Janet Evanovich - Full Scoop

"So we could have a possible body," Zack said.

"Could be. As soon as your new office is up and running, give me a call, and I'll fax or e-mail you everything I've got."

"Great. Anything on stolen vehicles?"

"We found the owner of the Jeep Cherokee. He's out of town and had no idea the car was gone. I'm sure Boyd or Perez planned it that way. We don't have a make or model on what they're driving at the moment," Max added. "In other words—"

"We don't have a clue in hell," Zack finished for him.

* * * * *

Maggie's hair was still wet from her shower when she entered the kitchen wearing white shorts and a navy pullover. She saw the basket of eggs and a folded newspaper on the table. She couldn't help but smile at the thought of Zack collecting eggs from a flock of fussy hens. She peeked into the living room where a bed pillow rested against the arm of the sofa, and she wondered how much sleep he'd managed to get.

She poured a cup of coffee, sat down at the kitchen table, and opened the newspaper.

Carl Lee Stanton's face stared back at her.

Her mouth went dry.

It was an older version of Carl Lee, but she recognized in him the young man she had known so many years before. He was still attractive, despite the deep lines at his mouth and brow, and the flat, emotionless eyes that painted a picture of a man who'd grown hard sitting in prison. Maggie scanned the article quickly. Two guards still listed in critical condition, several others wounded but expected to recover. Witnesses were unable to give a description of the shooters; one was dressed in a clown suit, and the driver wore a bright orange wig and oversized cartoonlike sunglasses.

The last paragraph generated a sigh from Maggie.

Local pediatrician Dr. Maggie Davenport, who had close ties with Carl Lee Stanton before his crime spree fourteen years ago, refused to talk to the press.

Maggie folded the newspaper and stuffed it in the trash beneath the sink so Mel wouldn't see it.

Now what?

She would close her practice and move, that's what. She wondered if Mel would like Portland or Seattle or maybe Canada.

The telephone rang. Maggie hurried to answer it before it woke Mel.

"Dr. Margaret Davenport?" a man asked.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Davenport, you don't know me. I'm Dr. James McKelvey. I'm the psychiatrist at Texas Federal Prison, and I'm calling in regard to Carl Lee Stanton."

Maggie felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. She sat down. Took in air. "I'm listening," she said, wishing she didn't sound like she'd just finished a 5K run.

"I'm sure you've heard he has escaped. I just want to make sure you have adequate protection."

She wouldn't mention Zack. "I'm having an alarm system installed today," she said instead. "Do you have reason to believe Carl Lee will come here? You obviously know him." It would be unprofessional for her to come right out and ask if he was treating Carl Lee, and it would be unethical for him to say.

"I wish I knew," McKelvey said. "I shouldn't be getting involved in this, but—" He paused. "I feel I know you."

He had just answered her question; deliberately, but in a roundabout way. Carl Lee had talked to McKelvey about her. "I don't know what I'm up against," Maggie said, trying to toss another line to the man on the other end. "I worry that he might be, um, unstable," she said, instead of coming right out and asking if Carl Lee was psycho.

Silence. Finally, "He's been sitting in a jail cell for fourteen years, Dr. Davenport." McKelvey sighed. "I've said too much. We never had this conversation, okay?"

Maggie had more questions, but the next thing she heard was a click. "Damn!"

The dead bolt turned in the door. Zack stepped inside. "The people installing the alarm system just pulled into the driveway." He frowned. "Why does your face have a greenish tint to it?"

Maggie stared at the caller ID. No number listed. She could call McKelvey at the prison, but she suspected he wouldn't like it, and he'd be less inclined to talk to her.

Zack crossed the room, took the phone from her and put it to his ear, then checked the ID. "Who called?" he asked. "Was it Stanton?"

She looked up, did a double take. He'd shaved his beard! Queenie was right. The man was about as good-looking as they came.

"Maggie?"

"Dr. James McKelvey." she said.

"The prison psychiatrist? What did he want?"

Zack had done his homework. "He called to warn me about Carl Lee and make sure I had enough protection. I didn't mention you, of course."

He smiled. "Good girl. Are you okay?"

Hell, no, she wasn't okay, she wanted to shout to the rafters, but she was determined to keep her cool. She saw that Zack was looking at her legs. Oh, great, she had obviously nicked herself shaving. She glanced down quickly, half expecting to see blood trickling down from one knee, and was relieved to see that it wasn't. Finally, he looked up.

Maggie gave herself a mental shake. "I got the feeling Dr. McKelvey knows Carl Lee very well," she said. "He's probably treating him for some terrible and dangerous psychiatric disorder. What do you know about it?"

"Same as you," Zack said. "Carl Lee Stanton doesn't give a damn who he hurts as long as he gets what he wants."

The doorbell rang. Zack started to turn, but Maggie touched his arm and looked into his eyes. He had somehow managed to get his hands on Carl Lee's psychiatric records. She didn't know how he had accomplished such a feat, but she knew instinctively that he had. "Is there any mention of Mel?"

"He knows you have a daughter, Maggie, but it's all about you. Stanton has kept tabs on you over the years. He has newspaper clippings, which were obviously sent by a family member or friend."

The doorbell rang again. "I need to get that." He surprised her with a grin. "You might want to change out of those shorts. These guys I hired are good, but they won't be able to concentrate once they get a look at those legs." He suddenly smacked his head. "Uh-oh, the FBI manual clearly states that I'm not supposed to notice things like that. Forget I said anything."

Maggie watched him go. She was supposed to forget that Zack Madden liked her legs? Oh, yeah, right.

* * * * *

Destiny Moultrie sailed through the double glass doors leading into the Beaumont Gazette shortly after nine a.m. Oversized breasts were barely contained in a stretchy leopard print tank top, and a thigh-high denim skirt exposed shapely legs. Her long dark hair had been pinned up, no doubt due to the heat.

Vera gave the outfit a disapproving look. "I hope an animal didn't have to die for that blouse," she said, even though it was obviously not the case.

Vera and Destiny's relationship consisted mainly of squabbling, although it had never been mean-spirited. Gazette employees had grown to expect it, and they found it amusing. This was why Jamie had given Destiny the desk closest to Vera.

Destiny ignored the barb and gave Vera a pleasant smile. "Wow, it's hot out there! I am wet and sticky in places I didn't even know I had."

"Please don't share," Vera said. "I don't want to have to think about it." She gave an exaggerated shudder.

"You know, Vera," Destiny said, "a good roll in the hay would go a long way toward improving your disposition. Even old people have needs."

"Who are you calling old? Even if I was old, which I'm not, I'd rather be old than crazy, which you are. Miss Love Goddess," she muttered.

"My advice column has brought in tons of new readers."

"Goes to show you how many nutso cases there are in this town."

Destiny looked thoughtful. "You'd better be nice to me or I'll send my new friend Earl G. Potts to haunt your house. Before he met his untimely demise in a bad fall during his famous trapeze act, his hobby was cross-dressing. He paints his toenails."