Читать книгу She's Got the Look - Leslie Kelly - Страница 8

Present Day

THE REDHEAD WITH the camera was spying on him again.

Nick Walker glanced into his rearview mirror and saw the woman skulking around the corner of the church across the square. Every once in a while, she lifted the big camera that hung from one shoulder, swinging it in front of her face to snap off a shot of the trees. The birds. The sky. The church.

All of which was to hide her real photographic subject. Him.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head, wondering how long he could wait—and how far he could let her go—before his cover was blown. Not too much longer, that was for sure.

He hadn’t figured on going unnoticed when he’d started this undercover assignment a couple of days ago. Nobody dressed in his ratty clothes, with the shaggy beard, and two-days-past-needing-a-shower hair wouldn’t be looked at in old Savannah. Not to mention the car. It was a standard, city-issued, undercover P.O.S—Piece Of Shit—the color showing through the rust falling somewhere between puce and putrid.

But the cover was still a good one, considering the eclectic nature of the population in this area. There were just as likely to be panhandlers as millionaires moseying around some of the city’s famous squares. This getup was noticeable, but quickly forgotten by the busy residents who really didn’t want to think too much about how the “other half” lived.

So yeah, he’d been prepared for some attention. What he hadn’t expected was a frigging Nancy Drew out with her camera, snapping clandestine shots of a suspected bad guy and his license plate. She was about as clandestine as a tank.

“Lady, go home,” he pleaded softly, willing the woman to retreat into the building where she’d recently moved. The building where he was supposed to be conducting this stakeout.

That’d been the plan, anyway, which made the woman’s nosiness even more aggravating. His partner, Dex Delaney, was involved with the daughter of the building’s owner. Dex had felt sure his girlfriend, Rosemary, could arrange to let them use the building. It would have been perfect—discreet, vacant. An ideal place to stake out the first-floor apartment in the building across the street where a suspected drug trafficker resided.

Then, after Nick had grown in a beard and scavenged clothes from Goodwill, the ax had fallen. Rosemary’s father had refused, saying he’d rented the building to a family friend in need. Considering Rosemary’s social circles, the woman probably needed a place to stay so her mansion could be painted.

One thing he hadn’t needed was to have his stakeout made ten times tougher because of a rich woman’s whim. “Why the hell couldn’t she have moved in next month?” he muttered, still frustrated by the change in plans that had him sitting here on a sweltering ninety-five-degree day in a car that smelled like the last ninety-five men who’d been in it.

Sometimes he really didn’t like his job.

“But not often,” he admitted to himself.

Most times, he loved his job. Being a cop gave him more satisfaction than he’d ever dreamed of having in his civilian life. Funny, coming out of the marines four years ago, he hadn’t been sure what he’d do. Going back to his hometown had been impossible. College? A fantasy. He’d gotten used to being in action, to fighting and surviving. To nailing bad guys. On a big scale or on a small one, taking criminals out of commission was what he did best…he’d figured that out back when he wasn’t sure he’d ever give a damn about anything again.

Nick liked to think of it as weeding out the bullies. Pushers or terrorists, they were all the same. Narrow-minded. Violent. Caring nothing for anyone else. Just like any other loud, abusive, small-town bully trying to impose his will on everyone around him.

The one he’d grown up with, for instance.

So yeah, being a cop was a perfect fit. He’d never regretted his choice of careers. Except maybe a tiny bit on days like today. “Come on, Rupert, you punk, come visit Mr. Miller here so I can go home, shave and take a shower,” he said under his breath. Rupert was a low-level dealer. Miller was the big fish who brought in the shit that poisoned kids, ruined lives and sparked crime by addicts desperate to get one more high.

Nailing Miller would help a lot of people…which meant a lot to Nick. Because he’d discovered something else when he’d been fighting half a world away in a war-torn area foreign to anything he’d ever known: he was good at helping people who couldn’t help themselves. That was his talent, his calling.

He’d picked up that burden in Kosovo. And he’d never been able to put it back down.

“Hey, partner, you still awake?”

He slid down, trying not to let his head come in contact with the headrest. His personal ick-limit wouldn’t stand for it.

“I’m here,” he said softly into the small, handheld radio, keeping it concealed by his fingers. “Nancy Drew’s back on the beat, keeping the area safe from miscreants and jaywalkers.”

Dex laughed. He could. He was covering the back of the building. In the shade. In a newer car. With air-conditioning.

Nick was the rookie detective. So he got the P.O.S.

“You ever find out from Rosemary why this friend simply had to move in now?” he asked, his voice still low, his eyes constantly scanning the street.

“She’s an old friend of Rosie’s who’s starting a new photography business,” Dex said.

Hence the camera.

“Apparently she just came out of a really ugly divorce.”

“Wait…there’s a truck pulling up.” Nick lowered the radio, watching in his side mirror as a sizable U-Haul truck maneuvered up the street. It almost clipped a BMW and came damn close to taking out a street sign. As the truck passed, he casually glanced over and saw a small woman with curly light brown hair clutching the wheel as if she was a lion tamer holding a chair.

“No,” he bit out when the truck stopped. “Keep going.”

The radio crackled. “What is it?”

“Trouble. A big truck just pulled up in front of Rosemary’s father’s building and double-parked. It’s completely blocking my visual on the perp’s apartment. Not to mention traffic.”

“Want me to get a uniform out there to tell them to move?”

“Absolutely,” he said when he realized the driver was getting out of the truck. The woman called to someone. Somehow, Nick couldn’t muster up much surprise when he saw she was waving at the nosy photographer, who came jogging over.

That female was destined to be the bane of his existence this week.

He waited, tapping his fingers on the dash, watching the two women from behind his dark sunglasses. They stood beside the truck and talked for a while, looking upset. Finally the short, curly-haired driver pulled a cell phone out of her purse. Crossing the street to the shady square, she sat on a bench and started an animated phone conversation.

“No, you are not doing this,” he muttered, shaking his head as he observed the other one—the tall photographer—open the back of the truck and climb inside.

But she was doing it. As he watched in disbelief, she came staggering down the truck ramp carrying a double mattress. All he could see of her behind the mattress was two sandal-clad feet at the bottom, and two hands clutched on either side. Her oblivious friend was turned the other way, not even watching.

“Dammit.”

He looked at his watch. Tried again to peer around the truck. Wondered just how long it was going to take a beat cop to get his ass here and get the truck off the street. But most of all, he wondered what the heck the woman thought she was doing schlepping furniture all by herself on a hot summer day.

“Watch it, lady, you’re gonna fall,” he whispered when she reached the curb, which he thought she might not see.

Nope. She didn’t see it. Realizing what was going to happen, he called, “No!” and leaped out of his car. But it was too late. She tripped and fell forward. It was her extreme good fortune, however, that she landed right on her own mattress.

Before he could think better of it, Nick jogged the few yards over to her. “You okay?”

The woman was still lying there, facedown on the mattress in the middle of the sidewalk. She mumbled something but since her face was buried, he couldn’t make out what.

While waiting for her to move, he noted the richness of her thick hair, which, on closer inspection, was more auburn than true red. It was a warm shade, the color of vibrant earth after a rain. And he definitely noted her tall, curvy form, clad in tight jeans and a sleeveless white tank top.

If he’d thought she was really hurt, he might not have taken a second to appreciate the way she filled out those jeans. But she’d landed on something soft, and the view was definitely worth appreciating. Definitely. Hell, a saint would have looked, and no Walker had ever been accused of being a saint. A devil straight from hell was a more frequent expression.

Breathing deeply, he swallowed his libido back into his gut. “Ma’am? Do you need help getting up?” He cast a quick look to the side, noting that Miller’s blinds were closed tight. Hopefully he wasn’t sitting there in the darkness of his apartment, watching the world through his warped little drug-pushing eyes.

“I’m fine,” he heard as the woman pushed herself up to her knees, until she was on all fours right below him.

Lord have mercy.

Nick closed his eyes briefly, thrusting every low-down wicked Walker thought out of his head by sheer force of will. Trying to find the good manners his mama had tried so hard to teach him, he got hold of himself. When he opened his eyes again, the woman had risen to her feet. Thank God.

It took him less than a second to realize she was afraid of him. Though she jutted her chin out and kept her head up, she did step back. She obviously recognized him as the suspected pervert from the rust bucket parked at the curb around the corner.

He put his hands up, palms out. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

The tension in her body eased a bit, which gave Nick a chance to study her from behind his tinted sunglasses.

She was tall, and as nicely curved in the front as she was in the back. Though dark circles hinted of stress and her cheeks were a little pale—maybe even gaunt—her face didn’t suffer for it. In fact, she had a great face—wide mouth that would probably be beautiful when she smiled. Big old eyes that he figured were blue, but couldn’t tell for sure because of his glasses. Long lashes, creamy complexion, high cheekbones. Yes, indeed, his Nancy Drew was a pretty woman. Even if she was a busybody.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to get this done,” she said, her voice sounding shaky. As if she hadn’t completely accepted that he was merely a nice bystander wanting to help out. Considering how he looked, he couldn’t blame her.

Then she turned her back on him and bent over again—heaven help him for being a bad man—and tried picking up the mattress.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said, his throat tight.

“I’m stronger than I look.” Still bent over, she stared doubtfully at the building and added under her breath, “Though the stairs up to the third floor may be…difficult.”

“Third floor?” he snapped in disbelief.

“It’ll be fine,” she insisted, straightening up—without the mattress. “I’m just bringing a few things up there. Not much.”

He followed the airy hand she waved and looked into the truck. No, not much. Just a frigging box spring, dresser, small table, two chairs and a love seat. “You’re nuts. For God’s sake, wait for the movers.” Then, remembering he had a job to get back to, he added, “And you have to move this truck.”

She stiffened. “I don’t have any movers. Paige’s—my friend’s husband was supposed to be here, but he’s not.” Her voice rose a little and she stepped closer, as if she didn’t even realize it. “I have to empty that truck and return it before four o’clock or I’m going to owe Paige for another day’s rental.” Another step. Another flash of spirit. Another decibel and she was almost shouting. “And dammit, that truck is not going anywhere until I get this furniture into that building.”

Feisty. He liked that. He almost smiled, but figured she wouldn’t appreciate it.

Despite a little quiver in her bottom lip, and her initial fear of him, the woman was standing her ground. But that quiver, and a hint of moisture in her big eyes, made him suspect she was hanging on to her bravado by a thin thread. Remembering what Dex had started to say a few minutes ago, he realized this woman was probably moving out on her own for the first time after her…how had his partner described it? Ugly divorce. With nothing but a bed, a table and a few chairs.

His heart twisted, even while a voice in his head whispered, No, this is not your problem.

Damn. The last thing he needed was to worry about her, but he couldn’t help it. Despite being a better-than-average-height female, she had such a look of vulnerability. Particularly in that unsmiling mouth and those darkly circled eyes. Empty eyes. Frightened eyes, he’d say, if he didn’t already know she had guts, because of the way she’d been standing up to him.

Before he could decide what to do, a marked car pulled up behind the truck and a young beat cop Nick recognized from the station got out. Their eyes met for one second and the kid’s mouth quirked in a smile as he took in Nick’s getup.

“Someone’s going to have to move this truck,” he said as he approached them. “It’s blocking traffic.”

Nancy Drew’s friend finally realized what was going on and came running from across the street. “Wait, please, we’ll be so quick unloading it you won’t even know we were here.”

“I’m sorry, you have to get it out of here,” the cop said.

The pretty, sad-looking woman at the center of all of this blinked, looking back and forth between them. Then she wrapped her arms around herself, as if needing strength. Needing support.

Needing.

Nick mentally kicked himself. But even as his internal voice told him he was an idiot, he opened his mouth and surprised them all. “Officer,” he said, looking at the younger man, “between the two of us, we could empty this thing and have these ladies on their way within ten minutes. Don’t you think?”

The kid flinched, not expecting the response. With a slight shake of his head, Nick stopped any questions and got his point across. They were going to do this. If Miller looked out his window, he’d see a cop and a guy helping a lady move in. Not anything unusual in a Southern town known for its hospitality.

Dex might not agree, but Nick’s decision was made. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t understand it himself, really. But something inside him wouldn’t let this haunted-looking woman load her mattress back on that truck and drive away.

She needed help. And he was going to give it to her.

VANDALIZING A BILLBOARD to announce to the world that your husband was a cheating scumbag might not be the best way to save a marriage, but it was one hell of a way to end one.

Melody Tanner-Todd—now just Tanner again, thankfully—had discovered that when she’d sought retaliation against her bastard of an ex, who’d slept his way across Atlanta during their marriage. It had been hugely public, hugely satisfying and it had hugely entertained the city’s commuting population. It had also cost her nearly everything she owned.

“You mean he gets practically all your money just because you painted some graffiti on a billboard?” said Paige Winston—now Suffolk—sounding shocked and dismayed.

Rosemary and Tanya wore similar looks of disbelief, which probably matched the one that had been on Mel’s own face for the past two months—since the day a judge had given her ex most of what she had earned during nineteen years as a model and actress.

“This is unbelievable! The house? The boat? That cheating sack of shit gets it all? Gawd, I’m never getting married. Vibrators are just as good and they don’t come with six-foot-tall walking dicks attached.” Six years might have turned Tanya into a softer-looking, mature woman, but they hadn’t done anything to smooth out that ballsy attitude.

Melody had a flash of déjà vu. It’d been almost exactly six years ago that the four of them had been sitting in this same restaurant, with the same watchful owner, at this same table, drinking margaritas out of possibly these same glasses, on the night before her wedding. Her blissful, lovely, elegant wedding that was supposed to be the start of her perfect life.

The perfection had lasted about ten months. Until Melody had started hearing rumors that her devoted husband was devoted to anything with two parted legs. It had taken another three years for her to grasp the scope of Bill’s betrayals. But eventually she’d realized that her dentist husband was willing to drill absolutely any woman who opened wide.

“The judge agreed with his lawyer that I’d damaged his professional reputation,” Melody murmured, knowing the others were waiting to hear the rest of the story.

They’d heard bits and pieces, of course. Though they lived several hours away, her friends had been a great source of support—even with only their telephone calls—during the ugly, rancorous split-up. They’d wanted to come to see her, but Melody had put them off, not wanting them to know how bad it was.

Only Tanya, who was a flight attendant and visited Atlanta a lot anyway—and who would never take no for an answer—had ignored her request. She’d shown up at Mel’s door one day last May with a bottle of tequila and a big cheesecake. So she knew something about Melody’s disgrace. Just like Rosemary knew the most about her unhappiness. And Paige knew the most about her dreams for the future. But none of them knew the whole story.

“I know you’ve all been wanting to hear everything, but I needed a couple of weeks to pull myself together,” Melody said. “I only want to tell the story once. This is the first time all four of us have been together since I got back, so I guess tonight it’s time to let it all come out.”

Paige reached across the table and took her hand. Rosemary listened quietly, and Tanya gave her a nod of encouragement.

“So to start, yes, he got almost everything.” She squeezed Paige’s fingers. “You know, letting me borrow that furniture to camp out while Rosemary’s father had renovations done on the building was a godsend. I finally got the stuff the judge said I could take from the house, but up until a week ago, I wasn’t sure Bill would let me have even that without another battle.”

“I asked you to stay with me,” Rosemary said.

Rosemary’s frown emphasized some unusual dark smudges beneath her eyes, and Melody realized just how tired and pale her friend looked. She had to wonder what was up with Rosemary, who was usually very precise about her appearance.

“Or me,” Tanya added.

Yes, they’d all offered. But starting a new life on her own had meant just that. On her own. “I know, and thank you. But it was fine. Paige’s stuff was all I needed. Thanks again.”

Paige grinned. “You’re welcome. It was worth it—that cop looked cute carrying stuff up the stairs in his tight pants.”

Frankly, Melody had been too shaken by the scruffy, bearded stranger in the dingy jeans to pay much attention to the boyish policeman who’d helped them move furniture a couple of weeks ago. She still wondered about the man, who, she had to admit, had come to her aid at a time when she’d nearly been at the end of her rope. Odd, since she’d started out being afraid of him—wondering if Bill had hired someone to stalk her when she saw his car parked around the corner two days in a row.

When she’d actually spoken to him—after she’d so stupidly fallen on the mattress—she’d been taken aback by his smooth, sexy voice. There’d also been something nice about his lean jaw, even though it had been almost hidden by his scraggly beard.

Then there’d been his eyes. During one moment when he was helping carry a table up the stairs, his glasses had slid down briefly, allowing her a glimpse of his brown eyes. Nice. Very nice. She liked brown-eyed men. Maybe because Bill’s were green.

Melody had wondered once or twice what had happened to the dangerous-looking stranger who’d been so helpful. He must have accomplished whatever he’d been doing on her street, because she hadn’t seen him since that day.

Mel shrugged off her curiosity. “Anyway, like I said, Bill got almost everything.”

Sipping her sweet tea, Rosemary murmured, “I can’t believe this, sugar. These things don’t happen here in Georgia. All of my friends have lived like queens off their divorce settlements.”

“Atlanta’s not Savannah,” Melody replied. “Here, it’d be perfectly understandable for a wife to take retribution against a cheating husband by having that voodoo queen, Lula Mae Dupré, curse him. Or by breading his Southern-fried steak with rat droppings. But Atlanta’s different. More…”

“Northern,” Rosemary said with audible disdain.

“They said that, because I painted a billboard advertising Bill’s business, I hurt him professionally and damaged his ability to practice dentistry. Meaning, I owe him a living for the rest of his rotten life. And oh, how he loves to rub that in. Can you believe he had the balls to come visit me here? Just to throw it in my face one more time that he won.”

That was the hardest part to swallow. The man could live off her money for a long time. Meanwhile, Melody could be out of funds in as little as two months if she didn’t start working fast. Or if she didn’t sell her famous peacock-feather lingerie on eBay, which she’d seriously considered.

It’d serve Bill right, the bastard, since he’d tried to get that in the divorce settlement, too.

It shouldn’t get that bad. Thankfully, she had her photography hobby—as Bill had called it—to fall back on. She’d tried to pursue it after the wedding, always having a talent for instinctively knowing how to photograph something—or someone—to make a statement. But Bill had been less than supportive, almost petulant, saying she was wasting her time. Eventually it just hadn’t seemed worth the fight and she’d let it go.

Now, though, she had the chance to try again, to prove she was every bit as good behind the camera as she’d been in front of it. She’d already set up her new studio, right downstairs from the small apartment Rosemary’s family had rented to her in one of their historic district townhomes. The Chiltons had been wonderfully supportive; Rosemary’s brother even arranging for some renovations so she’d have a darkroom. She was all set to begin her new life in Savannah as a photographer.

And a single woman.

That was the silver lining in this whole thing. She was free. Free of everyone for the first time in her life. Free to choose what she wanted—not what her mother or her husband wanted for her. Melody intended to enjoy the hell out of her new life. Not as a kid model with the world watching her every move and a controlling mother on her back. Not the immature, desperate-to-be-wanted-for-herself young woman she’d been before she’d married Bill. Not the wife of an up-and-coming society dentist.

Just Melody. Free, independent and ready to live, back here in the only place she’d ever considered home, with the only people she’d ever considered family.

“So,” Paige said, “you never were clear on this. What exactly did you do, and how did Bill know you’d done it? People vandalize signs all the time. You should have denied it.” A few people looked over. Six years and a husband hadn’t done much to quiet Paige’s big voice. Or tame her big curls.

Nibbling her lip, Melody shook her head. A thick lock of reddish-brown hair fell across her eye, and she brushed it back, loving the way her new, shorter hairdo felt. She’d chopped half of it off to frame her face in chunky layers that barely touched her shoulders. Returning to her natural auburn color had been an extra perk—another up-yours to her ex. Bill had adored her long hair, which he’d talked her into dyeing blond again after the wedding.

So much for saying he wanted her for who she was, not the model the world knew. Within a month of their marriage, she’d looked just like the twit who’d gushed to Teen Magazine that what she most wanted was world peace.

World peace would be great. But right now, she’d settle for a five-figure balance in her money-market account.

“Mel?” Paige prompted. “Why did you admit you did it?”

“I couldn’t deny it when I was plastered all over the eleven-o’clock news standing up on the billboard platform with the paint can in my hand,” she said. “Not to mention that the fresh paint was the same Cherry Cordial I’d used to redo the guest room.”

“Cherry Cordial? Gosh, the room must have been so dark,” Paige said, immediately distracted.

“Hush up, I want to hear the rest,” Rosemary said as she tapped a long, pink-tinted nail on the table. “Now, honey, what was it you said that was so damaging to your lesser half?”

Rubbing her eyes wearily, Melody didn’t even look at her friends as she explained, “The billboard was directly over his building, by an exit ramp, so it was pretty high profile.”

High profile, indeed. God, she still couldn’t believe she’d been so damned furious at Bill that she’d climbed up a rickety scaffold ladder with a paint can in one hand and a thick paintbrush clasped tightly in her teeth.

Being honest with herself, she acknowledged that it hadn’t been just his cheating that had driven her to seek revenge. She’d gotten used to the infidelity. Her feelings for Bill had been dead for a long time—she’d just been biding her time, waiting for the opportune moment to hit him with divorce papers. Her lawyer had been looking into ways to separate their money first since she’d been too young and too stupid to demand a prenup.

In that instance, she should have listened to her mother.

She’d waited patiently, trusting her lawyer. But finding out who Bill had had that last fling with had sent her right out of her mind. Shaking her head, she murmured, “The billboard had this big giant picture of Bill, smiling his phony ‘you can count on me’ smile, with the caption ‘Trust Dr. Bill to Drill.’”

Tanya snickered at the cheesiness of it, as Melody had a few years ago when her husband had informed her of the slogan he planned to use in a new ad campaign.

“I wouldn’t trust him to clean my litter box,” Paige said. Then she smiled. “Did I tell you about my new cat? He’s so—”

“Shh!” Tanya hissed, silencing Paige. Never an easy feat.

“I had planned to wait him out—let him ruin himself,” Melody said. “But that day, I learned from one of our closest friends that Bill had seduced her eighteen-year-old daughter…a kid we’d bought Girl Scout cookies from a few years back. I sort of lost it. So I got what I needed and drove to his office.”

Around them, the cacophony of noise seemed to diminish, as if everyone were waiting for her to continue. A look confirmed a few eavesdroppers. But considering everyone in Atlanta had seen her swinging like a deranged monkey from a billboard, she’d pretty well used up her lifetime supply of embarrassment.

In a low, shaky voice, Paige asked, “What’d you do, Mel?”

Reaching for her glass, she admitted, “I added a few words to his slogan until it read, ‘You can Trust Dr. Bill to Drill…your wives, your daughters and certain barnyard animals.’”

A snort from the two women at the next table and the grin on the face of the owner—who’d been hovering over Melody since the minute she’d arrived—confirmed her wider audience. At her own table, her three friends made no effort to hide their laughter. “Oh, my goodness, I would have paid to see that,” Paige said, her face growing red as she giggled helplessly.

With a droll lift of her brow, Melody replied, “You could have, if you lived in Atlanta and happened to be watching the eleven-o’clock news that night. The Channel Six helicopter was flying to the scene of an accident and spotted me. They lit me up like a prisoner going over the wall and broadcast the image all over the airwaves for the entire city to see.”

Rosemary shook her head. “Ouch.”

“It gets better,” Tanya mumbled as she dipped a chip.

Yeah. It got better, in a sick, oh-God-can-you-believe-she-actually-did-that way. “I panicked,” Mel said flatly. “Dropped the evidence. Dashed for the ladder. Slipped in the spilled paint—which got all over me—and fell off the end of the platform. The Cherry Cordial should’ve been called Blood Red, because I looked like a monster out of a horror movie dangling up there. King Kong’s mutant baby or something.”

Beside her, Tanya tried to look sympathetic while also trying to hide a grin. Maybe someday Melody would laugh about it, too. Maybe when she was ninety and had managed to forget how stupid she must have looked on TV, hanging from the platform waiting for the firemen who’d rescued her with a ladder truck.

She had thought that was the most humiliating moment of her life, of all the humiliating moments she’d endured during her marriage to the prick with the drill. It’d been close. But it still couldn’t beat the day her divorce decree had come down.

“Oh, sugar, haven’t you heard?” Rosemary said, her lips curved in a smile. “Like Scarlett O’Hara used to say, ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold.’”

Paige frowned. “I thought Hannibal Lechter said that.”

Melody reached for a handful of tortilla chips, not caring how many calories were in each one. Without Bill frowning at her, she didn’t give a damn what she ate or how much weight she gained.

“I think,” Tanya interjected with a disgusted grunt, “it’s Klingon. Though I would have taken the Lechter approach.”

“I didn’t mind billboard vandalism, but I hadn’t reached the point where I wanted to kill my husband and eat his liver with some fava beans.” Melody ate a chip, then added, “So that’s the story. My life of crime and my fifteen minutes of fame.”

“You had a couple of decades of fame,” Paige reminded her.

Right. But no more. She was completely finished with all of that and intended to live life out of the spotlight from now on. Quiet, low-key, no scandals, no adventures.

“Do you have a copy of that news program?” Tanya asked, still looking amused. “You oughta keep it as a warning for any man you consider marrying in the future.”

“Ha-ha, I know, it’s all funny until a male judge who probably cheats on his wife, too, decided Bill’s reputation had been damaged for life and I owed him everything but my internal organs. Which will probably be awarded to him if I appeal.”

“But you are going to appeal, right?” Tanya suddenly sounded serious. They’d had this conversation before, and Melody knew her friend, the fighter, believed this situation could be fixed.

Mel wasn’t so sure. Not that she wouldn’t like her money back, or to at least make sure Bill didn’t get it. But she didn’t want to go back to her old life when she’d been the duped wife, the vengeful ex. Not to mention the target of Bill’s incessant anger and malicious threats.

He hadn’t liked being humiliated and her money apparently hadn’t eased the sting. He’s gone, she reminded herself, refusing to think of his visit to Savannah. Not to mention the heavy-breathing calls she’d received her first weeks in town…until she’d had her number changed. Long gone. And she was done with the past. It was time to find herself again. To stop looking back, to move on, focusing on the future.

Paige suddenly changed the subject. “Do you remember the last time we all came here? The night before Mel’s wedding?”

So much for not looking back. That’d lasted ten seconds.

“We were practically kids,” Tanya replied.

“Well, I happened to stumble across a souvenir from that night,” Paige said with a secretive smile. She reached into the duffel bag she’d been carrying when she’d arrived, and dug out a pad of paper. “Remember everything we talked about?”

It took Melody a moment to recall the entire evening, which seemed like the last truly happy one she’d had. Any happy ones she’d shared with Bill had been zapped out of her memory around year three of their marriage. But when Paige flipped open the notebook and turned it around to show the rest of them, she remembered. “Oh, our infamous Adultery Free Zone lists.”

“Right. We were going to go for it, no questions asked, no guilt, if we ever had the chance with one of these guys.”

“Well,” Rosemary said, “my go-for-it list is on my fridge. I’ve crossed off number five…that Atlanta Braves player? Met him at a New Year’s Eve party and we had sex in a coat closet as the ball was dropping.” Almost purring, she added, “Fortunately, he spent a lot more time going down than the ball did.”

Melody couldn’t help wondering if Rosemary would ever find one man who satisfied her as much as so many men did. “Uh, I thought the lists were a joke.”

“They were…until I met that Braves player.” Rosemary’s smile was definitely catlike. “Speaking of our lists, I’ve kept my copies of all of them. I even dug yours out, Mel, once I knew you were divorcing the dick with the drill and coming home.”

Grunting, Melody said, “Well, someone talking about me having sex is about as close to a sex life as I’ve had in a long time, so I guess I can’t gripe about it.”

The middle-aged owner with thinning dark hair walked by just in time for that comment; his speculative look made her grab for her margarita.

Tanya shuddered. “Quick, Paige, find Mel’s list. If there’s anybody who needs to get laid in this town, it’s her.”

Wrinkling her nose, Melody ignored her friend. But Paige had already started flipping through the notebook. “Oh, my,” she said. “Jonathan Rhodes…there’s a blast from the past.”

Glancing over her friend’s shoulder, Melody scooted her chair around to get a closer look. “Yikes. I forgot about him. He sure didn’t last long in Washington.”

“Probably only a bit longer than he lasted in the hooker’s bed,” Tanya said. “He didn’t even run for reelection after he got caught in that police raid at a sleazy hotel. He came back here to Savannah and returned to his law practice.”

Rosemary nodded, a speculative look in her eye. “Hmm…so he’s still around. A definite possibility, Mel.”

Melody shook her head. “Not happening. Even if the list was serious—which it’s not—I’m not interested in sex. I’m not feeling very charitable toward men right now.”

“Which is why you need to think like a man,” Rosemary said. “Go out and live a little, take what you can get. You might not have meant it the night we wrote these down, but you can mean it now.” Leaning forward, Rosemary continued almost fiercely, “Live, Mel. Get back to being the happy, confident girl you were that night and don’t let the bastard you married cause you one more minute of pain or self-doubt.”

Rosemary was the languid one, not the passionate one, so Melody was somewhat taken by surprise. It said a lot about how worried her friends were, which touched her. Deeply.

Knowing, however, that Rosemary was involved in a somewhat serious on-again, off-again romance, which she was keeping pretty close to her vest, Melody didn’t believe her friend was living by her own advice. But she had once. And it didn’t appear to have hurt her. So maybe…

No. She needed sex like a nun needed edible underwear.

Before Rosemary could keep arguing, Paige yelped, “Oh, yikes, this guy—number five—didn’t fare so well. Chef Charlie of Chez Jacques died about a month ago, in his own restaurant.”

“I heard he got drunk and choked on a meatball,” Tanya said. “Sounds like that man swallowed some dumb-ass pills first.”

“Creepy,” Paige said. Then she made the sign of the cross.

Tanya rolled her eyes. “You’re not Catholic.”

“It seemed appropriate.” In typical Paige fashion, she allowed herself to be completely distracted by a random thought. “Why do you think he was making meatballs? Isn’t Chez Jacques a French place? Do they serve meatballs? Is Charlie a French name?”

Tanya gave Paige an impatient glare. Then she pointed at the notebook. “Who else did Mel list?”

Yeah, who else? Melody had been so focused on her rocky marriage and horrible divorce for such a long time, she hadn’t thought about the list in ages. She didn’t even know where her originals were and had to read over Paige’s shoulder to remind herself who she’d once wanted so badly.

When her gaze fell on the name of a golfer who’d had a chance in the PGA some years ago, but had quickly fizzled out, she gasped.

“What?” Rosemary asked.

“You’re not going to believe this, but Kenny Traynor, that golfer who was supposedly gay? He was all over the news in Atlanta last month. He was killed in a weird accident in the locker room of the country club where he was a golf pro.”

They all fell silent as the reality sunk in. Two of the men Melody had joked about sleeping with had died since that night. Young men, healthy men. Paige was right…it was creepy.

Suddenly looking relieved, Paige smiled. “But number four—Drake Manning, the reporter—is still around. He’s an anchor on Channel Nine. And his hair hasn’t moved since you left.”

“He’s a pig,” Tanya said, her mouth tight.

Paige continued before Melody could question Tanya’s comment. “Now we come to number one, which was why I brought our lists. I saw this on eBay and had to get it for you.”

Reaching into her bag, Paige retrieved a plastic-wrapped magazine. Melody recognized it—and the picture on the cover—immediately. It was her marine, the one who’d saved the children. Her number-one fantasy man.

“You sure were drooling into your burrito when his picture came on the TV screen that night. Wasn’t she?” Paige said.

Tanya nodded. “Uh-huh! That boy was fine.”

Rosemary, for some reason, remained silent, just staring at the picture, a half smile on her lips. Melody couldn’t blame her. She was enraptured by the photo on the magazine, too. “Oh, my God, I hope I didn’t jinx this guy.”

“It would have made the news,” Paige said. “He was a Georgia hero. We would have heard if he hadn’t made it back.”

She prayed Paige was right. Because she’d hate to think of this particular man meeting some strange fate like the others.

The picture was every bit as dramatic—as compelling—as it had been that night six years ago. More so, really, since she was a woman now, not an immature girl, as she’d been when she got married. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the hunger.

The sudden flash of want surprised her. But it was there…strong, insistent. She was attracted to this stranger like she hadn’t been attracted to anyone in a long time.

“He looks familiar for some reason,” she murmured.

“Well, duh, of course he looks familiar,” Paige said. “You only lusted after him more than any guy you’d ever seen.”

“I know that. But there’s something else. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.” The little flash of intuition, recognition or memory disappeared as quickly as it had popped into her brain. “I wonder what happened to him after…”

“You have to go to the police.”

Shocked by Rosemary’s words, Melody just gaped. “Huh?”

“I mean it. Two out of five men on your list have died, both very recently. Both right here in Georgia, and under strange circumstances. We’re calling the police.”

Melody was shaking her head throughout Rosemary’s spiel. “That’s utterly ridiculous. This has nothing to do with me.”

Ignoring her, Rosemary reached for her cell phone. “I know someone on the Savannah PD.”

Though outwardly scoffing, a hint of concern did go through Melody’s mind. Still, she insisted, “I can’t do it. I’m not going to tell some cop that men I once wanted to have sex with are dropping like flies throughout the state of Georgia.”

“You sure won’t get a date that way,” Paige offered.

“Hush up, Paige,” Rosemary said. “Mel, I am not kidding. You just came through a divorce with a husband out for revenge.” Her eyes widened. “Bill knew about this list! I remember it came up during one of my visits to Atlanta a few years ago. He was joking about it, while you seemed to have forgotten the whole thing.”

She had almost forgotten about the list, which had at first been just a joke to her. Later, when it had become clear that her marriage had been an enormous mistake, the silly game had provided some fodder for late-night fantasies and dreams, but eventually, she’d stopped even dreaming. Fantasies, dreams and thoughts of her list had faded away…as had her marriage.

“Yeah, he knew,” she finally said. “He found all four of our lists in my purse during our honeymoon. We laughed about them and he even wrote out his own top five.”

Of course, Bill probably hadn’t been joking. She wouldn’t be surprised if the son of a bitch had crossed every name off his list before their fourth anniversary.

Don’t go there. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the bright, wide-open future with people who loved her. Not the gut-wrenching, humiliating past with people who’d been pitying her. Like all of her Atlanta friends, who had to have known about Bill’s affairs long before she did.

“That does it,” Rosemary said. “You’ve got to tell someone.”

By now, even skeptical Tanya was looking convinced, and Paige’s eyes were wide as she whispered, “Maybe she’s right.”

“I can’t tell a stranger that I sat down the night before my wedding and made a list of men I wanted to have sex with.”

Rosemary was already pushing buttons on her cell phone with the pointed tip of her nail. “You don’t have to go into that much detail, sugar. Just call it a little bridesmaid game. Men you’re attracted to—you don’t have to mention the adultery-free-zone part of it.” Then, before pushing the send button, she added, “This detective’s nice and discreet.” She glanced away, not meeting Mel’s eye. “He’s older. Kindly. Fatherly.”

Never having known for sure who—or where—her father was, Melody couldn’t take much comfort in that. “Rosemary…”

But before she could finish her sentence, she realized Rosemary was already talking in hushed tones to someone, her hand curved around the phone for privacy. A little late for that.

Outnumbered, confused and a teeny bit apprehensive, Melody realized she had no choice. Which was why, a minute later, she agreed to meet with Rosemary’s detective friend. Adamant about not barging into the police station, she at least got Rosemary to agree to set up an informal meeting in a public place.

It was ridiculous, of course. But she’d do it. At ten o’clock the next morning, at a diner on Abercorn Street not far from her own apartment, she’d meet with this detective, carefully tell him what she knew, hear him laugh, then forget about it.

Grabbing a pen, she jotted down the man’s name, writing it on the list Paige had torn out of the notebook. For evidence.

Yeesh. Her sexual-fantasy list possible evidence. How utterly embarrassing. She could only hope this Detective Walker was as nice and fatherly as Rosemary said he was.

And that he was very understanding.