Janet Evanovich - Full Tilt

"So take a shower."

"I need to soak in hot water. I have a bad back."

"Probably from spending so many years working on it."

"Bastard."

"I did the best I could," Vito said. "It's either sleep here or in the backseat of the car."

She pointed at Lenny. "Where is he supposed to sleep?"

"On the other bed."

"You're shittin' me, right? You expect me to share a room with a dirty druggie who would sell his own sister for a fix?"

"I don't have a sister," Lenny said, "so you're safe with me."

Mitzi and Vito just looked at him. Finally, Vito checked his wristwatch. "Listen, Mitzi, Lenny and me have to get some work done. We're here on business, remember?"

"And that's another thing. I want to know what the hell you two are up to. I've asked you at least fifty times, and now I'm demanding an answer."

Vito shrugged. "We're hit men, Mitzi. We're here to kill someone."

"Oh, very funny. You're just a barrel of laughs, Vito. But I'm sure whatever it is, it's illegal, and if you end up in the slammer again, I'm outta here. You got that?"

He looked at Lenny. "Almost makes it worth it, huh?"

"I just wish the two of you would stop arguing," Lenny said.

"Tell you what, Mitzi," Vito said. "I'll call the maid and have her scrub out the tub for you. You can take your bubble bath and read one of those magazines you bought for the trip. After that, you can watch TV."

"They don't have HBO," she said between gritted teeth. She turned for the bathroom and slammed the door so hard it knocked a picture from the wall.

Vito looked at Lenny. "I think I'm about to shoot the wrong person."

* * * * *

It was after midnight by the time the newspaper was ready to go to print. Jamie had to admit Max knew his stuff; he'd arranged the actual page layouts in half the time it usually took her. "I added some last-minute advertising Vera gave me," he told Jamie, once they'd handed everything over to the pressroom staff.

"Good. We can always use advertising." Her eyes ached from all the copy-editing and final proofing she'd done. She was bone tired and looked forward to some shut-eye. Max, on the other hand, looked fresh and ready to put in another day.

"I'm pleased with the results," Max said, "but next time we'll do even better."

"There's not going to be a next time, Max. You helped me out of a bind, and I appreciate it, but—"

"What's the problem, Jamie? We worked very well together today."

"I have an editor, Max."

He looked amused. "You don't like me very much, do you, Swifty?"

She looked at him. "Swifty?"

"I thought it sounded like a cute nickname."

Jamie rolled her eyes.

"Back to my question."

"I like you fine, Max, but it doesn't matter one way or the other. We're business partners, we don't have to be best friends."

"But you're a little distant, don't you think?"

"Meaning I don't fawn all over you like most women?"

He smiled. "Well, that, too."

"Do the words 'happily engaged' mean anything to you?"

"Of course."

"Even if I weren't engaged I would never get involved with a man like you."

"A man like me?"

"I've got your number, Max Holt. I read the newspapers. You go through women like a horse goes through oats, and you have an ego the size of Texas."

"Other than that what do you think of me?"

"Can't you be serious for five minutes?"

"I am being serious. Okay, so I'm not perfect, but that doesn't mean I can't help you. You want this paper to succeed or you wouldn't push yourself so hard."

Jamie felt uncomfortable with his dark eyes boring into hers. "Listen, you've seen what you came to see. My accountant will continue to send financial reports and whatever else you need, but our business is finished."

"What's he like?"

"Who?"

"The man you're going to marry."

"You're getting a little personal, aren't you?"

"I'm curious."

"Phillip is a very nice man. He's kind and loving, and he will make a wonderful husband and father. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go home and—"

Max caught movement out of the corner of his eye and realized a car had passed by the front of the building where a large, plate-glass window looked out on Main Street. The blinds were partially closed, so he only caught a glimpse of headlights and nothing more. He turned back to Jamie but before he could say anything, he heard the rapid repetitive bursts of an automatic weapon. The plate-glass window exploded.

Jamie screamed as Max dove for her, pulling her down onto the floor. Together they rolled against the wall and lay there while the shots continued and everything shattered around them.

Jamie tried not to move as the firing continued, the noise so loud she feared her eardrums would burst. Suddenly, something painful pierced her leg, and she winced. "Oh, crap," she said. "And I didn't think this day could get worse."

Max held her fast, covering her with his own body. "What is it?"

"I've been shot," she said.

The firing stopped as quickly as it had begun, followed by the sound of screeching tires as a car sped away. Max rolled off Jamie and winced at the sight of her leg. An ugly shard of glass protruded from her calf. Quickly, he searched for other wounds. Thankfully, there were none.

Jamie sat up, took one look at her leg and gave a sigh of absolute disgust. "Would you look at that? I've gone all day without getting a run in these pantyhose. Now I wish I'd gone ahead and bought the store brand instead of spending four dollars more for a name brand." She sighed. "Oh, double damn."

Max just looked at her.

"Well, are you going to pull the blasted thing out or do I have to sit here and bleed to death?"

Max reached for the knot in his tie, undid it and pulled it from his neck. He jerked the glass shard from her leg.

Jamie sucked in her breath sharply. "Ouch!"

"I never promised it would feel good," he said as he wrapped the tie around her, binding the wound tight to keep it from bleeding worse. "This should do until we can get help. Call nine-one-one. I need to check outside." He hurried from the room and almost bumped into one of the men from production. They did a little dance as Max tried to get past him, and the other man didn't seem to know which way to move. Finally, Max pushed him out of the way and ran.

Jamie was already on the telephone, explaining the situation to the police dispatcher. With assurances that help was on the way, she hung up and found Lyle, her production manager, staring at her leg in concern.

"Miss Swift, are you okay?" he asked. "I came in from the back to go to the bathroom and I heard the noise." He glanced around the shot-up office in disbelief.

"I'm okay," Jamie replied. "I'll probably have a scar on my leg the size of our parking lot. There goes my dream of competing in the Miss South Carolina beauty pageant. Is everyone in back okay, Lyle?"

He nodded. "I'm sure nobody back there heard the shots, what with the printing press going at full speed. Do you need me to do something?"

"The police are on their way."

* * * * *

The police arrived ten minutes later, followed by an ambulance. As a paramedic treated Jamie's wound, the police chief, Lamar Tevis, a slightly overweight, sandy-haired man in baggy khakis and a badly wrinkled cotton shirt, issued orders to his men. "Call Bud from the crime lab, and tell him to get over here right now."

"Yes, Chief."

Lamar turned to Jamie and Max. "Did either of you see anything?"

Max shook his head. "They got away before I could get a look."

"Who are you?" Lamar bluntly asked.

Jamie introduced Max. Lamar looked impressed. "I've read about you in the newspaper."

Max handed him a metal casing he'd found in the street. "Looks like it came from a high-powered automatic."