Full House

by Janet Evanovich

  "It's okay," Billie said, pretending she was trying to hide her disappointment. "Nick is way out of my league."

  "I hope you're not comparing yourself to Sheridan, honey, because let me tell you, you've got her beat by a mile. She's not half the woman you are. She's shallow."

  "Thanks, Deedee."

  "I'm not just saying that to make you feel good. I've known her since grade school, and she's nothing but a spoiled daddy's girl. Got worse after her mother died. What Sheridan wants, Sheridan gets." Deedee paused to catch her breath. "Her daddy is a retired three-star general with power and money who isn't opposed to throwing his weight around when it comes to his little girl. Sheridan is just like him."

  "Maybe she wants Nick back."

  "Nick is smarter than that."

  Deedee threw her hands into the air. "Oh, hell. It's not here. The limo is on the way, and I haven't got my Stargio."

  "What's a Stargio?" Billie asked, although she was still curious about Nick's relationship with Sheridan. Was Nick still in love with her, and if so, why was he kissing Billie?

  "It's a necklace," Deedee said. "Stargio is the name of the guy who designed it for me. Diamonds and emeralds. Dammit, I got this dress just for the Stargio. I know where I left it, too. It's at Nick's. It's in the little safe in the guest room."

  "Nick has a safe in his guest room?"

  Deedee dialed a number on the bedside phone and waited impatiently. "No answer." She dialed another number, got an answer, and asked for Nick. "He isn't home, and he isn't at the barn. He's in Upperville looking at a horse," she told Billie, hanging up the phone. "You see what I mean about him? He's unreliable. Now what am I going to do? I can't possibly go to that party without my Stargio."

  Billie wondered if Nick had made the trip alone, then chided herself. It was none of her business. Just because he'd kissed her silly didn't mean he was ready to choose a china pattern. She was overreacting. Men kissed women all the time.

  "Maybe he'll be home in a little while."

  "I can't wait." Deedee took her black satin evening purse from the dresser. "I'll just have to go over to Nick's house and get it. Can I borrow your minivan? Mine is in the garage getting fixed. People keep smashing into it."

  Billie remembered Nick's warning about letting Deedee drive. "Maybe I should take you. It might be hard to drive in those heels," she added tactfully.

  "That'd be great." Deedee hugged her. "You're such a good friend. We'll leave a note on the door in case Frankie gets here before we get back."

  Fifteen minutes later Billie pulled into the circular driveway of Nick's stately country house. The ivy-covered, redbrick house sat a good distance from the road, hidden from sight by a small hill, and separated from the stable by a copse of evergreens. It reminded Billie of the Governor's Palace in Colonial Williamsburg.

  "Is this the first time you've seen Nick's house?" Deedee asked as if noting Billie's look of awe.

  Billie nodded her head. "It's very nice."

  "Nick bought it from some earl. This earl person had the bricks brought all the way from England."

  Billie and Deedee walked to the door and knocked. "No one home," Deedee said. "And the door's locked. Damn." They walked to the back of the house where they tried several more doors. All locked. "Nick was robbed four years ago," Deedee explained. "Now he keeps everything shut up tighter than a clam at high tide." She sighed. "If Max were around, he could get us in. There isn't an alarm system that Max can't decode."

  "Who's Max?"

  "Maximillian Holt. He's my bratty kid brother, the sixteen-year-old genius who keeps blowing up things around here."

  Billie took a step back. "Blowing up things?"

  Deedee seemed more interested in figuring out a way to get into the house than discussing her little brother. "Don't worry, he wouldn't hurt a fly, and he doesn't blow up big things. He just does it to get Nick's attention," she added.

  "That would work for me." Billie shook her head sadly. Nick was living in a house with a kid who blew up things? Was anyone in the family normal? "Uh, Deedee?"

  "Don't worry about Max, honey. He hasn't been seen in days."

  Billie was relieved to hear it. "Does anyone know where he is?"

  "Probably hiding in the woods. Max is very self-reliant." She carefully stepped into a bed of begonias and tried a window. "Any normal millionaire would have this house staffed with servants, but not Nick. He makes do with a part-time cleaning lady and a caretaker. And Fong, but he's pretty much retired. Nick even does his own cooking. Can you imagine not having a cook?"

  Billie had never wanted a cook. "I like to do my own cooking," she said. She glanced about as she talked. "What does Max look like?"

  "He's dark and skinny. Nothing to write home about, but you mark my word, that kid is going to be a hunk when he grows up. I can tell these things." She backed up several feet and pointed to an upstairs window. "That was my room. That's where my Stargio is."

  Billie was beginning to feel nervous about skulking around in the bushes. It wasn't in her nature to peek into other people's windows, and the thought of running into Max was unnerving. "Maybe we should try up at the stable. Maybe there's a spare key."

  "No way am I going to deal with Arnie the jerk. He gives me the heebie-jeebies. Besides, would you leave your house key with a man who looks like he belongs on the FBI's Most Wanted list?"

  "Nick mentioned firing someone. I think it may have been Arnie, but I'm not sure." She wondered why Nick had hired the man in the first place.

  Deedee didn't seem to be listening. "Come on."

  "What are you going to do?"

  Deedee marched to the patio at the back of the house and set her sights on a pair of French doors. "I'm getting my necklace." She took an insulated metal coffee carafe that had been left sitting on a lawn table and swung it into one of the small panes in the patio door. Shards of glass tinkled onto the slate floor and an alarm went off both inside and outside the house.

  Billie had a moment of heart-stopping immobility and then planted her feet in sprint position. "Let's go!"

  "Don't be a wimp," Deedee said. "It's just a silly alarm." She reached inside the broken pane and unlocked the door. "Come on, this will only take a minute."

  "This is breaking and entering!"

  Deedee waved her red nails. "Nick won't mind. He's always telling me I should be more resourceful. He'll be proud of me."

  "Do I hear dogs?"

  "Oh, my God, I forgot about the dogs!" Deedee pulled Billie inside the house and slammed the patio door shut just as a pack of assorted dogs came bounding through the patch of evergreens.

  "Terrific," Billie shouted over the alarm. "First the alarm goes off, then a herd of attack dogs descends on us. Not only that, there's a madman running loose, or should I say kid, who plays with explosives. What next?"

  Deedee clacked across the terracotta tile floor of the solarium and looked out a front window. "Oh, crud, it's the police. I swear, you'd think they were watching the place." She shrugged. "Probably worried that Max will go off the deep end." She turned on her heel and started up a broad central staircase. "You explain all this to them while I get my necklace."

  Billie stared at the flashing lights. Don't panic, she told herself, at the same time wondering how they'd managed to arrive on the scene so quickly. She felt as if she were right smack in the middle of a bad dream, only her eyes were wide open. She licked her dry lips. She'd never been arrested. She'd never had a traffic ticket. She'd led an exemplary life. And now she was going to have to explain to the police that her friend was upstairs breaking into a safe.

  She opened the front door and gave a tentative wave to the inhabitants of three squad cars. Deedee had gone too far this time. Billie only hoped their prison wardrobe came in orange because Deedee had claimed she looked hideous in that color.

  "This is all a mistake," Billie said, knowing it would never fly.

  "Hands in the air, lady," an officer shouted, aiming his gun at he
r.

  Her stomach took a nosedive. Billie immediately raised her hands over her head. "Please let me explain," she called back loudly, trying to make herself heard over the noisy alarm. "I'm not a real burglar. See, Deedee, Mr. Kaharchek's cousin, needed her Stargio. It's some kind of jewelry designed specifically for one of her evening gowns," she added in case the officers wondered what she was talking about.

  One of them rolled his eyes. "Deedee Holt, the ditsy redhead?"

  Billie nodded and expelled the air that had been trapped in her lungs. It gushed out like a hot furnace. "Deedee insists her shoes and jewelry match her clothes. I personally don't care about such things."

  The officer came forward. "You can put your hands down."

  Billie almost wept her relief. They knew Deedee. It was going to be okay.

  He punched a code into the small wall computer and silenced the alarm. "This isn't her car," he said, pointing to Billie's minivan.

  "It's mine," Billie said.

  "Don't ever let her drive it."

  Deedee clattered down the stairs in her heels and squeezed through the doorway, next to Billie. A collective gasp issued from the police while Deedee, resplendent in her bejeweled cleavage, preened and smiled for them. "Well, hello, gentlemen. I hope I didn't cause another little ruckus."

  "Where's Mr. Kaharchek?"

  Deedee grimaced. "In Upperville looking at some dumb horse, where else?"

  Frankie's limo pulled around the circular driveway and he got out. "I saw the note," he called out as he closed the distance between the limo and the officer. "Deedee had to get her necklace," he explained to the uniform at the foot of the porch stairs. "She can't wear that dress without her Stargio."

  The officer just looked at Deedee. "Have you ever considered asking your cousin for a key?"

  "She has trouble keeping up with keys," Frankie answered for her. "Don't worry, I'll pay for any damage."

  Deedee jiggled to the limo and slid in, exposing a healthy length of leg to the observant eyes of the law. "Thanks, honey," she called to Billie. "Don't wait up." Frankie followed.

  The officer standing in front of Billie shook his head. "She's something else, isn't she?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Is Fong at home?"

  "I don't know this Fong person or where he is at the moment."

  "What did Deedee break this time?" he asked, writing on a form attached to a clipboard.

  "A window in the French doors."

  He handed the clipboard to Billie. "You'll have to make a statement. Just sign at the bottom. Is Nick coming home soon? We can't leave the house unattended and unsecured."

  Billie scribbled a brief explanation on the sheet of paper, signed it, and handed it to the officer. "I'm not sure when Mr. Kaharchek will return. I'll stay. I'm a personal friend." She regretted it the moment she said it. What if Max showed up? What if he were lurking about just watching and waiting to make his next move? Damn Deedee! The woman should be forced to sit in jail for a week without her makeup kits.

  The officers were already climbing into their patrol cars. Billie watched them drive single-file down the driveway, turn onto the road, and disappear around a bend.

  She sat on the porch steps for a while after they drove off. Birds sang night songs and the sky darkened. An animal lowed in the distance and Billie guessed that Nick kept cattle as well as horses. One by one the dogs ambled around the house and sat beside her. Hardly guard dogs. They probably had come running, hoping to get fed, she decided. She smiled. There wasn't a pedigree among them.

  Nick Kaharchek was a strange person. Not at all what she had originally expected; and the more Deedee complained about him, the better Billie liked him. He'd actually been a lot of fun at the wrestling match. She liked it that he could make himself at home in a kitchen. And he obviously liked animals.

  "Just like me," she told the dogs. The thought saddened her. Not only did they live in separate worlds; there was another woman in the picture. Billie suspected there would always be a woman in the picture where Nick was concerned, whether it was Sheridan or not. He liked women and they liked him.

  Billie heaved herself to her feet, went into the foyer with the dogs following close behind, and discovered another thing she liked about Nick Kaharchek—his house. It was a home. Warm and inviting without being ostentatious, though he could afford to decorate it like a castle if he wished. Roomy and spacious but still very simple and private. The couches were big and overstuffed. The tables were genuine Shaker. Fresh flowers sat in pots and vases on oversized window ledges and on the raised fireplace hearth of the great room. She turned on a few lights and found the kitchen.

  It was a cook's kitchen. Iron skillets and copper pots hung from the ceiling beams, side by side with sprays of dried herbs, ropes of red onions, clusters of garlic, and wire baskets of potatoes, squash, and turnips. An oak table polished to a high gloss invited people to eat in front of the large stone fireplace and enjoy the aroma of food fresh from the elaborate black iron-and-stainless-steel restaurant-sized stove. Billie located the pantry and the dog food and filled five red bowls labeled Spike, Snuffy, Otis, Daisy, and Beans. Tails thumped the wood floor while they waited patiently.

  Billie could not imagine Sheridan taking the time to feed Nick's dogs any more than she could imagine her cooking at his stove when he could easily afford to hire a full-time cook and housekeeper.

  "Dig in," she told the hungry dogs. Billie suddenly realized she hadn't eaten dinner. She was starved. She looked into the massive stainless-steel side-by-side refrigerator and her mouth watered at the sight of a thick steak and the fixings for her own homemade creamy macaroni and cheese. There was a God.

  She glanced about. Should she? After all, this was Nick's house. Yes, but she was protecting it until he arrived home. True, but she had driven Deedee there and watched her break in. That made her an accomplice, didn't it? She had absolutely no business going through Nick's refrigerator or coveting his food.

  Fifteen minutes later, the steak was sizzling on the kitchen barbecue, the macaroni and cheese was bubbling in the oven, and Billie was busy sauteing onions, mushrooms, and sweet peppers when Nick stole into the kitchen.

  He wasn't prepared for the emotion that caught in his throat at the sight of Billie working at his stove. He couldn't even name the emotion, but he knew it was very different from the usual rush of physical attraction he felt for her. He leaned against the doorjamb for a moment, letting his heart rate slow to a steady beat now that he knew she was safe.

  He'd raced from Upperville as soon as he'd gotten the message of the break-in. He had a fourteen-thousand-dollar security system, which Deedee had crippled in thirty seconds. Not for the first time, either, he thought ruefully. But this was the first time it had frightened him to this extent, because crazy Max was out there somewhere ... waiting for precisely the right moment to blow up something. It didn't matter that Nick had two round-the-clock security guards hidden on the surrounding hills; so far Max had managed to elude them, leaving his threatening notes and paradoxically thoughtful presents on a doorstep or window ledge.

  And then there was Arnie Bates, the parolee he'd hired because the man had needed a second chance and nobody had seemed inclined to give it to him. Not only had the man ignored the needs of Nick's horses, the fact that Arnie continued to sneak smokes in the stable after being warned was more than Nick could tolerate. He'd had no choice but to fire him. Arnie had left muttering threats, which seemed a lot more menacing after Nick discovered that the police were looking to pick up the man for questioning about a burglary.

  He pushed aside thoughts of Max and Arnie and allowed himself the pleasure of watching Billie unobserved. Her face was flushed from the heat of the frying pan, her mouth tipped at the corners in some small secret smile. He guessed the smile was satisfaction in the simple task of preparing a meal. It was nice, and he felt a compelling need to be physically closer. He knocked on the mahogany molding and called, "Hi, honey, I'm home," in p
erfect Dagwood Bumstead fashion so she wouldn't be startled. He leaned over her shoulder and sniffed at the onions, then kissed her in a husbandly fashion on the back of the neck.

  Billie smiled in good-humored tolerance and maneuvered away from him. "I bet you're wondering what I'm doing here."

  "Nope. George called me on the car phone and explained about the alarm going off."

  "George?"

  "George Scanlon, the officer who took the statement from you. He sort of keeps an eye on the place." Nick tried to keep his voice light. He would not tell her why Scanlon was watching the place.

  Billie wondered if Scanlon was keeping an eye out for Max. Sounded like Max needed to be under constant surveillance. She waited for Nick to say more, but he didn't. She took the macaroni and cheese from the oven and set it on the table. "I got hungry waiting for you, so I helped myself to some food. Hope you don't mind." She speared the steak, dropped it onto a heated platter, and garnished it with the sauteed vegetables.

  "Looks good."

  Billie smiled at his obvious interest in the steak. "I made enough for two."

  Nick stooped in front of the fireplace and struck a match to the kindling. "This seems like a meal that deserves a fire."

  "A fire in the middle of summer?"

  "Sure. All we have to do is boost the air-conditioning a little."

  He grinned at her, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, and Billie's stomach quivered. That was the smile that got her stuck with Deedee. Absolutely irresistible and very dangerous. It was the kind of smile that made a woman feel special, and Nick had a way of making her feel as though she were the only person in the world he wanted to be with.

  Billie was still warning herself to ignore both his smile and charm as they shared the meal in front of a cozy fire.

  "Your cheese sauce is great," Nick said. "You'll have to show me how to make this. Why are you frowning?"

  "I'm thinking." Actually, she was trying to imagine a man sharing an intimate dinner with Sheridan Flock and complimenting her cheese sauce.