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Authors: Catherine Mulvany

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BOOK: Man Shy
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She took a series of deep breaths. Okay, it was a black Lexus, but Evan Corby didn

t own the only black Lexus in town.

Or did he? Her heart sank as she saw Evan

s familiar form emerge from the house directly across the street. It plummeted clear to her socks when she saw the gorgeous brunette waving to him from the recessed doorway. What was he up to?

Evan paused at the curb next to his car, looking up and down the street as if he were taking inventory. His gaze seemed to linger on Brody

s house, and for a split second Mallory feared he

d spotted her. But he hadn

t. He couldn

t have. Otherwise he wouldn

t have climbed into the driver

s seat and driven away without a backward glance.

Oh, boy. She backed away from the window until she bumped into a chair. She sat, trying to make some sense of her swirling thoughts. This was terrible. This was worse than terrible. In six days Evan was supposed to marry her sister. So what was he doing at the brunette

s house?

There was probably a simple explanation, an innocent explanation, but she was darned if she could think what it might be. The buxom brunette had looked vaguely familiar, though Mallory couldn

t quite place her. One thing for certain, she wasn

t the bride-to-be.

Maybe Lindsey

s suspicions had some basis in fact. Like it or not, maybe Mallory really should have a little chat with Evan.

FIVE

Brody found Mallory in the living room staring at the dusty split-leaf philodendron in the corner as if she

d never seen one before.

Problem?

he asked.


What?

She turned slowly to face him.

Oh, no. It

s nothing. Who was on the phone?


Lieutenant Kirkwood.


On a Sunday? I thought officers were strictly nine-to-fivers.


None of us will be nine-to-fivers again until we catch the burglars.

And GI Joe. The rapist had attacked another victim last night, according to Kirkwood.


Were they able to trace the pickup, using the partial you gave them?


Yeah, only one truck registered in Paiute County fit the description, so they hauled the owner in for questioning. The lieutenant wants us to come down to see if we can ID the guy.


But what about your head? Didn

t you tell him you were on the casualty list?

He

d slept well and the golf-ball-sized lump on the back of his head had shrunk to mosquito-bite proportions. Aside from a headache, he felt pretty good.

I

m okay. How about you?

Mallory looked pale and fragile with her hair wisping around her face and faint violet shadows under her eyes. Then she grinned at him and the illusion of fragility vanished.

I

ll live. Did your lieutenant say who the owner of the truck was?


Arlo Davis. Name ring a bell?

She shook her head.

Never heard of him, but I bet it

s the same guy we saw outside Dixon and Alexandra Yano

s house. And probably the same one who clobbered you, then stashed you in the Dumpster. According to the witness, the man who followed you outside was

smaller than an elephant, but not by much.
’”

Brody nodded.

Good description of our burglary suspect, all right.

Unfortunately, the witness

s description wasn

t a good match for Arlo Davis, a frail, white-haired man in his late seventies.


I don

t get it,

said Mallory.

Why did they just let him go? Even if he wasn

t the human tank who bashed you over the head and ripped off my friends

house, the old boy had to have some idea who the culprit was. After all, we know it was his truck that was used in the robbery.


No,

said Brody.

We don

t know it was his truck. All we know is that it was a truck that looked like his. I didn

t get the partial license number at the crime scene.


Yes, but someone attacked you when you bent down to check the plate number on Davis

s truck. That can

t be a coincidence.

He shrugged.

No, but it

s not evidence, either. Maybe if Arlo Davis had been the big guy we saw at the Yano house, we could have convinced a judge to issue a search warrant so we could have checked his truck and his house for stolen goods. As it is, we

ve got nothing except, in my case, a killer of a headache. I

m going back to bed to take it easy like the doctor said, but
c”
A smile spread slowly across his face.

Mallory felt the reaction all the way to her toes.

But what?


Why don

t we try this dinner-date thing one more time? Say tomorrow night at seven?

She frowned.

I don

t know, Brody. I think the fates are trying to tell us something.

Another date wasn

t a good idea. She was way too attracted to him already, and she suspected he wasn

t exactly indifferent to her. Normally a strong mutual attraction was a good thing, but Mallory

s approach to relationships wasn

t normal. Her fear of intimacy ran deep. She and Brody had no future, and it wasn

t fair to him to pretend otherwise. All she needed was an escort for the wedding festivities. Nothing more.


Come on, Mallory. Give me a chance to make it up to you.

She gave an involuntary shiver of excitement at the look in his eyes.

No. I

m not really your type, Brody. We have nothing in common.


What are you talking about? I love hot-fudge sundaes and you love hot-fudge sundaes. I love puppies and sunsets and long walks on the beach. And you
—”


Love kittens and sunrises and curling up in a chair with a good book. I rest my case.


Hell, woman, give me a chance. We spent the night together, and you survived that. This time I

m only asking you out to dinner.


Last time you only asked me out to dinner.

Brody laughed.

So I did, but I plead extenuating circumstances. Please, Mallory. It

ll be my way of thanking you for all you did last night.

The look of entreaty on his handsome face was hard to resist.

She bit down on her lower lip.

No, I don

t think so.

Jeez, why did he have to smile like that? Her pulse pounded in her ears like heavy surf. She felt a little dizzy and a lot shaky. But she could hold out as long as he didn

t touch her.

He touched her, a double whammy, one hand on her arm, the other cupping her chin. Electroshock therapy couldn

t deliver any more voltage than the gentle pressure of his fingertips.

Please, Mallory?

Hard to resist? Ha! Make that darned near impossible to resist.


Mallory?

A whisper of sound that shuddered down her spine. She shivered in anticipation.

He leaned closer, brushing her lips with his.

Please?

he asked, his mouth so close to hers, she felt the words as well as heard them.

Oh, boy. She closed her eyes to shut out the sweet intensity of his expression, but it didn

t help.

He kissed her eyelids and she went limp in reaction. His hand on her arm was all that kept her upright.

Please, Mallory. Say yes.

She took a deep breath, fully intending to tell him no.

Yes,

she said instead, and he hugged her tight.


Good girl.

No, dumb girl. Stupid girl. Idiot girl.

What time did you say?

Her voice emerged as a choked whisper.


Seven.

She opened her eyes to find him smiling down at her.

I

ll be ready.


And I

ll be there.

Yeah, sure he would. By seven-thirty or a quarter to eight. She was learning.

Brody dropped Mallory at her house at a little after three. She planned to catch up on some laundry, run over to Aerobics Plus for an hour or so to work some of the kinks out of her muscles, then coddle herself with a bubble bath.

Her sister screwed up the schedule.


Where have you been?

Lindsey launched her attack before Mallory was through the door.


Out.

She glanced pointedly at the empty soda can on the end table, the rumpled
TV Guide
, the blaring television.

You certainly know how to make yourself at home.

The sarcasm was wasted on Lindsey. She frowned.

You didn

t come home last night. I waited up for you until after midnight. This morning I started calling at five, then punched redial again every fifteen minutes until Evan dropped me off about ten. What have you been doing all this time?


Long version or short version?


How about the PG version?


With me, every version

s a PG version.


That Brody Hunter

s X-rated if I ever saw X-rated.


He just looks X-rated. He

s really very sweet.

Lindsey shot her a skeptical look.


Okay, don

t believe me, then. Here

s the short version, editing out all the sex orgies and most of the violence.

Lindsey rolled her eyes.


First, I interrupted a burglary and consequently spent hours wading through a sea of red tape down at police headquarters. Then
—”


Mother said you

d called.


Right, so then Brody took me to Denny

s

we

d missed dinner and both of us were starving

and that

s where I discovered what I thought was a dead body in the Dumpster.


Wait! Why were you pawing through a Dumpster at Denny

s?


I was looking for Brody. He left to go wash his hands and never came back.


Oh, sure, that explains it. Dumpster

d be the first place I

d check for a missing boyfriend.

Lindsey made a face.

So who was the body in the Dumpster?


Brody, of course. He wasn

t really dead, though.

Lindsey nodded.

Yeah, I kinda figured that since I just saw him drop you off.

Mallory knew she wasn

t making much sense; she was too tired to think clearly, let alone frame coherent sentences. She hung her coat and shoulder bag on the hall tree, kicked her shoes off, and collapsed on a chair, yawning so widely she felt as if her jaw were about to come unhinged.


What happened? Did he pick a bar brawl with the wrong guy?


Lindsey, just let it drop. I didn

t get a whole lot of sleep and I

m not in the mood for a cross-examination.


Didn

t get a whole lot of sleep? You mean
c
How long have you known this man, Mai?


Long enough.


You should be careful. Evan and I discussed Brody Hunter and we both decided he

s bad news. As an investigative reporter, Evan

s seen guys like that before

usually in handcuffs. Evan said he wouldn

t be surprised to discover Brody Hunter was on the FBI

s most wanted list. He has the kind of face you find decorating the post-office wall.


Brody

s a cop, not a crook. I think Evan

s been watching too much tabloid TV.


Hunter claims to be a cop, but how do you know he really is? Have you checked him out with the department?


Linz, believe me, he

s legit. If you need references, though, check with Kyle Brewster. They went to school together.


That was years ago. A lot could have happened since then.


Just drop it, Lindsey. He

s a cop. Period.


Or is he a cop, question mark?


Meaning?


Meaning not all police officers are patterns of virtue. Brody Hunter could still be

as Daddy would say

crooked as a dog

s hind leg. Just study the man objectively, Mai, and tell me he doesn

t look like the type who might be into something really scary, like drugs or illegal arms deals.

BOOK: Man Shy
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