Full Tilt

  "He's pretty laid-back. I'm the one with the temper." She smiled. "You might say he has his hands full with me."

  Max watched her pull out cups and saucers. Neither of them said anything for a moment. "What's his mother like?"

  Jamie heard the sound of a lawn mower and wished it were her yard being cut. "Annabelle can be a little flighty at times. Sort of like Deedee. But she has done a lot for this town." Jamie reached into the refrigerator for the cream, grabbed the sugar dish and set them on the table. "Annabelle is responsible for organizing the building of our women's shelter, the Help Center, and now she's fighting to build a nursing home."

  "Busy woman."

  "I can't help but respect all she's done for this town, even if she tends to get on my nerves now and then with her constant chatter." Jamie joined him at the table and filled the cups with fresh coffee. Max asked her about growing up in Beaumont, and she told him what it had been like.

  "We had our usual hangouts in high school," she said. "The bowling alley was the place to be because we all played pinball and air hockey and soft drinks were cheap. That was before they built the arcade, of course. And there was the drive-in." She chuckled. "I can't tell you how many monster movies I've seen or how many boys tried to get me into the backseat of their cars."

  "Smart guys."

  She ignored him. "It has been closed for years now. Oh, and I used to roller-skate."

  "I'll bet you were good at it."

  Jamie was surprised what a good listener Max was. Perhaps that's why he was so successful. When you talked to Max Holt he gave his undivided attention. "It was a puny little town then," she added, "compared to the booming metropolis it is now."

  Max smiled. "There's something to be said for small towns."

  Jamie was quiet for a moment. "I've been afraid to ask, but I was wondering how it went with Tom and Herman."

  "They're happier than a pig in mud right now because I gave them a lot of business. Of course, they're still mourning the death of Daisy the cat."

  Jamie rolled her eyes heavenward. "I think I'm better off not asking about poor Daisy, but at least Tom and Herman aren't going to sue me. What a relief!"

  "Hey, I'm good."

  "Oh, brother."

  "Admit it."

  Jamie knew if she agreed it would only serve to raise his already mammoth ego another notch. "You do okay."

  "It's nice to hear that you're developing respect for me. I think that's important in a relationship."

  Jamie's look was deadpan. "Let me remind you, Holt, we don't have a relationship, except for maybe the one that exists in your own mind."

  "You're a hard woman, Swifty."

  "Meaning I'm not putty in your hands. And don't call me Swifty."

  "I'm pretty good with my hands."

  "All men think they're good, Max. It's a woman's job to convince them of it even when they really aren't."

  "Are you speaking from experience?"

  Jamie's face flushed a bright red. "I was just making idle chitchat."

  "Yeah, whatever, but some of us really are good."

  Jamie had to laugh. "You're hopeless."

  "Yeah, but what can I do?"

  She saw that he was joking, and she couldn't help but enjoy the camaraderie. Life had been far too serious lately. She became thoughtful. "You're really not a bad guy even if you can be intolerable at times."

  "There it is, I knew I could win you over. Won't be long before I have you eating out of my hand."

  She muttered a sound of disgust. "See how you are?"

  He looked amused. "Work with me, Jamie. Humility doesn't come easy for me."

  She was quiet for a moment. "You know, I'm not the shrew you think I am. It's not always easy for me to warm up to new people, and I sometimes have trouble getting close."

  "Tell me something I don't already know."

  Jamie hitched her chin high. "You see how you are, Holt? I tell you something personal about me, and you have to be a smart aleck about it. Just when I start thinking you're a decent guy."

  "I am a decent guy."

  "And I was close to saying something really nice about you."

  "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

  "I'm not going to tell you now, for Pete's sake."

  "Come on, Jamie. Say something nice. I won't hold you to it."

  "You can be so exasperating."

  He frowned. "That's supposed to be nice?"

  "I was trying to tell you that I've noticed how easy it is for you to warm up to people. You seem to fit in wherever you go. You always seem to do and say the right thing."

  "I don't see you as someone who has problems fitting in, and you don't seem to have trouble getting close to people. You and Deedee act like sisters."

  "That's a no-brainer. How can you not love Deedee? She's so unpredictable."

  "I thought you like predictability."

  "Okay, so Deedee is unpredictable in a predictable way." Jamie went on. "What I like most about her is, despite her money and flamboyance, she's really honest and down-to-earth. At least with me," Jamie added. "She doesn't put on airs. What you see is what you get."

  "Sort of like you," he said, his tone softer. He'd barely gotten the words out of his mouth before an earsplitting alarm went off.

  Jamie jumped. "What was that?"

  "My car!" Max bolted from his chair and raced out the front door, almost slamming into a bearded, heavy set man in work clothes.

  "What's going on?" Max demanded.

  "Your car alarm just went off, but I guess you already know that."

  "Did you see anyone go near it?"

  The man wiped his forehead with a dirty bandana. "Me and my partner were round back when we heard it."

  Max was only vaguely aware of a tall skinny man in the background as he raced toward his car. He jerked open the door.

  Muffin spoke immediately. "Max?"

  "What happened?"

  "Get away from the car. Somebody has tampered with it."

  He ignored her and began checking beneath the seats. Nothing. He popped the trunk. "Dammit!" he shouted.

  "What's wrong?" Jamie asked, peering over his shoulder. What she saw made her freeze. "Holy cow, is that what I think it is?"

  "It's dynamite," Max said. "Get away from the car. It's timed to go off in forty seconds."

  Chapter Six

  "Oh, damn!" Jamie cried. "Double damn!" She almost tripped over her own two feet as she backed farther away, ticking off the seconds in her head. "Get away, Max!" she cried. "Please!"

  "Clear the area, Max," Muffin repeated loudly. "I'm phoning the bomb squad."

  "No time!" he yelled. Max grabbed the small toolbox he kept in the trunk and flipped open the lid. He reached for a pair of wire cutters, and studied the wires leading from the clock to the sticks of dynamite. Twenty-five seconds.

  A giant fist seemed to grab Jamie's stomach and squeeze so tightly she feared she'd be sick. "Max, for God's sake, please move away from the car." She suddenly realized she was crying.

  Max leaned in for a closer look. "I can do this, Jamie."

  "Okay, Max," Muffin said. "Forget the bomb squad, I'm calling the county coroner. Not that I expect him to find much."

  Ten seconds. Max very gently pulled the wires away from one another, put the wire cutters to one of them and snipped. He grinned and punched the air with his fist. "Like taking candy from a baby. And only two seconds left." He glanced in Jamie's direction. "Am I good or what?"

  Very calmly, and without taking her eyes off him, Jamie marched toward him, eyes menacing, fists balled at her sides. "I ought to punch you right in the face for that," she said.

  "Go ahead," Muffin said. "I'll cheer you on."

  Max looked surprised. "What'd I do?"

  "You stupid idiot!" she shouted. "You imbecile!"

  Max cocked his head to one side. "I'm going out on a limb here, but something tells me you're not happy."

  Jamie feared her knees would fold beneath her. "I wish I
were a man. A big man," she added, "because I would kick your butt from here to the moon. Are you crazy?" she yelled at the top of her voice.

  "Crazy as hell," Muffin said. "Welcome to Max's world."

  "Jamie, now calm down."

  "Don't talk to me! Don't even speak my name."

  "But, Jamie—"

  "Who do you think you are, Holt? Superman? Or do you have some kind of death wish?"

  "I know about bombs, Jamie. I've trained with the best. I wouldn't have taken the chance if I hadn't known what I was doing."

  "You love this sort of thing, Max. Probably it gives you some kind of sick thrill. Well, guess what? I don't want to be a part of it. I don't want to be the one who has to scrape you off the pavement when your luck runs out."

  Country music blared from the car. Max winced. "Now look what you've done. You've upset Muffin." He walked over to the car. "Shut it off, Muffin," he ordered.

  "To hell with you," Muffin replied. "You deliberately ignored my warning."

  Max sighed as the music turned to disco. "Where do you find that stuff?"

  "I am trained to protect you, Max. I am fed information around the clock by some of the brightest people in the world. What good is it if you refuse to cooperate? I'm telling you, this job sucks."

  Max reached in and turned off the radio. He stood there for a moment, his mind searching for answers. "It's over," he said. "Everything is okay." Max very carefully picked up the dynamite. He carried it to the side of the house, found Jamie's metal garbage can and placed it inside. He then reached for the garden hose, turned on the spigot and filled the can with water.

  Having followed him, Jamie watched, hands on hips. "Trying to blow up my garbage can now?"

  "I've disabled the bomb. I'm simply taking extra precautions." He stepped back. "That should do it. We won't get any action out of this sucker now."

  A few minutes later, Max rounded the house with Jamie on his heels. He suddenly looked up. "What happened to the guys cutting the grass next door?"

  "How should I know? I was counting off the seconds until I'd have to watch you blown to smithereens."

  "That's strange," he said, noting the lawn mower sitting in the middle of the yard.

  Jamie was still fighting her anger. "Maybe they're taking a lunch break. Or maybe they heard the word 'dynamite' and decided to get the heck out of here. Sane people run from that sort of thing, Holt."

  Max gazed thoughtfully at the still overgrown grass. "Did you happen to see if they were in a vehicle?"

  Jamie wondered why he was so interested in the yardmen. Probably trying to get her mind off the fact he needed a padded cell. "No, why?" It suddenly hit her. "Do you think they put the dynamite in the trunk of your car?"

  "That's what I'm thinking. They certainly had the opportunity, and it's odd they left so quickly. Wonder if your neighbors saw anything."

  Jamie glanced around. "Doesn't look like anyone has gotten home from work yet. The only person who would have been around to see anything is Mrs. Chadwick, but she's old and senile and spends most of her time in bed watching TV. I think it would scare her if we started asking questions, and we wouldn't get any information anyway."

  Max nodded. "Why don't you go ahead and pack a bag?"

  Jamie swallowed, and it felt like a chicken egg going down her throat. She wasn't used to guns and bombs and crazy men. She turned for the front door, and then paused. "The only reason I'm being civil right now is because we've got a dangerous situation on our hands. I want you to know I'm still mad and never want to speak to you again as long as I live."

  As Jamie packed her bag, she wondered if life would ever return to normal. Max Holt had literally roared into her life and turned everything upside down and inside out, and he seemed determined to keep it up.

  She needed to hurry up and marry Phillip, she thought. Phillip was safe and normal. Max Holt was anything but. He was dangerous. Probably more dangerous than the person who was after them.

  * * * * *

  Jamie and Max arrived at the Fontana house with plenty of time to spare before dinner. Jamie soaked in a hot tub with lavender bath salts Deedee provided, dried with a thick towel, and coated her body with a special lotion that Deedee swore no woman should be without. Instead of reaching for one of her nightshirts, Jamie grabbed a satin guest robe. Deedee believed in pampering everyone.

  Finally, she settled into an overstuffed club chair and leafed through several magazines with beauty tips, none of which she'd ever tried. Heck, she didn't even pluck her eyebrows, and she wore minimal makeup. There simply wasn't time to go through a lot of fuss getting ready for work. The last time she'd used a curling iron had been at her father's funeral, and she would be hard-pressed to find it now. Her hair, like most of her clothes, was wash-and-wear, and that was good enough for her.

  Jamie dozed, only to wake an hour later and discover cocktail hour was only twenty minutes away. She dressed in record time, stepping into the only linen slacks she owned, and a cotton blouse, knowing she would curse herself later when it came time to iron them again. She arrived downstairs and found Deedee looking like she'd stepped out of the pages of Vogue in a Kelly-green silk evening dress that hugged every curve she owned.

  "I didn't know we were supposed to dress for dinner," Jamie said, wondering how her friend managed to look like a million bucks all the time. Deedee obviously had good genes, which meant Max probably had them as well.

  "Oh, you're fine," Deedee said. "It's just something Frankie and I do to sort of keep the romance alive in our relationship."

  Frankie and his campaign manager stepped out of the library and made for the front door. Frankie returned a moment later wearing a black tux that, while it added an air of sophistication, looked out of place on his massive body. He bowed respectfully toward the women. "I'm one lucky man," he said, "to be dining with the loveliest women in town."

  "I was wondering if you fellows were going to talk shop all night," Deedee said. "Once this election is over, I'm going to expect preferential treatment."

  Frankie walked up to his wife, pulled her from the sofa and kissed her hard on the lips. "How's that, babycakes?" He winked at Jamie. "Have to keep the little woman happy or she'll make me take her to the jewelry store. You don't want to go into a jewelry store with Deedee."

  "It's an investment, Frankie," she said. "Diamonds never lose their value."

  "So you've told me," he said, goosing her.

  "We have guests, darling, or have you forgotten." But her green eyes sparkled in delight at the attention. "By the way, where is Max?"

  As if on cue, Max called out from the stairs. "I'm on my way down."

  "We were waiting for you to grace us with your presence, brother dear."

  "The wait is over." He dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  Frankie turned to Jamie. "Did Deedee tell you Phillip was having dinner with us?"

  "I haven't had a chance to mention it," Deedee said. She looked at Jamie. "Phillip called while you were in the shower to see if you'd made it home yet. I asked him to join us."

  Jamie was touched they'd included her fiance, but she hoped Phillip wouldn't spend the evening asking questions for which she had no answers. She felt Max's gaze on her but avoided eye contact. "That was nice of you. Thanks."

  "He said to go ahead with cocktails because he had a late appointment. Sounds like you're marrying a workaholic. Not that you aren't a bit of one yourself," Deedee added. "You and I should take a week and go to that nice spa in Atlanta. It would do us a world of good, and we could shop at some of the finest stores."

  Jamie smiled, but she wasn't a spa kind of person, even if she could afford it, which she couldn't. She often wondered why Deedee had agreed to move to Beaumont in the first place, even though she had to admit it was a charming, quaint little town where folks knew one another by name and were quick to smile. She knew Frankie and Deedee had lived in Scottsdale, Arizona, for a number of years before moving here, and although Deedee had liked
Scottsdale, Frankie had felt the desert wasn't his thing.

  They'd accidentally found Beaumont while Frankie was touring for a charitable organization, and their private plane had experienced engine problems. The two had been forced to stay in a local bed-and-breakfast for several days while awaiting a special part, and Frankie had fallen in love with the area.

  "Frankie, be a sweetie and pour our guests a glass of wine," Deedee said.

  "Gladly."

  Beenie appeared at the foot of the stairs carrying Deedee's dog. He was impeccably dressed as usual. "Choo-Choo needs to say night-night to his mama," he said. "I gave him a couple of tablespoons of yogurt so he would sleep through the night."

  Deedee took the furry white dog from Beenie and nuzzled him close. "He smells like baby powder."

  "I sprinkled a little of it on him before I brushed him. He's ready to be tucked in. Give Mama a kiss-kiss," Beenie told the animal. "She has dinner guests."

  Deedee kissed her pooch on the nose, and Beenie carried him upstairs.

  The chef sent hors d'oeuvres from the kitchen, Frankie's favorite, pickled eggs and Vienna sausage, and a wedge of Brie surrounded by apricots and gourmet crackers.

  Frankie finished pouring the wine and was about to hand Jamie a glass when the window behind them shattered.

  Deedee screamed. Jamie automatically ducked but not before she caught sight of what appeared to be some kind of fireball. It hit the floor, shattering the bottle in which a burning rag had been stuffed. Liquid spewed from the bottle, and the fire flared high and followed what smelled like kerosene across the rug and up the draperies.

  Max wasted no time. "Get down!" he ordered Deedee, shoving her so hard she toppled from the sofa. "Frankie, grab a fire extinguisher. Jamie, dial nine-one-one."

  Jamie automatically reached for the telephone and dialed. As she quickly explained the emergency, Max jerked the drapes from the rod and tossed them into the fire. He grabbed several large potted plants and dumped the dirt on the flames as Frankie rushed in with the extinguisher. Smoke alarms blared through the house, drawing the staff like flies. The chef appeared from out of nowhere and dumped a fifty-pound bag of flour on the fire.

  "Jesus Christ!" Phillip called from the doorway as he and several security guards rushed through the door and joined the frantic group, stomping small flames that threatened to spread.