Page 99 of A Dead End Wedding

A little.

He put the key in the ignition and started the car, then turned to look at me. "Yeah. It's possible whoever did this to your car is waiting for you at your house."

Wow. I'm so glad I asked.

16

By the time we got to my house, after escorting Max home, I was leaning against the window, dozing. The adrenaline spike had puddled somewhere around my feet, and the rest of me was just limp.

Jake touched my arm, and I realized the car had stopped moving and he'd shut off the engine. "Whaaa? I'm up. I'm up." I blinked and tried to open my eyes real wide, so he wouldn't know I'd been sleeping. I looked around and saw that we were parked a few houses down from mine.

He grinned at me. "It's okay, Sleeping Beauty. Your secret is safe with me. I promise not to tell anybody that the tough trial lawyer snores."

"I do not snore! And I wasn't even asleep! Just . . . just resting my eyes," I said, hearing how lame I sounded even as the excuse came out of my mouth.

He laughed. "That's what I meant. Give me your keys."

I automatically rummaged around in my purse for them, then stopped. "My keys? Why? And this isn't my house. I live?—"

"I know where you live. But I'm not pulling up in front of your house just yet. And I'm going to check things out beforeyou go inside, that's why," he said, not smiling anymore. "If your stalker found out where you live, he might be here."

"Stalker? What do you mean, stalker? I was hoping this was a teenager playing a prank," I said, my voice getting a little squeaky.

"I understand denial, but that's what you thought about the phone call the other day, right? Do you really believe in coincidences like that? And the stuff painted on your car was pretty damn hostile for a prank," he said flatly.

I grabbed my keys and clenched my fingers around them. "You're right. Denial is officially over. This painting episode isreallypersonal. A lot like the conversation I had with your psycho girlfriend, actually. Does Gina have as much expertise with a paint can as she does with a nail file?" I folded my arms and glared at him, daring him to defend her.

He didn't.

"Hell, I don't know. Don't you think I've tried to call her about it? But she's not answering her phone, and I'll be stuck on a case for Langley Cowan tomorrow."

"Well, I think—" I stopped in mid-sentence, when his words penetrated the tiredness swamping my brain cells. "Langley, Cowan? You work for Langley, Cowan? As in Addison Langley the freaking Third, Langley, Cowan?"

"Yes, and why are you yelling at me?"

"I'M NOT YELLING AT YOU," I yelled, then I clamped my mouth shut.

After I counted to ten, I tried again. "Okay, I was yelling at you just a teensy bit. Why didn't you bother to mention that you worked for Langley Cowan? Are you spying on me for Addy?"

He turned to face me, and this time it was his turn to look surprised. "What are you talking about? Why would I be spying on you? Why would Addison possibly want to spy on you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because he keeps harassing me about sending my new client, Charlie Deaver, to my competition. Maybe you've heard of her? Sarah Greenberg?She'sfriendly, too, in a velociraptor kind of way."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but how about we wait and discuss it some more once we're safely inside of your house? May I please have your keys now, or do you want to sit out here in the car all night?"

I bit my lip, considering.

"I haven't necked in a car since high school, but if you have romantic designs on me, that's fine, too, Vaughn," he said, smiling that wicked smile of his.

I handed my keys over, fast.

"Too bad. Well, maybe another time," he said, then he climbed out of the car. "Stay here," he said.

When I protested, he shook his head. "Please, December? Just give me five minutes."

The "please" got me. I nodded, then I locked the car doors after he'd shut his. No sense being foolhardy when I might have a stalker with a keen sense of the anatomically impossible. Somehow, that made my brain remember the lubricating lotion and the four pillows. Officially grossed out, I twisted around in my seat to watch Jake walk down the street toward my house. It was nine p.m., and nobody was outside walking or watering lawns. I cracked the window a sliver to get some air, and the sharp smell of newly mown grass wafted in. My new neighbors were lawn fanatics in a big way. (Because it's sonormalto work all week long, then get up early Saturday to mow a bunch of grass that will just grow again. Bluck.)

Jake stepped off the sidewalk to cut through the yard. Thewrongyard.

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