes on Frankie's speech so I'll have something to put in my newspaper."

  "We'll be back before the speech. Come on."

  Jamie was sorely tempted. It would serve Phillip right. "Okay," she said at last. "We'll grab a burger and come right back. Let's go this way so nobody sees us leaving."

  "Coward."

  "Hey, I have to live in this town."

  Max led her down the back steps and across the parking lot to his car. He pushed a button on his key ring, and the doors unlocked.

  Jamie arched one brow. "Nice wheels." She climbed in, and a padded bar came down, locking into place. "What the—"

  "I tend to drive fast," Max said. "The car is designed for speed, but it's equipped with more safety gadgets than a jetliner." He closed the door, joined her on the other side, and waited for the bar to lock him in, as well.

  "Get a load of this dashboard," Jamie said.

  "I have everything I could possibly need at my disposal. Muffin runs it all."

  "Muffin?"

  "My computer. You'll love her. She's somewhat of a smart aleck when she gets in a snit, but other than that—"

  Jamie frowned. "What do you mean she gets into a snit? Computers don't get into a snit."

  Max started the engine and shot out of the parking lot like a silver arrow. "On the contrary, Muffin can be moody."

  Jamie's look was deadpan. "Moody, huh?"

  "She wants me to change her name to Lee or Hannah because she claims it sounds stronger. She also doesn't like that I gave her a voice that sounds like Marilyn Monroe. It was all in fun."

  "I see."

  Max pulled onto the main road. "Muffin, I want you to meet Miss Jamie Swift from the newspaper office. I'm takin
g her for a ride."

  Silence.

  Jamie looked at the man. Not only had she just climbed into a car with a stranger, he was obviously unstable as well. And she was locked inside a metal bar. Damn.

  "Muffin, you're being rude. Now, say hello to Miss Swift." Max looked at Jamie. "I knew it. She's in a mood."

  Jamie's smile was forced. "That's okay. She doesn't have to talk if she doesn't want to." Jamie tested the bar that covered her. It didn't budge. It reminded her of the bars they closed over people during one of those crazy roller-coaster rides. She fidgeted with her hands, shifted in her seat. She felt trapped. She didn't like it. Not one bit.

  And this Max person was talking crazy.

  "Okay, Muffin, don't talk," Max said.

  Jamie looked at him. Maybe he was playing a joke on her. He looked the type who would enjoy practical jokes. Either that or he was a nutcase.

  "Um, I was just thinking, I really should be mingling with the crowd at the country club," Jamie finally said. "You know, to sort of get their take on our new candidate and all. I understand Frankie is going to have a big surprise. At least that's what I heard."

  "You'll have plenty of time for that," Max replied. Suddenly, the car died. "Dammit, Muffin, that's not a bit funny! You're making a fool of me in front of Miss Swift. Now, restart the engine."

  Nothing.

  Max looked at Jamie. "I'm sorry." He turned the key and the engine came to life. All at once, the radio blared a country-western song that had something to do with a broken heart, an old dog, and a pickup truck. Max gritted his teeth and switched it off. "That's not funny, Muffin."

  Jamie glanced out her window as he accelerated. She ought to have her head examined for coming with him in the first place. Once again, she'd let her temper get the best of her. Probably Phillip had a perfectly good reason for not showing up. Or maybe he was just running unusually late. A client could have come in at the last minute. Some of his clients could be long-winded. No doubt, Phillip had lost track of time. He sometimes did that when he talked tax law.

  Or maybe, just maybe, she'd forgotten to tell him about the dinner. She rolled her eyes. It had happened before. She hadn't thought to touch base with him before she'd left her house because, as usual, she'd been running behind.

  Whatever the reason for his not showing up, she had to learn to be more tolerant. Phillip certainly tried to work around her crazy schedule, and he seldom complained. She, on the other hand, was too impatient and always in a hurry. She let stress get to her until she just snapped and took it out on Phillip. She would start taking anger-control classes at the mental health center, that's what she'd do. Or start going to church with Vera. Most Baptists seemed sort of laid-back. They spent a lot of time sitting in lawn chairs in their backyards talking to friends and neighbors. She made a mental note to buy a lawn chair the next chance she got.

  First she had to get out from behind this blasted bar.

  Max sped up. Jamie balled her fists at her sides but tried to remain calm despite the fact they were going way too fast for her comfort. Why was the man in such a hurry, for Pete's sake? She wasn't wounded or missing a body part that had to be sewn back on in the emergency room. Not that she could do anything about it. If she did manage to raise the steel bar and jump out, she would be road kill.

  "Why are you driving so fast?" she asked Max.

  Max looked at her. "I like speed. But don't worry, I'm a good driver."

  She was riding in a car with a madman. Where were the darn cops when people needed them? The little town of Beaumont passed by her in a blur, the square where the old courthouse had stood for more than eighty years, and the bandstand where the townspeople often gathered on summer evenings to listen to music or watch free movies on a large screen, all provided by the local arts association. She and her father had sat on those same benches feeding pigeons when she was a little girl.

  Max slowed the car and rounded the square. "So, this is town, huh?"

  Jamie nodded, thankful they were moving at a slower pace. Her pulse slowed as well. She tested the bar once more as they passed Lowery's Hardware, Susie-Q's Cut and Curl, and Maynard's Sandwich Shop, places Jamie visited on a regular basis. Bates's Furniture took up half a city block. Jamie wondered if Vera had managed to talk Herman Bates into lending them furniture. Her earlier problems seemed insignificant at the moment when all she wanted to do was get the heck out of Max's car and his imaginary talking computer.

  "Nice town." Max sped off again.

  "I need to get back now," Jamie said.

  "We've got plenty of time."

  "No, really, I—"

  "Would you relax?" Max said.

  Jamie took a deep breath. Okay, so he wasn't going to take her back. She was pinned inside his car with no way of escaping. How many times had Vera warned her against getting into a car with a strange man, the kind of man who did terrible things to people, especially women. As far as Vera was concerned, the whole world was dangerous. Men lurked in alleys and parking lots, just waiting to pounce on the first unsuspecting female. Vera knew every gruesome detail of every crime ever committed, thanks to a detective show she watched each night in bed while eating caramel corn.

  Maybe Vera was right. Maybe Max was really a deranged maniac out to rape and kill. They'd probably find her body tomorrow in a Dumpster, and Vera would say, "By golly, I tried to warn her about how dangerous this old world is getting to be." Jamie shivered at the thought.

  "Cold?" Max asked.

  "Huh?" She looked his way. He appeared normal, but then so did most serial killers, as Vera had mentioned many times. "I'm fine. The hamburger place is just up the street. Take a right at the next light."

  "I thought we'd ride a bit first," Max said. "Maybe I can coax Muffin into saying something. Did I tell you she's equipped with a global positioning system? This car has enhanced PDA, with keyboard, printer, fax, and E-mail capabilities."

  Jamie wanted to tell him she didn't give a hoot in hell what the car could do, she just wanted to get back to the country club. Besides, she didn't believe him. What she did believe was that he was delusional. Not that she had any intention of telling him as much. Vera would have told her to play along, pretend to be interested in everything he was saying. Keep him talking, Jamie thought.

  "I'm impressed," she said. "I happen to know a few things about cars myself."

  "Oh, yeah?" Max looked interested.

  "My dad used to rebuild old cars in our garage. I helped him rebuild the vintage Mustang I drive now. As a matter of fact, it was one of the first to roll off the showroom floor. They referred to it as the nineteen sixty-four and a half edition. Back then it was only available in the coupe and convertible models. I have the convertible."

  Max studied her closely as he stopped at a red light. "You know, I'd like to continue this conversation. Is there somewhere we can talk? Alone?" He smiled. "I'm not about to let you get away. I'm surprised you didn't suspect as much when you climbed into my car."

  Jamie took a shaky breath. Holy cow, the man had just admitted he wasn't going to let her go, that he'd planned the whole thing. He probably already knew where he was going to leave her poor body. Vera was right. She was as good as dead. Oh, damn. Double damn.

  Fear shot through Jamie's veins, sending such an adrenaline rush that she thought her heart would burst in her chest. She felt dizzy, out of breath, her entire body shook uncontrollably. She could hear Max talking but couldn't make out the words, only that his voice suddenly sounded very loud and irritating.

  "Hey, are you okay?" Max asked.

  All she could do was stare and try to catch her breath.

  Max hit the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt.

  "Jesus Christ!" Muffin shouted. "Would somebody please tell me what's going on?"

  Jamie was only vaguely aware of a woman's voice. A hallucination, she thought, because the voice sounded like Marilyn Monroe. She felt a sense of impending doom as the colors around her became muted and dark, cl
osing in on her.

  There was no escape.

  Suddenly, her door was flung open, and the metal bar lifted. "Jamie, what's wrong?" Max demanded.

  "My chest," she said in a strangled voice.

  "What's she doing?" Muffin asked.

  "Holding her chest and gasping for breath."

  "Do you think she's having a heart attack?" Muffin asked. "Should I call nine-one-one?"

  Jamie looked into Max's face. "Who is that?"

  "Muffin."

  Jamie sucked in a deep breath. "Y-your computer? You were serious about that?"

  "Yes! Do you need an ambulance?"

  "You're not going to rape and butcher me and—"

  Max looked incredulous. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "She doesn't need an ambulance, Max," Muffin said. "She needs a psycho ward."

  Jamie blinked rapidly. The colors around her brightened, and the sounds weren't as loud anymore. She could breathe again. "But I thought—"

  "That I planned to kill you?" Suddenly, Max laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

  Jamie's face burned. The heat crawled to the tips of her ears, and she was certain they were flashing like neon lights. She almost preferred having a heart attack to the look on Max's face. She had made a fool of herself. Max and his friends would probably have a good laugh over it later. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

  Max made an attempt to wipe the smile from his face and failed.

  "Is she okay?" Muffin asked.

  "I think so," Max said. "I think she was having a panic attack or something."

  "I most certainly was not having a panic attack." It sounded plausible, though, Jamie had to admit. She had been awfully scared and half-afraid she would go crazy. She was going to wring Vera's neck, that's what she was going to do. Vera, who filled her head with all kinds of nonsense about serial killers and men who climbed into women's windows at night and—She shuddered.

  "You're not going to have another one, are you?" Max asked.

  Jamie wished she could wave a magic wand and disappear from those laughing dark eyes. Here she was, mortified to death, and the man was laughing at her. She straightened her shoulders, trying to scrape up what little pride she had left. "Would you kindly drive me back to the country club?"