Jamie Denton - Sleeping With The Enemy

“Who?” he asked carefully, not certain he’d heard the principal correctly.

“Dr. Romine,” Johnson reiterated, then cleared his throat before looking at Chase, carefully avoiding the constant glare from the head coach. “Dr. Romine was extremely instrumental in the development of the curriculum two years ago. Mrs. Billings taught the class prior to her retirement and you’ll be our replacement.”

A grin tugged Chase’s lips. God, could this assignment get any easier? What could be more interesting than talking sex with Dee? Nothing, in his opinion, so long as she ended up telling him what he wanted to know about her brother.

He picked up the pen and wrote Dee’s name on the yellow pad, underlining it twice. Maybe teaching a course in Senior Health Issues wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all…especially if it gave him an excuse to get in closer contact with his prey.

Crawford elbowed Harrison in the ribs. “Uh-oh,” Crawford said, his voice laced with humor. “Looks like Bracken’s met the delectable Dr. Romine.”

Chase set the pen aside. “I’ve had the pleasure,” he answered carefully. Something in his chest tightened. Certainly not jealously for a lady he hardly knew. So why then did he have the sudden urge to give ol’ Charlie a poke in his large bulbous nose?

A wide grin split Charlie Harrison’s weathered face. Chase ground his teeth.

“You asked her out yet?” Harrison asked.

“What makes you think I’m interested?”

“Ain’t a man with a pulse in Cole Harbor who hasn’t been interested,” Harrison countered.

Forget the poke. A black eye would make him feel a whole lot better.

“Or shot down,” Crawford added.

That bit of knowledge gave Chase a surge of pleasure he didn’t dare examine too closely.

“Oh, yeah?” he mused unwisely, giving in to his overgrown ego.

Harrison chuckled while Crawford tossed him a knowing look.

It wasn’t the thrill of the chase, he told himself firmly. His interest in her was strictly professional.

Mostly.

CHASE WAS NO CLOSER TO DEE Romine the following Saturday than he’d been the day he’d arrived in Cole Harbor. He wouldn’t exactly say she went out of her way to avoid him, but he couldn’t help wondering if the sparks of sexual attraction between them had only been a conscious awareness of nothing more intriguing than the firing between synapse and neurotransmitter inside his own gray matter.

The accompanying state of semiarousal that occurred whenever he thought of her denied that hopeful musing.

With a grunt of disgust, he closed the file he’d been staring at for over an hour with a snap and tossed it carelessly on top of the open box containing more of the Romine case. He’d checked and rechecked the detailed schematic of her whereabouts and habits over the last twelve months until he knew them by heart. Since she’d worked the previous weekend at Berkeley County Hospital, she should’ve had the weekend off, but as Chase had learned from the bug he’d planted in her telephone, Friday morning she’d received a call from the hospital asking if she could work a couple of additional shifts over the weekend. She hadn’t hesitated and Chase wished she’d been asked to work the graveyard shift. That was something he could’ve used to his advantage. There was no way he could risk sneaking into her apartment during the light of day. The chances of someone spotting him were too great.

Twenty minutes later he knew if he didn’t get out and do something he’d go stir-crazy. He thought about heading off toward town, but this late on a Saturday afternoon, the few businesses that were open on the weekend had either already shut down or were preparing to close up shop. His options ranged from the D.Q. and the high-school crowd, the Surf & Turf Diner and the geriatric generation, or one of three local taverns. The latter appealed to him even less than his first two options. During his college days when drinking and carousing were practically a part of the curriculum, more often than not he’d assumed the role of designated driver. He had a hang-up about drugs and alcohol, but kept his opinions to himself lest he be forced into an explanation. Certain information was better kept buried in the past where it belonged, especially when he had no desire to admit to anyone his less than stellar beginnings.

He was bored, restless and blamed both emotions on the brunette downstairs who’d cost him six whole days of prime surveillance time by doing nothing more exciting than traveling to the clinic each morning and returning before sundown each evening. Her lights were consistently out before midnight and he hadn’t heard so much as a television in the background during the four unremarkable telephone calls she’d received since he’d set the tap.

The restlessness sprang from other, more personal emotions and the fact he could not stop thinking about Dee in a way that bothered him. As in hot and bothered. He let out a stream of breath. Had he really been too long without a woman? Must be, he thought, otherwise he’d be able to ignore the fantasies occupying his mind. A little physical exertion would be just the ticket to clear his head so he could start focusing on the job, and not the way her skin would feel when flushed with desire.

He found a few tools for the yard in a small shed at the rear of the triplex, along with an old push mower in serious need of oiling and blade sharpening.

Despite the heavy humidity pushing the heat index higher than normal for the area, for the next four hours Chase trimmed and box-shaped the hedge, then cleared the weeds from the fountain. Armed with a half-empty spray can of lubricant and a sharpening stone he’d found after searching a battered red toolbox in the corner of the shed, he sat on the wooden steps outside Dee’s unit beneath the shade provided by the overhang on her side of the wide front porch and started tearing down the mower.

“Mind if I ask what you’re doing?”

Chase looked up, surprised to find Dee looking at him, curiosity banked in her eyes. In accordance with the climbing heat index and stifling humidity, she wore a pair of khaki walking shorts with a plain white top tucked into the narrow waistband. With one white sneaker propped on the bottom step and her hand wrapped around the wooden railing, she looked as if she’d been ready to bound up the stairs until she saw him.

Using the shirt he’d pulled off over an hour ago, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I thought the place could use a little work.”

“Mrs. England has a gardener, you know.”

“Then she should fire him because he does a lousy job.”

She shrugged, then hesitated long enough to have him wondering if she was debating whether or not she could trust him not to touch her if she passed by him.

As if every nerve in his body wasn’t poised for action, he gave the mower blade his attention once again. The sun had begun its descent over the western horizon, yet the air was still heavy with humidity, causing moisture to cling to just about every surface of his body. The moist heat would have been completely unbearable if not for the light sea breeze that occasionally teased his skin and gently stirred the fronds of the palmetto trees overhead.

She must’ve decided it was safe, because after a few ticks of the second hand on his wristwatch, she climbed the stairs to her apartment. The jangle of keys was followed by the click of the door and the faint whoosh of cool air from the central air conditioning that brushed against his skin.

The screened door snapped shut about the same time her front door closed. Well, now what? he wondered. He had been waiting for her to return, so now what did he do? The equipment was set to record if she received or made a telephone call. Maybe he could even come up with a plausible excuse to gain entrance into her apartment again. The “my phone is out” trick wouldn’t fly a second time, but he could always pull the lame borrow an egg or cup of sugar routine if he got desperate enough. There was the Senior Health class, but it wouldn’t make sense for him to contact her so soon about speaking to the class when school wouldn’t be in session for another two weeks.