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  “I made a fresh pot of coffee. Want some?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  She set it on the counter rather than handing it to him, and avoided staring at his left hand.

  Nice going, idiot-boy. You’ve taken the best day of your life and totally trashed it. Try to salvage something out of this disaster. Talk to her, for god’s sake. Your imitation of a statue won’t help anything.

  “How about letting me help you get these windows caulked? It wouldn’t take very long and you’ll be surprised at the difference cutting out these drafts will make.”

  Could he possibly sound any more lame?

  “Thank you, but you don’t have to do that.”

  “I know.” He went from window to window, examining the casings, then went over to the back door that led out to the dock. He tried on the smile again, hoping it improved with practice. “But that’s what friends do for each other.” He hunkered down and opened the door a crack, then closed it again. “Weather-stripping’s gone from the bottom of this door, too. I can put a new piece on for you.”

  “Listen, Dev, I really appreciate the offer—”

  “But I don’t have to do it,” he interrupted her. “I know. I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me, though.”

  He stood up but stayed by the door, giving her as much space as he could in the cramped kitchen. Knowing she was naked under that terrycloth robe made it difficult to concentrate and he prayed his body wouldn’t betray him.

  She started to say something, stopped, then tried again. “All right. Thank you, that would be very nice.” She folded her arms across her body. “When would you, um . . .?” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and he had to look away, pretending to check the lock on the door.

  He’d need to check with Jeff to see when he’d be available to help, then they’d have to go into Easton to buy supplies. He tried to remember what he had on his calendar at the studio for the coming week.

  “This week? Thursday, Friday?” he suggested. “You don’t have to be here if you have other things to do. Let me know what time’s good for you.”

  “Dev, you already work so hard at the radio station. I really hate to take up more of your time.”

  We would have been taking up my time with much more enjoyable endeavors if . . . things had been different. He stifled a sigh.

  “Don’t worry, it won’t take me long.” He’d recruit Jeff to help him install new baseboard heaters, and maybe a tank-less water heater while he was at it. They could knock those jobs out in a few hours. It would be better if she didn’t know about those plans until he was finished. Then even if she stayed mad, she’d at least be warm and mad.

  The microwave dinged and Amanda gestured toward the table she’d reset with clean plates. “Come sit down. I reheated last night’s casserole. I hope you don’t mind leftovers.” She brought the warmed dish over to the table.

  He hesitated, wishing she would get dressed if he was going to sit across from her at the small table.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything else but this,” she apologized.

  “Oh no. This is fine.” He picked up his cup and went to the table, carefully avoiding brushing against her as he navigated the narrow space.

  “I planned on going to the store today, but . . .”

  But we spent the morning in bed together, instead.

  Yeah, they were both on the same wavelength now. He could tell from the flush staining her cheeks.

  “I’m, uh, going to . . . um . . .” She made a vague gesture toward the robe she wore. “Get dressed.”

  Thank God.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He nodded.

  She bolted for the bedroom.

  He blew out a breath. This was torture. He had to get out of here.

  His stomach growled again, his hunger not diminished one whit by the emotional upheaval going on in his head. He spooned a generous portion of the leftover casserole onto his plate and began to eat.

  Amanda was back in a few minutes wearing jeans and an Army sweatshirt, her face freshly washed, her hair secured in a ponytail low on her neck. Even without a hint of makeup, she was lovely.

  Before she could sit down, the phone rang.

  She answered it and he couldn’t help but hear her side of the conversation.

  “It’s not the battery?” Pause. “It’s the starter. I see.” She turned away and lowered her voice. “How much will that cost, Mr. Evers?” She listened again. “That much? There’s nothing else . . .?” Pause. “Oh, could you? That would be wonderful, Mr. Evers. How long do you think it would take to find one?” Pause. “Oh. Well. Of course. I understand.” Pause. “No. No, one from a junkyard will be fine, Mr. Evers.” Pause. “Yes. Call me as soon as you know how much. Yes. Thank you. Goodbye.”

  She sat down, dejection apparent in the slump of her shoulders. “It appears I’ll be without a car for a little longer than I expected.”

  “The starter, hmm?”

  She nodded. “Mr. Evers is going to try to find a used one in a junkyard. He’s sending Ed over to Easton to see if he can find one.” She put a spoonful of the casserole on her plate but showed no interest in eating it.

  “I’m sure he’ll find one for you,” Dev said.

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yeah, I do. Your car was a very popular model. There must be hundreds of them in the junkyards. Chances are good they’ll find one for you in Easton.” And if they don’t, I’ll find one for you myself.

  She gave him a genuine smile. “Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better.” She took a bite of food and chewed thoughtfully. “I’m going to have to ask you for another favor.”

  He met her gaze and smiled. The practice was helping. His face didn’t feel like a block of wood. “Sure. That’s what friends are for.”

  Yep, he could do this. It might require countless cold showers, and large quantities of Jack Daniels, but he’d pretend the last twenty-four hours had never happened.

  CHAPTER 14

  Why in God’s name did she have to be so stubborn—and stupid? Amanda took her self-recriminations out on the casserole dish, scrubbing it and everything else within reach till the kitchen sparkled.

  Then she took a second cup of coffee into her office. She’d already stripped the bed and had the sheets in the washer—except for one pillowcase. The one that had been under Dev’s head and still bore that wonderful, woodsy fragrance she found so irresistible. She couldn’t bear to remove all traces of a morning spent having the best sex she could remember.

  She refused to compare it to the lovemaking she’d shared with Danny. That would be like comparing apples to oranges. She was in love with Danny. Sex with Dev was fueled by pure lust. It had been a long while since she and Danny had shared a bed, so she was sure that played some part in the intensity of her responses to Dev’s kisses. His broad chest, sculpted abs and powerful thighs did things to her that turned lust into rocket fuel and had sent her to the moon—twice. And Dev’s mouth? The mere thought made the very tender parts between her legs clench.

  So what did she do with all that hot, wonderful male in her bed? She got on her high horse, picked a fight, and ruined it all. Stupid, stupid, woman! Was it so important to prove to him that she cared more about what was on the inside instead of a person than outward appearances?

  Disgusted with herself, she plopped down in her desk chair, winced, and booted up her laptop. She had to make calls to set up interviews on Friday for bartenders, wait staff, caterers, and what she referred to as “muscle”—college kids to park cars, help set up and then tear down all the props.

  What caught her eye immediately was the little blinking icon on her desktop that indicated she had a new entry from one of the clipping services. Job interviews flew out of her mi
nd at the thought she might learn something that could relate to her dad’s disappearance.

  She clicked on the icon and opened an article from a Virginia newspaper about the apprehension of a serial killer whose MO was to hitch a ride, usually along an interstate highway, then kill the driver and take the car south into another state. Once the cash he’d taken from the driver ran out, he dumped the car in a lake or quarry. Eventually he’d hitchhiked back north, killing another motorist to finance his trip. Apparently the man had done this so many times he “couldn’t remember” all the people he’d murdered, but he’d told the police about some of the drop spots he’d used to hide the vehicles. The FBI was sending divers into one quarry in Alabama to see if they could recover anything. Her heart rate sped up as her blood chilled. Could her dad have been one of this man’s victims?

  Amanda found the number for the police in the town where the newspaper article had been published and with shaking fingers dialed. She told the sergeant who answered that she feared her father may have been one of the killer’s victims. He took down her information and told her that the FBI would probably get in touch with her in a day or so. It appeared that a lot of folks thought a missing friend or relative might have picked up the “Highway Hijacker”. Every report would be investigated, he assured her, but she’d best be patient as it may take quite a while. Still, she hung up with renewed hope.

  Back to work, she reminded herself, and opened the spreadsheet she had created with the names, addresses, and phone numbers of all those who had answered her ads in the local papers, or responded to bulletins she had tacked up at community colleges and supermarkets. In two hours, she had enough interviews lined up to keep her busy all day Friday. She was glad Zoe would be there to help and share her opinions of the candidates.

  Dev offered to give her a ride into town and then come back here and caulk her windows while she did the interviews. In an effort to revert to pre-sex friendship mode, she’d accepted. She didn’t want to be indebted to him for anything but he was so insistent about getting rid of the drafts she’d finally given in. It would be nice to have a warmer house and safer to have him do the work while she was away, because she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him—especially in such close proximity to her bed. One smoldering glance, and she’d tell him he could keep all his clothes on if he would just kiss her.

  Mr. Evers had better find a starter for her car soon. She didn’t want to rent one but she was not going to ask Dev to chauffeur her around town. She sighed. Somehow ever since she’d met that man, her life had become more and more complicated.

  Her last call of the day was to Zoe. It was after five so the gallery should be closed. The phone rang so long she was about to hang up when Zoe finally picked up.

  “Did I drag you away from your painting?”

  “Painting, yes. Art? No. I’m gilding the Styrofoam urns we’re using to hold the amaryllis. A little antiquing and they’ll look authentic enough to fool anybody.”

  “I ordered five dozen amaryllis. You’re sure that will be enough, right?”

  “Yep. We’re doing ten tables, so that will take thirty of them. The rest we’ll use along the walkway to the pavilion and on the buffet table. I’m more worried about the ivy. Needlepoint ivy is so delicate we’ll need a lot to make sure the arrangements are full enough. I wouldn’t want Mrs. Wyndham to think they’re skimpy.”

  “I agree. Once I get my car back we can ride over to the nursery and see the actual size of the plants I ordered. Buying plants in six-inch or eight-inch pots didn’t really give me a good idea of how full they’ll be.”

  “Which reminds me, how goes the car situation?”

  “Not good. It wasn’t the battery, it was the starter.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Yeah. Mr. Evers is trying to find a used one in a junkyard to keep the cost down. Otherwise I may have to go with a new one, which will completely exhaust my emergency fund—and then some.” Amanda rubbed her forehead. “I should have asked Mrs. Wyndham for a bigger initial payment, Zoe. That was a mistake I won’t make again.”

  “Considering this is our first foray into event planning, I think you’re doing a fantastic job. There’s bound to be a few things we have to learn from experience. Your car’s breakdown was just bad luck.”

  “I’ll go along with that.”

  “I’m sure Dev would be glad to help you out if you need to borrow a car,” Zoe teased. “He was very helpful at dinner the other night. I think the guy is really into you, Mandy.”

  Into me? Oh yes, he was certainly into me. Heat flooded her face. Good thing Zoe couldn’t see her right now. She wouldn’t need to keep fishing for details.

  “Mandy? Are you still there?”

  “Yes. Of course I’m still here.”

  “You were so quiet there, I thought you . . . Wait a minute. Is there something you’re not telling me?” Zoe asked shrewdly.

  Amanda didn’t want to lie to her friend, but if she told the truth, Zoe would have her ordering wedding invitations before she blinked. She paused too long while she debated how to avoid full disclosure.

  “Oh my God, he kissed you!”

  Damn. Her friend was worse than a bloodhound after a bone. Maybe if she confessed to the kissing, she could stop this interrogation. “Yes. He kissed me. Okay? Are you happy now?

  “What’s more important is—are you happy now?”

  If Zoe had asked her this when she woke up in Dev’s arms, her answer would have been a resounding “Yes!” Now? Not so much. “Um, it’s a little complicated, Zoe.”

  “Oh, Lord. What did you do?”

  “Why do you immediately assume it’s something I did?” Amanda griped.

  “Okay. What did he do?”

  “Well, it’s—”

  “Complicated. I can see that. Why don’t you just tell me the whole deal, so I can stop dragging it out of you inch by inch? Yeesh. I feel like a dentist here, pulling teeth.”

  “Zoe, I just don’t want you to leap to the wrong conclusions.”

  “You mean just because you slept with him I’m not supposed to assume you’re having a June wedding?”

  Amanda choked. Her friend was too smart by half. “Exactly.”

  “No problem,” Zoe continued equitably, “I can wait until September. I love fall weddings.”

  “See? This is why I didn’t want to say anything. There will be no wedding. Not in June. Not in September. Not ever. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes. Foolishly, stupidly clear.” Zoe’s sigh came over the line. “On the other hand, there is a lot to be said for a smokin’-hot, torrid affair. Let it not be said that I am too narrow-minded to embrace that plan.”

  “Well, you needn’t worry, there isn’t going to be an affair either. We had a . . . disagreement. And mutually decided to remain just friends.”

  Silence. Amanda waited, not willing to give out any more information on their “disagreement”.

  “Wow. The sex was that bad?”

  If only.

  “Cause I would have thought, you know, that he’d be hotter than a blowtorch in the sack.”

  “He is. Was. Listen, I don’t want to talk about this right now, okay? I’ve got more important things on my mind. I saw an article in the newspaper about a serial killer who traveled up and down the East Coast hitchhiking then killing the drivers and taking their cars and money. My dad might have been one of his victims. I’ll show you the article on Friday. In the meantime, I need some time to . . . think.”

  “Sure thing. Doing this on the phone sucks. We can talk more after the interviews on Friday.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Zoe. Bye.”

  Amanda hung up and sat with her chin in her hand, staring out the window at the tall beach grass bending in the wind. She had no doubt her life was about to ch
ange. She felt like a passenger on a runaway train, careening toward a future that was out of her control.

  Dev parked in front of the end unit of the Blue Point Motor Court and gave the horn two short blasts. A minute later Jeff stuck his head out the door of the next unit down, wiping his hands on a piece of terrycloth that may have once been a beach towel.

  “Be right there.” The door slammed shut.

  Dev inspected the nineteen-fifties motel, comprised of nine units in an L-shaped, single-story building, tucked back among the trees. Once the only public lodging in Blue Point Cove, it was clear that the newer motel chains had won the competition for vacationers. Jeff had given him a short history when he’d called to set up this meeting.