Janet Evanovich - Full Scoop

"We can start carrying all these yard tools to the back storage shed," Maggie told her daughter, "then I'll sweep up some of this dust."

Zack walked to a window, unlocked it, and tried to raise it. "It's stuck," he said. "Is there a screwdriver nearby?"

Maggie already had her arms full. She pointed to the built-in cabinet. "First drawer on the left," she said. She and Mel began carrying rakes, shovels, garden hoses, and ladders from the garage to the shed where a rusted tiller sat, reminding Maggie how much her grandfather had enjoyed keeping a garden at one time. Mel pushed her bicycle from the garage and leaned it against a wall in the shed.

Zack had managed to pry one of the windows loose and pull the screen off by the time they returned. He had moved on to the next window. He was already sweating, and dust and grime covered his face and hair. He blinked several times when some of the dust landed in his eyes. "How long since these windows were opened?" he asked with a grin. He pulled off his shirt and mopped his eyes and face.

The first thing Maggie noticed was the gun, tucked into the back of his jeans. She and Mel exchanged looks. The girl shrugged, lifted a five-gallon gas can by its handle and carried it out as Maggie grabbed the broom and began sweeping. She had no choice but to leave her riding lawn mower parked in the corner, but Butterbean would still have plenty of room to move around.

Her gaze drifted back to Zack. The muscles in his upper arms and back rippled beneath dark olive skin as he struggled with the window.

Maggie swallowed. As a physician who'd served time in the ER, she was well acquainted with the male anatomy, both young and old, in all shapes and sizes. But there was little time to appreciate a fit male body when it was in dire need of medical attention; and sterile exam rooms with glaring lights and beeping machines pretty much stole the ambience.

There was little time to appreciate a man's wide shoulders or the way his backside looked in jeans that rode low on his hips and—

"Something wrong?" Zack asked.

"Huh?" Maggie met his gaze. Hell's bells, he'd caught her looking! "I just, um, didn't mean to stick you with all this work. Especially with your injured arm," she added. "Let me help you." She stepped beside him and together they pushed. She could smell the sweat on his body, feel his heat along her arms and down her thighs. She wished the FBI had sent an ugly agent. Finally, the window gave, and Zack shoved it all the way up.

Everest pulled the van into the driveway and parked near the garage. He immediately began unloading the hay. Zack cut the twine, and he and Maggie spread the hay, forming a soft mound beside one of the windows where a light breeze sifted through. By the time Mel led Butterbean into the garage, Zack had tucked the screens inside the outbuilding and Maggie had put out food and water.

Butterbean stood there for a moment as if uncertain what to do. Finally, she walked over to the hay and nudged it about with her nose, then turned to her bowl of oats and ate with gusto.

"She should be comfortable here," Zack said, putting on his shirt without bothering to button it.

Mel didn't look convinced. "What if she gets lonely?"

Maggie wondered if her daughter's heart was beginning to soften toward the little pygmy. "She'll probably go to sleep after she eats."

"I'm going to bring my portable radio out here," Mel said, already hurrying from the garage.

Everest looked surprised. "I thought she didn't like goats."

Maggie shrugged. "I've yet to figure out how a thirteen-year-old thinks, but I'm working on it."

Mel returned with her radio. "I put new batteries in it a couple of days ago so it should last a while." She placed it on the lawn mower seat and selected a station with soft music. "That should keep her calm, don't you think?" She looked at Maggie who nodded.

Queenie was packing her satchel when they entered the house. Her black eyes immediately took in Zack's gaping shirt before turning to Maggie.

"Mind if I grab a quick shower?" Zack asked.

Queenie made a sound in her throat and began fanning herself with a notepad.

Maggie tried not to think of Zack naked in the shower. "I'll show you to the guest room," she said. He grabbed his duffel bag, and the odd-shaped suitcase, and Maggie reached for his shoulder bag. She led him up a flight of stairs just off the hall. A step creaked beneath her feet. Maggie knew and loved every creak, crack, and cranny in the old house. She took comfort in the sharp pings of raindrops hitting the tin roof, the window at the end of the hall that shuddered in its casing during a strong wind, and the feel of the pine floors beneath her bare feet. Some nights, as she lay in bed reading, she could hear the house settling on its foundation before growing quiet, as if it were telling her good night and giving a final sigh before calling it a day.

"I like your place," Zack said, as though reading her mind.

"Thanks. It belonged to my grandparents. The house was built in the 1930s, but my grandmother had it updated a couple of times and put new furniture in it. Said she was sick of being around old stuff. She passed it on to my parents who didn't care for antiques either. You wouldn't believe how much of this furniture was stored in my parents' barn. It was piled as high as the ceiling in one of the stables and covered in plastic." She shook her head sadly. "There should be a law against that sort of thing."

They entered the guest room, where a magnolia comforter covered an iron bed. "Just so you know," Zack said, "I'll be hanging out on the couch at night. I want us all on the same floor."

"Thanks. I'll rest easier having you down there," Maggie said. Zack set down his bag and looked around, nodding at what he saw. He looked at her and smiled, and Maggie wondered how he could possibly appear so at ease. "I can't believe this is happening," she said. "It feels so—" She shook her head. "Unreal and weird," she added. It felt kind of weird standing in a bedroom with a stranger too, she thought.

Zack took the small suitcase and shoulder bag from her. "It's going to be okay, Maggie."

He seemed to project some sort of energy and confidence that Maggie wished she had. "How can you not be afraid, Zack?" she asked. "I mean, I know you've had all this training, but aren't you worried? Or is this just 'another day at the office' sort of thing?" She hated that her voice shook.

"I would probably be afraid if I didn't know what I was doing, but Stanton isn't the first bad-ass I've had to deal with." He reached up and touched her shoulder. "I've been at this a while, Maggie. As long as Stanton doesn't break my other arm we'll be fine."

Maggie didn't know which surprised her more; the fact he was touching her or that he was making jokes. She was glad when he moved his hand. "What's in this odd-looking suitcase?" she asked, nodding at the oblong case on the bed.

Zack glanced over at it. "That? Oh, it's my makeup case." He smiled.

"Gee, why don't I believe that?"

"If you really want to know I'll tell you."

"I really want to know. I think," she added under her breath.

"There's a sniper rifle inside."

Maggie covered her eyes with one hand. "I wish I hadn't asked. I wish you hadn't told me. I wish none of this was happening. I don't like guns. I hate guns. I hate having guns in my house." She knew she was babbling. She paused and sucked in air.

He shrugged. "I'm fresh out of straws and spitballs."

"I hate exposing my daughter to this sort of thing," she said. She closed her eyes and pressed the ball of her hand against her forehead. "Queenie is right. I'm overprotective. I should have let Mel watch more violence on TV so she would be better prepared for this sort of thing."