Make Me Scream (19 page)

S
unshine woke Devon the next morning. Or maybe it was the persistent pounding on his door.

Beside him, Jamie stretched and hitched one smooth leg over his as she snuggled closer to his side.

Last night had been unique. Special. He wasn’t totally sure what it meant or where it would lead, but he did know one thing: Jamie Cartwright had done something last night no other woman had ever done before.

She’d spent the night, the entire night, in his bed.

And even though he’d come to the realization he was in love with her, the fact that she’d spent the night in his bed still had the ability to scare the crap out of him.

The pounding continued. He disengaged from Jamie and eased out of bed.

Tugging up his shorts from last night, he padded down the hall to the door. A glance at the clock on the microwave as he walked through the kitchen revealed it was still two hours until office hours.

He swung open the door and gaped at the tall man looming on his doormat. The guy had to be an easy six-foot-six or -seven. Curling brown hair frizzed on the ends, no doubt from the Gulf air.

Although he’d never seen the guy up close and personal, he knew immediately who he was.

“I want to talk to Jamie,” Fred said in a booming voice. “Now.”

Devon’s first reaction was to slam the door in Fred’s face, but he stopped. Fred was a bully. Devon may not have ever had a serious relationship, but he’d had an ongoing familiarity with bullies his entire life.

It was past time to stop letting the bullies of the world push him around. Beginning with Fred.

“I’ll tell you a little secret, Fred. It is Fred, isn’t it?” The man nodded, and Devon continued. “Jamie doesn’t want to see you. She doesn’t want to talk to you or have anything to do with you. If you don’t stop harassing her, we’re calling the cops. Stalking is a crime.”

“I need to see Jamie. I have to talk to her.” Fred crossed his arms over his muscular chest in an obvious attempt at intimidation.

“Fred, I really don’t give a rat’s ass what you want or need. Leave.” He closed the door and held his breath in anticipation of Fred beating it down.

After a few minutes of silence, he peeked out. Fred was gone.

Jamie woke to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. It took a moment to realize she was in Devon’s bed. Frowning, she got up and walked into the bathroom.

She’d spent the night with Devon. In hindsight, probably not one of her brighter ideas. It wouldn’t do for him to read too much into it. Although she knew she was already more than halfway in love with him, she didn’t want to push.

Pasting a smile on her face, she opened the bathroom door and headed for the kitchen.

“Hey, sleepyhead!” Devon got up when she entered the kitchen and took a mug from the cupboard. “You look like you could use a cup of coffee.” He handed her the steaming cup and gestured toward the fridge. “Creamer is in there, if you want it. There’s half-and-half and a couple of the flavored kind.”

“What’s in your coffee?” She opened the refrigerator door, amazed at the amount of food. Most single guys she knew had sparse supplies.

“Amaretto. I also highly recommend the white chocolate.”

Once she’d stirred the creamer into her coffee and joined him at the little bistro table in the corner of the kitchen, he put down the paper and smiled at her. “Sleep well?”

She nodded and set her cup on the blue and yellow plaid place mat. “Yes, thanks for letting me stay over. I knew I wouldn’t get any sleep if I went home.” She shuddered. “I still don’t know how Fred keeps finding me.”

“That’s not too difficult to figure out.” He took a sip of coffee and said, “He’s obviously been following you.” He took a deep breath. “In fact, he’s already been here this morning, wanting to talk to you.”

He watched the panic cross her face, the color leach from her cheeks.

“Well,” she finally said, “that settles it, doesn’t it? I’m going to have to move again.”

“Why?”

“You just said it! Fred has found me again. I have to get out of here.” She jumped up, but he caught her arm.

“No, you don’t. Not if you don’t want to leave. I handled it.”

“Excuse me? How, exactly, did you ‘handle’ it?” She sank back into her chair.

“It was pretty easy, actually. I just told him to leave you alone or we’d call the cops. Stalking is a crime, you know, and the guy’s obviously been stalking you. Also, it’s a pretty safe bet he’s the one who threw the brick through your window, which is another crime. I must have made a believer out of him, because he left.”

“Just like that?”

“Yep. Just like that.” Feeling pretty smug, he finished his coffee. “Now, how about a quick shower and then we’ll go grab some breakfast. I’m not really in the mood to cook, and I know a great little tearoom on the boardwalk that serves an unbelievable brunch. If we hurry, we can beat the crowd.”

“Let me run home and take my shower there. That way, I can change.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a shower here? I’ll let you decide if you shower alone or not. Then I can go with you while you change.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll be fine. You said Fred left. Even if he isn’t gone for good, it’s unlikely he will come back so soon. Besides,” she said, standing and kissing his forehead, “it’s time I developed a backbone. See you in about half an hour?”

“Sure. I’ll give Francyne a call and make arrangements for Killer and then come get you when I’m ready.”

“Don’t ever kiss me like you did last night,” Grant warned as he let himself into Francyne’s apartment.

She looked up from her newspaper with a coquettish grin. “Oh? Then how would you like me to kiss you, sugar?”

“No kisses at all would be good.” He shuddered. “Damn kiss gave me nightmares.”

“Oh, poor baby.” She shuffled to the coffeemaker on the snack bar and held up a mug. At his nod, she poured and returned to her Chippendale breakfast set, handing him the mug as she sat down. “I’ve been thinking about Todd and Rick. Why don’t you just tell them you’re FBI, and then you could all work together.”

“I don’t work with civilians, for one thing. And before you say it, yes, I realize they’re cops. But that still makes them civilians to me. For another, we don’t know for sure Todd and or his friend Rick are entirely innocent in the vic’s disappearance.”

“The ‘vic’ has a name. Her name is Alexis. Use it. And for that matter, do we even know for sure she is a victim? There is a possibility, however slight, that she left of her own free will.” She reached for a tea cookie on the Dresden plate and offered Grant one. After he shook his head, she took a bite. “I admit, I don’t believe it, but it’s a possibility.”

Grant nodded and placed his cup on the lace tablecloth. “I don’t believe it either, Aunt Francyne.” He held up his hand as though he anticipated her giving him an argument. “I know she broke her lease. I know she told the manager she couldn’t take the sexual harassment and that was why she left. I know all her clothes are gone.” His forearms on the table, he leaned toward her. “But I also know how close she was to her brother. She would never have just up and disappeared without telling him. And she sure as hell wouldn’t have stayed gone without getting word to him.”

“You think she’s dead, don’t you?”

“Until we find a body, we have to assume she isn’t.”

“But that’s your gut feeling, isn’t it?”

When he nodded and silently took another sip of his coffee, Francyne had to force her cookie past the lump restricting her throat. She’d known Alexis. From what little interaction they’d had, she’d liked her. Now she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made more of an effort to get to know the pretty young woman with the troubled eyes, if things might have turned out differently.

The phone rang, jerking them both from their reflections.

Francyne picked up the cordless phone and checked the caller ID. Devon. “Hi, pumpkin,” she said after pressing the
TALK
button. “Sure. No problem. Killer and Petunia are still sleeping. We watched an ‘I Love Lucy’ marathon last night and then had to take an extra walk. You mean Grant?” She looked across the table and winked, just to mess with him. “Oh, I don’t think it’ll work out. He’s too old for me.”

Grant spewed coffee, and she chuckled.

“Take your time, sweetie. Killer will be fine. Bye.”

Jamie took a leisurely shower and got dressed, reflecting on her night in Devon’s bed. It wasn’t like her to spend the night with someone without some kind of emotional commitment. For that matter, it also wasn’t like her to have wild sex with a virtual stranger either. But she’d acclimated fast.

A flush heated her cheeks at the memories of all the things she’d enjoyed doing with Devon. Things she would never have dreamed of doing with anyone else. Besides being sexy and hot, Devon was also fun. Fun was something she’d never experienced in relationships.

True, she had trust issues. And they had probably started way before she met Fred, if she was honest. Trust wasn’t something she gave easily. Never had been.

Yet she trusted Devon. Completely. What was it about him that made her want to trust him as well as jump his bones at every opportunity?

Could she trust Devon to protect her from Fred? In her heart, she knew he could.

She’d just completed her makeup and done a quick inspection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

Now that Devon knew about the gel packs, there was no use in wearing them. She’d inserted them out of habit. Reaching into the bodice of her pink and purple hibiscus-print sundress, she plucked them out, tossing them into their storage box.

The dress didn’t fit that much differently, other than the fact of having noticeably less cleavage.

Three sharp raps on the door told her Devon was ready. Grabbing her purse, she hurried to the door. On the table, the pages of Devon’s manuscript fluttered with the breeze of the door opening.

She hoped he wouldn’t ask her opinion of his work. Private-eye novels weren’t her usual reading fare, but even she knew a stinker when she read one. In her opinion, his catalog copy for the sex-toy manufacturers was more entertaining.

Serenity Tearoom and Bake Shoppe was a tiny place situated at the end of the boardwalk. Backing onto the main street of Old Towne Surfside, it was packed with antiques and just plain cute and interesting things. Jamie would have liked to spend the day there, just looking at everything.

Before she had a chance to do more than look around at the plethora of goods available for sale, they were seated.

Their waitress handed them what looked to be a newspaper but turned out to be a menu and then returned with their drinks.

After ordering the Sawmill special, which consisted of eggs, bacon, grits and baked cinnamon apples with biscuits, they settled in to wait for their food.

“What a cute place!” Jamie tried to take it all in. The hostess stand sported a ship’s wheel. The walls were covered in sea-and beach-related things, including a myriad of shells and vintage sand pails. Heavy rope topped the windows, the valances they held made of what looked like fishing nets. “Do you mind if I look through the gift shop before we leave?”

“Sure, knock yourself out.” He smiled back at her. “We’re not in a rush.”

The waitress set their plates on the table and hurried to her next customer.

Jamie inhaled the delicious aroma wafting from the big platter before her. She found she couldn’t stop smiling, especially when she looked at Devon, so she concentrated on her food.

“So,” Devon began, several minutes later, “did you get a chance to finish
Darkness Becomes Her
?” He forked a pile of scrambled eggs into his mouth and swallowed. “What did you think?”

The piece of bacon she’d just swallowed threatened to come back up. She coughed in an effort to get it to go in one direction or the other while she tried to think of something nice to say.

“It was, um, interesting. But I’m no expert.” She took a sip of her Diet Coke and licked her lips. “Devon, what do you think about writing a cookbook?”

“A cookbook? You or me?”

At least he hadn’t acted hurt or insulted, which gave her the courage to go on.

“You, of course. You’re a fabulous cook! I’ve never tasted anything you made that wasn’t fantastic. Especially your baking.”

“You bake, too,” he countered.

“Yes, but I follow recipes. You make them up as you go along.” She pushed her plate aside and leaned forward on the oak table. “Seriously. I think it could be a huge success. You might even turn out to be another Emeril.”

He laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“You won’t know until you try. Think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

He sat for a moment, staring into space, and then blinked. “You know, you may have something. I’ve always liked to cook. Hell, I even had a couple of recipes in my book and then decided to cut them because I thought a tough PI like Trent wouldn’t cook. I worried it would weaken the book.”

“I don’t think it would have hurt the book. But I think the idea of just writing a cookbook would be great. I’ll even help. I can be your official taster.”

He threw some bills on the table and stood, helping her up. “I just might do that.” He patted her behind as they walked toward the gift shop; he whispered in her ear, “Of course, you helping might be a problem because I’d keep getting distracted.”

In the gift shop, Jamie found a hat, sand pail and sunglasses. She modeled the hat and eyewear and had just picked up the pail to show him when her smile fell.

The pail hit the hardwood floor with a metallic clang.

Devon followed her line of stricken vision to see Fred peeping in the plateglass window looking straight at Jamie.

Enough was enough.

Shoving aside his theory of being a lover not a fighter and his general fear of having the snot beaten out of him, he glared back at Fred, who ran.

“Stay here!” he yelled back at Jamie and ran out into the sunshine.