Janet Evanovich - Foul Play

“It’s a waterbed. There is no under.”

“The closet! Get into the closet.”

It was a long closet, extending three feet beyond the sliding doors. Jake dived for the deepest part of it and held Amy to him. He could feel her heart thudding against her backbone. Or was that his heart? Pull it together, he ordered himself. Don’t let the panic control you.

He listened for footsteps, straining his ears because sound was muffled through the closet door. Footsteps in the living room. No conversation. She was alone. Jake realized he’d been holding his breath and let it out in a small whoosh.

Minutes ticked by, and he became more aware of the woman in his arms. They were locked together spoon fashion, with her perfect derriere pressed against his zipper. Her hair was silky and fragrant. Her breast hung soft against his thumb. He closed his eyes and silently willed himself to keep control.

Amy’s eyes opened wide. Something suspiciously personal was moving against her bottom. It couldn’t be… It was! She’d read somewhere that this sort of thing happened to men when they were nervous. “Are you nervous?” she whispered.

“No. I’m sorry. I’m ridiculously libidinous.” His hands curled around her rib cage, cuddling her even closer to him. He kissed the tip of her ear and bent to kiss the sensitive spot just below the lobe.

Amy felt the heat pour through her. She’d never been a daredevil, but she had a sudden insight into the allure of the dangerous and exotic. Passion hummed in her veins. Her educated mind told her it was due to a surge of adrenaline, a primitive, primordial instinct to survive, to procreate. Her heart whispered more romantic reasons. This was Jake. Her protector, her love, her friend. It seemed natural to respond to him. It was the intensity that gave her cause for wonder.

They both stiffened as a light flashed on in the bedroom, casting a sliver of yellow under the closet door. More footsteps and suddenly the closet doors were flung open, and a perfectly tanned, naked arm reached into the closet and extracted a hanger. Clothes rustled, and the hanger returned with a dress draped over it. Veronica sighed heavily and kicked her shoes into the closet.

Amy waited, barely breathing. Hard to believe Veronica hadn’t seen them, hadn’t sensed their presence. They were so close to her. Amy could smell the cloying perfume of Veronica’s hairspray, and a disturbing idea skittered through her brain. It was the frightening acknowledgment of things unknown, of dangers present but never perceived. Had there ever been a man in her closet? If it could happen to Veronica, it could happen to Amy. Tonight she’d thoroughly examine her closets, and tomorrow she’d have better locks installed on her doors.

There was the whisper of clothing being dropped to the floor. Panties? Amy instinctively closed her eyes and immediately realized it was absurd… she was in the back of a dark closet and couldn’t see a thing. Her knees ached from standing at rigid attention as minutes elapsed.

“Thank goodness,” she whispered, almost collapsing with relief when she heard the shower turn on. The next few moments were a blur. Creeping through the bedroom into the living room, the foyer, out the front door.

“I don’t ever want to do this again,” Amy said, standing on the sidewalk, taking deep gulps of fresh air. “I’m going to go home and pretend this never happened.”

“Good idea. I just have one more eensy-teensy thing to do before we go home,” Jake said. “I want to check out the Dumpster.”

“Haven’t we seen enough garbage for one day?”

“Afraid not. We’ve seen your garbage, sweet thing. Now I want to see Veronica’s garbage.” Jake leaned into the refuse bin. “Damn, it’s dark in here. I wish I’d thought to bring a flashlight. I wish I’d… Oh hell!”

Amy let out a small shriek and clapped her hand over her mouth. He was in the Dumpster. She’d known it was going to happen. She could feel it in her bones. Murphy’s law. If anything can go wrong… it will. “Are you all right?” she asked, peering over the side.

“Yeah. I’m fine, and I found what I was looking for.”

“Rhode Island Red? Oh lord, don’t tell me you found Red. Don’t tell me they threw him away in the Dumpster.”

Jake hoisted himself out and landed with a squishy thud on the blacktop. “No, I didn’t find Red. I found his cage. Veronica threw Red’s cage away.”

A quiet feeling of dread stole across Amy’s chest, and she knew Jake’s instincts had been correct. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“I think Veronica knows the answer to that question.”

“I’m sorry he’s dead,” Amy said. “He was kind of special, wasn’t he?”

Jake took the car keys from his back pocket. “We’re not absolutely sure that he’s dead. We’re just sure he’s not living with Veronica. Let’s go home.”

Amy jumped from the car as it came to a rolling stop in her driveway. “What was in that Dumpster? My nose will never be the same. My car will never be the same. I’ll probably have to sell it.”

Jake unfolded himself from the little sports car. “Are you trying to tell me I smell bad?”

“You are beyond bad. You are putrid.”

“Gee, I hadn’t noticed. Maybe that’s why my eyes are watering. I don’t suppose you’d allow me to use your shower?”

Amy unlocked her front door. “Not only will I allow you to use it-I’ll insist upon it. Just pitch your clothes out into the hall. Do you want me to wash them or bury them?”

“I leave that decision up to you.”

Amy decided to wash them. Twice. She stood for a minute in the laundry room, listening to the clothes agitate, feeling oddly wifely. There was a big, gorgeous naked man in her shower and a pair of navy briefs in her washer.

“I like it,” she said out loud, and she wondered if she was in love. She thought she’d been in love with Jeff. What a bummer that had been. She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t remember what Jeff looked like.

“Sad,” she said. “Really pathetic.”

Jake padded into the laundry room wearing a royal blue towel wrapped low on his hips. “What’s pathetic?”

“I was thinking about this person I used to know, and I couldn’t remember what he looked like.”

“Was this person important to you?”

Amy straightened the boxes of detergent on the shelf above the washer. “I used to think so. I was engaged to him.”

She took a long, hard look at Jake in his towel and was surprised to find she wasn’t nervous. Two days ago she’d almost fainted at the sight of his chest, and now she was ogling him practically in the buff without so much as a change of heartbeat. Well, maybe there was a slight change of heartbeat, but she wasn’t panic-stricken. She supposed washing men’s underwear made one much more worldly.

Jake crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb. Engaged. A mysterious emotion shot through him. Jealousy? It was ridiculous, but it rankled him. He made an effort to keep his voice steady and light. “What happened?”

Amy smiled. “I used to find this story very embarrassing. Now I find it kind of funny. As you already know, I’ve never actually… um, you know.”

“I know.”

“It isn’t as if it was planned. I didn’t set out to remain a virgin all my life. I didn’t even have any grandiose romantic or moral ideas about saving myself for marriage. It just never seemed right. For a while there I was afraid I had some physical defect or maybe a hormone deficiency. I mean, you’d think that by the time you were twenty-six years old you’d have gotten the urge to make mad, passionate love to some man.