Full Speed

  "You're going off on me, Dave. Noting the coon's flat-as-a-fritter body, I'm willing to take an oath that he was run over by a heavy piece of equipment, namely an automobile or truck. I mean, what does it take to convince you, man, tread marks?"

  "You can make light of this all you like, but there is no cure for rabies. Once a—" He swallowed. "Once victims have been exposed they only have about seventy-two hours to be vaccinated so they can develop an immunity."

  "What are the symptoms?"

  "Headache and fever. Feels like the flu. It gets much worse after that, then you die."

  "I'll make a deal with you. We'll watch the scratch carefully over the next few hours. If we see a change in it I'll personally take you to the ER. Now, we have work to do."

  "I'm not climbing back into that hellhole," Dave said, backing away. "I'll give you instructions from out here, but I'm not going under that house."

  "OK, fine, but you're going to have to calm down or you'll blow our cover." Max crawled beneath the house once more. He grabbed his headset and listened. "Dammit to hell!" he said.

  Dave got on his knees. "What is it? Did something bite you?"

  Max, tuned in to what was happening between Rawlins and Jamie, jerked off the headset. "Jamie just kissed Rawlins."

  * * * * *

  Nick Santoni put his car into neutral and let the engine idle. He had followed the pickup truck from Harlan's home, keeping himself at a safe distance. He'd followed the truck to Wal-Mart and waited while the woman had gone inside, and he'd followed her to a strip of dirt road where No Trespassing signs dared him to come any closer.

  He pulled out a pair of binoculars and watched the truck turn into a driveway, watched the woman yank off a red wig and scratch her head furiously before finger-combing her shoulder-length blonde hair into place. He smiled, picked up the photo on his seat, gave it a cursory glance.

  "Welcome to Sweet Pea, Tennessee, Miss Swift," he said, and drove on.

  Chapter Nine

  Holding her purse in one hand and the red wig in the other, Jamie climbed from her truck. Max and several men stood just outside the garage. Max introduced them. "These gentlemen are here to install Muffin inside the dashboard of the truck."

  "What does Muffin have to say about all this?"

  "She's raising almighty hell. Threatening to destroy her own hard drive." He paused. "So, if you won't be needing the truck for a while—"

  Jamie noticed she had the men's full attention. Actually, they were gawking. She stared back. They quickly turned away as though embarrassed to have been caught staring. She tossed the keys to Max. "Go ahead. Just make sure Muffin doesn't think it was my idea." She headed for the house.

  Max didn't take his eyes off her as he handed one of his engineers the keys. "Go at it, gentlemen."

  "Yes, Mr. Holt," one of them said.

  Max stepped inside the cabin a moment later and found Jamie's bedroom door closed. He tapped on it and walked in. He arched one brow when he found her stripping off her tank top. She quickly pulled it back on, but not before he saw the peach-colored bra. For a moment they simply stood there, staring at each other.

  Jamie planted her hands on her hips. "What happened to waiting until you're invited before entering? You're lucky I don't clobber you."

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. "Most women threaten to clobber me if I try to leave their bedroom."

  Jamie did an eye roll.

  Max closed the distance between them, raised a finger, and touched the strap to her tank top. When Jamie shivered, he looked up.

  "OK," she said. "I give up. What do you want?"

  He cocked his head to the side and smiled lazily.

  "When pigs fly," she said. Still, that slow smile made her think of afternoons stretched beneath smooth sheets, legs entwined. Oh God, she was doing it again.

  Max slid his fingers back and forth beneath the strap of her top. "I hope this doesn't have anything to do with Rawlins."

  She blinked. "Excuse me?"

  "Well, you did kiss him."

  She snapped her head up. "How do you know about that?"

  "Dave and I heard the whole thing. Unfortunately, by the time we hooked into the cameras you were gone, so we didn't actually get to see anything juicy."

  Jamie felt her face burn. "You listened to our conversation?"

  "Why do you think we were there? Dave and I tapped into both the phone lines and the surveillance cameras."

  "I thought you were there for backup."

  "How would we know you were in trouble if we couldn't hear what was going on? Or were you just planning to scream if something happened? And how else do you expect us to find out who Harlan's mob pals are if we can't hear or see the activity over there?"

  Jamie knew all that in theory, of course, only she didn't like having her conversation with Harlan taped. "Well, I hope you and Dave enjoyed yourselves."

  "Actually, I thought you played him pretty well."

  "You did?"

  "Until you kissed him."

  "Oh, for Pete's sake!"

  "He must have enjoyed it. He invited you to lunch tomorrow."

  Jamie sighed. "That should please you. The whole point of my being here is to try to spend time with him and get information."

  "Not if it puts you in danger. We already know what the man is capable of."

  And then he kissed her, soft and lingering. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.

  "We're good together, Jamie. We could be better." He reached for the hem of her top and pulled it upward and over her head, exposing her bra. He kissed the valley between her breasts before unhooking the back of her bra and pulling it away.

  Jamie simply stood there, not knowing what else to do, enjoying the feel of her body responding to Max. "Max? This is scary."

  "Scary?"

  "Complicated."

  "You make it complicated."

  "It's a girl thing."

  "I like girl things."

  She chuckled. "You're terrible."

  "Can't you for once just let go and enjoy your life without knowing precisely what's going to happen next? You're willing to take all sorts of risks with Harlan Rawlins just to get your story."

  "That's different."

  "The things you put me through." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniature cell phone. He handed it to her. "My number is voice-activated. You'll be able to reach me at all times, just by calling my name. Not only will I get your call, I'll know your location. Keep it with you and turned on at all times." He started for the door, then turned. "OK?"

  She nodded.

  * * * * *

  "Somebody want to tell me what's going on?" Muffin demanded early the next morning as Max and Jamie sat inside Jamie's pickup truck. The engineers had worked through the night, installing Muffin and welding the glove compartment shut so that nobody would be able to detect the system. Max was doing a final check before Jamie took off on her shopping trip.

  "I've already explained why this was necessary," Max said. "Jamie and I have to blend in the community. I can't very well drive my car, but I'm still going to need your assistance."

  "I've lost most of my capabilities," Muffin said.

  "You're still hooked up to the motherboard. You'll be able to get the information I need."

  "I don't have my sensors or my siren. I was attached to that siren."

  In the back of the truck, Fleas howled.

  "What was that?" Muffin asked.

  "My dog," Jamie said. "He's a bloodhound, and his name is Fleas."

  Muffin gave a snort of disgust. "I should have known something like this would happen. I'm riding in a rust bucket with a hound dog named Fleas."

  "It gets worse, Muffin," Max said. "Jamie let Harlan Rawlins kiss her yesterday."

  "Oh God. See what happens when you shut me down?" Muffin accused. "I can't turn my back for one minute without you two getting into something."

  "It's not what
you think," Jamie said. "I was just doing my job."

  "I can't believe you let him kiss you," Muffin said as though shocked and dismayed. "Is he a good kisser?"

  Jamie shrugged. "Passable."

  Max shook his head as he climbed from the truck and slammed the door. He turned and peered in the open window. "Look, Anderson is going to be here in a couple of hours. The three of us need to talk."

  "I'll be back by then." Jamie slid beneath the wheel.

  "Where on earth are you going to shop for clothes at this hour?"

  "Wal-Mart."

  "It's not even six a.m."

  "They're open twenty-four hours a day."

  "Except on Sunday," Muffin said.

  Max glanced at the dashboard. "I can't believe you actually know when Wal-Mart is open." He turned to Jamie. "What could you possibly need at this hour?"

  Jamie tossed him a saucy smile. "Shorter skirts, Holt." She pulled from the driveway, leaving a frowning Max behind.

  * * * * *

  Jamie decided shopping at Wal-Mart at six in the morning had its advantages. For one thing, she had the best pick of parking spots. She promised Muffin she would hurry before climbing from the truck, and gave Fleas a firm warning to stay put. She headed for the glass doors leading inside the store.

  At first Jamie didn't notice him. She was too busy thumbing through the women's department where skirts in animal prints had been marked half-price. She felt someone watching her and turned. A tall, well-dressed man with black hair was staring.

  As if realizing he'd suddenly been caught, he jumped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

  She noted the desolate look in his eyes. "Are you OK?"

  "Yes, well ..." He paused and gave a pained smile. "Actually, no."

  "Are you ill? Should I ask one of the employees to help you?"

  "That would probably be best. If you don't mind," he added in a strained voice.

  Jamie nodded and hurried off to find someone working in women's wear.

  A stout woman with short gray hair joined the man a moment later. "May I help you, sir?"

  "Yes, thank you. I need to buy a dress for my sister."

  Jamie continued thumbing through the clothes on a rack not far away. She was only vaguely aware of the two talking.

  "What kind of dress?" the woman asked.

  "Something pretty."

  "What's the occasion, hon?"

  The man didn't answer right away. Jamie paused in what she was doing and waited for his answer.

  "Something nice enough for church," he finally said. "Do you have anything in pink? That was her favorite color." He whispered the rest.

  Jamie strained to hear.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry, sir," the saleslady said quietly. "Of course I'll help you. I'll need her size."

  "I think she wore about a size ten. She has pretty clothes at home, but I couldn't bring myself to go there and look through her closet. Under the circumstances," he added. "I don't like what the people at the funeral home chose for her."

  Jamie moved away. From what she'd managed to hear, the man had obviously just lost his sister, and she didn't feel right listening to such a private and painful conversation. Once she'd made her purchase, she hurried into the small restaurant area, where she purchased a sprinkled donut and a cup of coffee. She took a seat at one of the tables. She'd only taken one sip of her coffee when the man she'd spotted earlier walked in, ordered coffee, and sat in a booth a short distance away.

  Jamie tried not to stare, but she couldn't help it. Grief etched his face, making him look older than he probably was. He raised his coffee to his mouth, and she could see that his hands trembled badly. All at once, the cup slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. He jumped, obviously startled.

  Jamie bolted to her feet and hurried over. "Are you OK? Were you burned?"

  He was already on the floor trying to mop up the mess with his napkin. He looked up as though surprised to see her. "No, I'm fine, but I made a big mess."

  Jamie hurried to a counter and plucked napkins from a dispenser. She cleaned up the spill as best as she could. "You're sure you're not burned?"

  "I wasn't burned, really. Thanks for helping me." He looked embarrassed. "I used to spill my milk at the dinner table, too." He tried to smile.

  "Let me get you another cup of coffee," Jamie said, grabbing his cup and walking away before he had a chance to respond. She carried his cup to the cashier, who refilled it.

  When Jamie returned, he was still standing. She set the cup on the table instead of handing it to him. "I'm sorry I put you to so much trouble," he said. "I promise to be more careful." He started to sit down. "Would you like to join me?"

  "Well, I—"

  "Maybe you'd be safer where you were." Once again, he smiled.

  She noted the smile didn't reach his eyes. He looked bereft. "Hold on, I'll grab my cup and donut."

  Jamie returned and slid into the seat across from him. He seemed to take great caution in raising his cup to his lips, but she noted his hands were still shaking. She met his gaze over his cup. He was dark and attractive, with a thin scar running down one side of his face that didn't detract from his looks. She wondered if he'd been in a car accident at one time.

  They were silent for a moment. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help overhearing what you said to the saleslady," Jamie said at last. OK, so it wasn't the honest-to-goodness truth, but she didn't want to admit to being nosy. "I sort of know what you're going through," she said. "I'm sorry for your loss."

  "You lost someone recently?" he asked.

  "I lost my father several years ago, but sometimes it seems like yesterday."

  He nodded but didn't speak.

  "Would you like to talk about your sister? I'm a good listener." When he hesitated, she hurried on. "Or maybe you don't feel like it. I don't mean to pry."

  "You seem like a nice person."

  Jamie took a sip of her coffee and tried to think of something to say, anything that might offer comfort. She didn't want to say the wrong thing as so many people had done when she'd first suffered her loss, people who tried to make her feel better by telling her that her father was in a better place or that at least he no longer had to suffer. If only they had talked less and listened more.

  "Her name was Bethany. She was my twin."

  "That makes it worse, doesn't it? Her being your twin and all, that is."

  "Yes. We were inseparable."

  "Do you have other family?"

  He shook his head. "My parents are deceased. I have a few cousins, but we haven't kept in touch."

  "What you need right now is a lot of support. That's what pulled me through."

  "Oh, I have plenty of friends, but I don't want to burden them." He glanced at the bag beside him. "Would you mind taking a look at the dress I chose for my sister and telling me if you think it looks OK? I had to trust the saleslady, because I don't know what to buy for this sort of thing."

  "I'll be glad to look at it," Jamie said. He handed her the bag, and Jamie pulled the dress out. It was a simple pink shift.

  "I probably should have gone to the mall in Knoxville and picked out something nicer, but Bethany wasn't the dressy type. She preferred simple things."

  "This dress is perfect, Mr ...

  "Michael. Michael Juliano."

  "Jane Trotter," she said, deciding it was best to use the name as long as she was in Sweet Pea, even if she wasn't in disguise at the moment.

  They shook hands. "I could use another cup of coffee," Jamie said. "How about you?"

  "I'm fine, but I'll get you a cup."

  Jamie was already on her feet. "I can do it." When she returned she found him talking on a cell phone. He looked angry.

  "Tell the guy to come back when I'm around. He's not going to like the answer I give him, so if you or the others are afraid to stay let me know."

  Jamie noted the tension in his face had brought back the deep lines around his eyes and mouth. Whatever it w
as, it had to be bad.

  "I don't care what he says. I'm not afraid to go to the police. Look, I can't talk right now, OK?" He hung up and picked up his coffee.

  "Is something wrong, Mr. Juliano?"

  "Nothing I can't handle. And call me Michael." He glanced at his cell. "I just didn't need that call right now."

  "You mentioned the police. Are you in some kind of danger?"

  "Depends on what I'm willing to pay." He covered his eyes. "Oh, hell, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

  "I don't know what this is about, but if you're being threatened—"

  "I don't know if the police can help," he interrupted. "I really shouldn't be talking about this." He sighed. "I should close shop and get out," he muttered to himself, and then gave a grunt of disgust. "I thought this sort of thing only happened in Jersey or Vegas." He looked at her. "Are you from here?"

  She shook her head.

  "Then you probably don't know how corrupt this town is. Like a bunch of piranhas just waiting to snatch up as much money as they can from honest, hard-working people."

  "Are you being blackmailed?" she whispered.

  Michael glanced around the room. "I shouldn't talk about it. The last thing I want to do is drag another person into it."

  "I'm a good listener, Michael, and I know how to keep my mouth shut. Especially if it might jeopardize your safety," she added.

  He met her gaze. Still, he refused to talk.

  Jamie realized she was pushing, and that's the last thing she wanted to do. Vera had always accused her of being too softhearted where people were concerned. Vera always said, "If there's a bleeding heart out there, you can bet Jamie is going to find it."

  "I'm butting in," Jamie said. "I'm sorry. I'll leave you with your coffee." She made to get up.

  "You have to swear not to repeat this."

  "Yes, of course."

  "You can't say anything to anyone. I mean it. I just need to talk to someone. Someone who isn't involved," he added. He smiled. "I mean, what are the chances of us running into each other again?"

  She nodded.

  "Someone is trying to extort money from me. It's really hard for me to deal with it at the moment after what has happened with my sister. Too many nights sitting in a hospital, eating junk food, living on caffeine. It gets to a person after a while. Thing is, I think this person is counting on my recent loss to get the upper hand."