The Nosy Neighbor

by Fern Michaels

  “This is a sad story. I guess I would have said, ‘Where are we going?’ ”

  “Nope. She said…she said, ‘Put the top up! I don’t want to mess up my hair!’ ”

  Lucy pretended horror, her hands going to her lips. “No!”

  “Yes! The Sex Machine didn’t have a top. Well, it did, but it was in tatters, and it didn’t work. It was a convertible! When I told her it didn’t work, she got out of the car and left me sitting there. I couldn’t even drive away because the damn car wouldn’t start. The guys had to push it back to the garage off campus where we kept it. That was the end of my inside track with Angie Motolo. I was suicidal for a whole day.”

  Lucy clamped the top onto the cooker and set the pressure gauge. She dusted her hands dramatically. “That is a sad story. What happened to Angie Motolo?”

  “She married the trombone player in the school band and is now a hostess on one of those shopping channels. I called in one night to buy some socket wrenches and they put me on the air with her. Usually the hostesses get chatty with the customers, so I told her who I was. She said she didn’t remember me or the robin’s-egg blue convertible. They hustled me off the air real quick. Her loss.” Wylie grinned.

  Lucy burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. Wylie clapped her on the back, but she kept on laughing and choking. Later, he couldn’t clearly remember how it happened, but he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back.

  With gusto.

  Along time later, Wylie held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “Tell me it was okay to do that.”

  Her head reeling, Lucy said, “It was okay for you to do that. I’m not engaged any longer,” she said, wiggling her ring finger. “And to think you live next door and we never met.”

  “Yeah, that’s mind-bending all right. My mind is going in all directions here, Lucy Baker,” Wylie said hoarsely.

  “So is mine, Wylie,” Lucy gasped.

  “Why don’t we try doing that again and see what happens?”

  “I think that’s a very good idea, Wylie.” Lucy moved closer, her eyes glazed.

  “Ahhh,” was all Wylie could say, before he found warm, moist lips covering his own.

  8

  It was a quarter to eight when Lucy flipped on the outside light and opened the door to admit the biggest man she’d ever seen in her entire life, ex–Navy SEAL Mitch Logan. Lucy smiled, Mitch smiled, and the dogs went ballistic as they tried to climb all over him, sensing a friend. Wylie whistled, and the dogs calmed almost immediately, except for Lulu, who was crawling up Mitch’s pant leg. With hands as big as ham hocks, the big man scooped her up and rubbed his cheek against her little head. He tweaked the bow on top of her head before he grinned from ear to ear. “She’s a girl, right?”

  “That she is, and she’s been leading these two,” Lucy said, pointing to the retriever and the lab, “around by their noses. Come in, come in, it’s cold out there,” she said shutting the door. “Dinner’s ready. We were just waiting for you to arrive. I’m Lucy Baker,” she said, extending her hand.

  Lucy watched as the men acted like college freshmen as they slapped one another on the back, hugged, said it was way too long between visits. She listened to the male banter and suddenly felt like everything in her life was going to be all right. She hoped she wasn’t wrong.

  Lucy finished setting the table while Mitch washed up, the dogs right beside him. “The dogs love Mitch because they know he likes animals,” Jake said. “He has a whole team of K-9 dogs he uses in his business. They’re in demand, big-time.”

  This is nice, Lucy thought as she placed bowls on the table. She stood back to look at the mound of food she’d prepared—the six-pound roast, sliced to perfection, garlic mashed potatoes, fresh string beans with slivers of julienne carrots, mushroom gravy, yeast rolls, soft golden butter, and a large garden salad. A small bowl of mango chutney garnished the platter next to the meat. The blackberry cobbler would be just cool enough when it was time for dessert.

  “No business while we’re eating,” Jake said. “We don’t want to insult Lucy with shop talk after she slaved over this wonderful repast all afternoon.”

  It was a dinner Lucy enjoyed, dealing mostly with the three men’s college antics. The blue convertible, however, was the main topic of conversation. Lucy felt a tad jealous of the faceless Angie Motolo as the guys ribbed Wylie, who soaked it all up with a wide grin. While they joked back and forth, Lucy struggled and strained to see if any of their thoughts would come through. She lowered her hands to her lap and crossed her fingers. Maybe it was finally gone.

  Jake took charge the moment he finished his cobbler and accepted a refill in his coffee cup. Lucy cleared the table, but she listened intently as the men talked. She could feel Mitch Logan’s eyes on her. She knew he was taking her measure and wondered if she was coming up short or not. And then she heard him. She looks frazzled. What the hell kind of guy is she mixed up with? She was so stunned, she dropped a handful of silverware. All three men stared at her.

  Flustered, Lucy bent down to pick up the silverware. “I am frazzled. The truth is I am scared out of my wits. I don’t know what kind of man Jonathan or Leo Banks is. I’m learning real fast, though. Let’s just say somehow, some way, he managed to bewitch me, okay?” This last she said angrily. She was damn sick and tired of defending herself.

  The big man held up his hand. “Whoa, there, Miss Lucy. I want you to back up a moment and think about what you just said. The word scared is not in my vocabulary, and I want you to erase it from yours. From here on in, I want you spittin’ mad. Not scared, mad. That…ah…that little thing in your head can be used to your advantage. Don’t be frightened of it. I think somebody,” he said, pointing upward, “wants you to have that particular ability right now at this point in time. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be experiencing what you’re experiencing. That’s how you have to look at it for now. You’re alive, you’re young, you’re healthy, and we’re going to make this all come out right. And, no, it does not spook me that you can read my mind. I’d like some more coffee please.”

  “Well, when you put it like that, I guess you have a point,” Lucy acquiesced as she reached for the coffeepot. It was going to be all right. She could feel it in her bones.

  Jake slid the minirecorder into the middle of the table and turned it on. Mitch Logan listened intently as the FBI agents talked about the security at the house in Watchung. When Jake turned the recorder off, three sets of eyes stared at Mitch Logan.

  “I think I can handle this. I know exactly what they’re talking about. Mr. Whatever-his-name-is must have some pretty powerful friends to install that kind of security. The last time I saw anything even remotely resembling what the agents were talking about was in a drug lord’s compound in El Salvador. I was a SEAL then. Makes you wonder what that guy has stashed in his house.”

  “What about all the snow?” Wylie asked.

  “Snow, rain, sand, makes no difference. I have everything I’ll need in the back of my truck. If you don’t mind, I’d like to call a guy I know who lives in Sparta, right here in New Jersey. He retired from Delta Force and works for me from time to time. I’d like him to meet us at the house. I checked the map before I left, and he’s sixty minutes away. That okay with you guys?” Everyone nodded. “Good, then it’s a go. He’s waiting for my call. Now, if it’s okay with all of you, I’d like to turn in. I get up at four, and it’s been a long day.”

  Five minutes later, Lucy was holding the door open for her guests. “Do you feel better now?” Wylie whispered.

  “A lot better. I’d really feel wonderful if Jonathan wasn’t coming for Christmas. Good night, Wylie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “You don’t mind keeping all the dogs, do you?”

  “Not at all.” She knew Wylie wanted to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her, too, but Jake and Mitch were waiting. “Tomorrow’s another day,” she said, and smiled.

  The house seemed exceptionally quiet when she cl
osed and locked the door behind her guests. She immediately armed the security system. Someone like Jonathan could probably disarm the system in a heartbeat. Someone like Jonathan. How weird the thought was. Lucy gave herself a mental shake to drive it away. Well, she had a backup. If Sadie couldn’t shred an intruder’s skin down to the bone, Coop would use his brute force, knock him down, and sit on him while Lulu chewed him to pieces. The thought was so amusing, Lucy burst out laughing.

  She was still laughing when she entered her bedroom to see all three dogs sound asleep on her bed. There was barely enough room for her from the looks of things.

  Lucy brushed her teeth and fixed her hair into a ponytail before she went back downstairs to check the dying fire and turn off the lights. She stood for a moment watching the last of the flames in the huge fireplace, wondering what was going to happen to her nice, quiet life now that Wylie was in the mix. A river of heat raged through her body when she remembered how she’d returned his kiss. She’d never kissed Jonathan like that. She’d never felt anything like what she’d felt with Wylie when she was with Jonathan.

  Lucy sat down and hugged her knees, the warmth from the fireplace embracing her. She wondered what the men next door were doing. Were they talking about her? Probably. She thought about Mitch Logan in his red-and-black plaid lumberjack flannel shirt. From the tip of his military buzz cut to the tips of his toes, he looked every bit as fearful and as awesome as Jake said he was. And, he wasn’t the least bit concerned that she could read his mind. Amazing, she thought.

  She needed a game plan where Jonathan was concerned. In a courtroom, she could hold her own with the best of them. When it came to affairs of the heart she was a dud, and she knew it. Was Jonathan planning on killing her, as the agents implied? The man had used her. And she had allowed it, which didn’t say much for her. She hated thinking about her ex-fiancé. Thoughts about his handsome good looks, his lean, muscled body, and the times they’d made love had become hateful memories. She cringed, shame enveloping her when she thought about the things she’d done with that lean, muscled body. Things Jonathan would expect when he arrived for Christmas. “Like hell!” she snarled.

  Lucy knew deep down that Jonathan had picked up on something in her voice. She knew him well enough to be aware of the little nuances in his voice. She wished now that she had said something to Wylie or Jake about how afraid of the man she was. On the other hand, maybe they knew. No, men were dense about things like that. The dogs would have to be her security, her balance, her protectors. Better not to think of such things. Better to get up and go to bed.

  Lucy’s hand was on the newel post as she prepared to head up to the second floor when the phone rang. She shrugged as she made her way back to the kitchen, where she’d left her cordless. “Hello,” she said cheerfully, thinking it was Wylie on the other end of the phone. To her dismay, she heard Jonathan’s rich chuckle reverberating in her ear.

  “Oh, darling, I’m glad I caught you. I thought you might have turned in already. I think I had too much wine at dinner, and for some reason I can’t seem to compute the time difference. How are you? Do you miss me?”

  How can I miss a low-down skunk? “You’re right, Jonathan, I was halfway up the stairs, on my way to bed, when the phone rang.” Too much wine, my foot. Jonathan never, ever lost control. He only drank more wine than he should when he knew he was in bed and would get at least five hours of sleep. Usually after making love. Maybe he was with some other woman. The thought pleased her. He’s worried about the IRS, she thought. That’s the reason for this call. “I’m fine, Jonathan, how are you? Of course I miss you. I’m counting the days till you get here. Where are you, Jonathan?”

  “I’m still in Zurich. I’ll be heading for Cairo shortly. You’ve been on my mind, darling. All I’ve been doing is thinking about you instead of business. I know you’re worried about your IRS meeting. I’m sure it’s some minor nitpicking item they’re homing in on.”

  Lucy sucked in her breath. You bastard. “Actually, I put it out of my mind, Jonathan. The one thing I don’t do, and have never done, is mess around with my tax records. As a lawyer, I’m trained to keep impeccable records. My brother and I check each other’s returns to make sure neither one of us inadvertently forgets to put something in. I was just antsy seeing the letter. It will be fine. I don’t want you worrying about me, Jonathan. They did not indicate that this was an audit. Let’s not waste our time talking about those pests at the IRS. Let’s talk about us. Tell me what you’re doing and when can I expect to see you?” Never would be the appropriate response to her question.

  Jonathan’s laughter didn’t sound genuine. Lucy found herself shivering. She cradled the phone on her neck and shoulder so she could hug her arms against her chest. Just hang up already, Jonathan. I hate talking to you. I hate you. You’re making my skin crawl. Still, she had to play the game so she could return to her nice, normal life. And, the only way she could do that was to help the FBI trap the man she’d promised to marry.

  “You sound like you miss me, Lucy. I’m doing my best to clear the decks, darling. If all goes well, I might be able to finagle a few extra days to make it a full two weeks instead of ten days. What do you think of that?”

  Lucy wished she could tell him exactly what she thought of that statement. Her mind raced. Two weeks was fourteen days. That would mean he would arrive on her doorstep somewhere around the…what? The seventeenth or the eighteenth of December, give or take a day either way, assuming he would leave to go back to whatever rock he lived under on January 2.

  Lucy struggled to work enthusiasm and excitement into her voice. “Fourteen whole days! Jonathan, this will be a first for you…us,” she purred. “As soon as this pesky snow starts to melt, I’m going to go shopping for a whole new wardrobe.”

  Jonathan chuckled again. It sounded just as forced as before. “You know what they say, less is more.” Lucy felt light-headed at the insinuation. “Do you know what else, darling? I was sitting here thinking I’d like to take you dancing. I want to feel you next to me, your body pressed tight against mine as we glide across the floor with other people watching us, knowing we’re going to make love when the night is over. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”

  Lucy blinked at the sound of the words and the meaning. She wanted to gag. “Hmmm,” was all she could get past her tight lips. Let him think whatever he wanted to think.

  “Does that mean we’re on the same wavelength?” Not bothering to wait for her response, he said, “Of course it does. When you go shopping, be sure to pick up some dancing slippers and a slinky, sexy dress. Get a red one. I love you in red.”

  He must be thinking about someone else. She didn’t own anything, even underwear or pajamas, that were red. Red, in her opinion, was a harlot color. Did Jonathan know that? Her arm, wrist, and hand ached the way she had the receiver pressed to her ear. Why isn’t he hanging up? She couldn’t take one more minute of this.

  A stifled yelp escaped her lips. “Oh, my goodness, Sadie just threw up. I have to hang up now, Jonathan.” Just as she was about to end the call, she heard him mutter something that sounded like, “On the rug?”

  Jonathan snapped the cell phone shut, his eyes speculative as he stared out the window of his hotel room. It would be dawn in a few minutes. A new day. He felt the pulse in his wrist. Too fast. Way too fast. He needed to calm down and think about the conversation he’d just had with his fiancée. Really think.

  Jonathan moved then, across the elaborate suite of rooms to the room service tray that had arrived just as his call to Lucy went through. There was nothing like a jolt of pure Colombian coffee to jump-start the morning. Just what he needed, caffeine. He gulped at the hot, dark brew.

  Jonathan licked at lips that felt dry. Lucy was suspicious. Of what? The IRS letter? There was no way she could know about the brokerage accounts or the house in Watchung or the amended tax returns. Or could she? She had to know or suspect something. Why else did she sound so…so wary wh
en he called her, like she was choosing her words, thinking, weighing what she was going to say. Damn, the feds had probably paid her a visit.

  As always, when Jonathan was under pressure, he sat down at the ornate desk and turned on his laptop. Blizzards of files and numbers raced across the screen. His holdings. His security. The totally different life he was about to embark on come the new year. A life he’d prepared for with his own sweat, blood, and yes, even a few tears. With the money he’d secreted around the world, he could take his place among the rich and famous, with Lucy at his side.

  He’d chosen Lucy from a hundred other women because she knew the law and had credibility. After they were married, he’d suggest some of the famous salons in Paris. Perhaps a little plastic surgery. A haute couture wardrobe, and she would be worthy of holding on to his arm. Her French was so-so, and he would insist she become fluent.

  Why was he having all these thoughts when the very real possibility that he would have to kill Lucy banged around inside his head?

  If his instincts were right, and they’d never failed him before, maybe he should cut his losses where Lucy was concerned and sever his relationship with the lawyer. Damn, if the federales were onto him, he was going to have to do some clever shape-shifting in order to enter the good old US of A.

  It was getting lighter outside the windows. Jonathan walked over, opened the draperies, and stared down at the city. Damn, it was snowing again. He hated the cold. He really did. The French Riviera was the place to be at this time of year. Any time of the year for that matter.

  Jonathan flipped open his encrypted cell phone and proceeded to punch in a number he knew from memory. His voice firm and cool, he canceled his proposed meeting in Cairo, saying urgent business demanded he return to the United States. The promise of a rescheduled meeting and a discount calmed the voice on the other end of the line.

  Jonathan’s next call was to Swissair. Better to fly commercial than have his pilot bring the Gulfstream to Lucerne. He thought then about his latest acquisition, a Bell Jet Ranger helicopter. He couldn’t wait to play with that particular new toy. Payment for a job well-done. He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. His immediate business taken care of, he could concentrate all his efforts on what he was going to do about Lucy Baker.