Hers By Request Page 8

  She smiled at Dev and thought his cheeks reddened—or was it windburn?

  “Don’t let her fool you, Chris. She found out how desperate I was for an accountant and used that information ruthlessly to bend me to her will.”

  Dev’s comments seemed almost serious compared to the lighthearted banter she and Chris had been sharing.

  “She’ll use any means to get what she wants. When she’s determined, watch out,” he concluded.

  Amanda took that as a compliment and grinned proudly. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.” She shrugged.

  Chris glanced from Amanda to Dev. “And what she wanted was you?” he asked in amazement. “Give me a few minutes alone with her and I’ll fix that.” He chuckled.

  Amanda gestured at the pot. “You want some coffee, Dev? Or a blueberry muffin?” She slid a sideways glance at Chris, who raised one eyebrow at her show of innocence.

  “Well, I’m beginning to see the light,” he commented.

  “Great song,” Amanda and Dev said in unison, then shared a smile.

  She went to the refrigerator and brought back the tin of muffins. Then she poured Dev’s coffee in his World’s Best Boss mug and set it in front of him.

  “Chris, I have to get back to work. My boss is a real slave-driver,” Amanda stage-whispered. “It was nice to meet you.” She retrieved her bottle of water and sauntered out the door. She was curious what Chris wanted to talk with Dev about, but too polite to eavesdrop. Still, she walked as slowly as she dared in hopes of catching a few sentences.

  Dev’s reaction to Captain Majewski put her inquisitive nature on alert.

  CHAPTER 8

  Chris Majewski was a psychiatrist at Walter Reed and Dev had been one of his more spectacular failures. Which never stopped him from trying to help. Dev could shut him down temporarily but he’d never stay away for long.

  He’d made the mistake of telling Captain Majewski his plans, and once he was discharged, Chris kept in touch by sending him other former soldiers who didn’t have a job or a home to go back to. He figured the peace and quiet of the sparsely populated Eastern Shore might give them the chance to recover the balance Iraq or Afghanistan had beaten out of them. It made for an interesting crew, Dev had to give him that.

  The one job Chris hadn’t found anyone to fill was that of Business Manager. So Dev was saddled with it, which to his way of thinking, was barely one step above the Chief Engineer slot.

  “What a lovely woman,” Chris commented, judiciously selecting a blueberry muffin.

  Dev was in no mood to discuss Amanda with his former shrink. He would have told him about meeting her eventually but he hadn’t been ready yet. Too late now. He could already see the speculation in Chris’ eyes. He had been pushing Dev for months to get in touch with Danny’s fiancée, confident that the meeting would help resolve at least some of his massive survivor guilt. Dev was equally sure Amanda would despise him for the part he played in Danny’s death. Now that he’d spent some time with her, he doubted she would accuse him of killing Danny outright—she had too much class for that—but inside she’d still blame him. And run as fast as she could in the other direction.

  “Before you ask, no. She doesn’t know who I am.” Dev took a swallow of coffee and grimaced as it scalded his tongue.

  “And she really just showed up here one day, searching for you?”

  “Yeah. She listens to us.” Dev tilted his head up toward the overhead speaker that constantly carried their live broadcast. He finally met Chris’s eyes.

  “I’d only found out she moved near here a couple of days before. Then I drove over to Blue Point Cove—that’s where she lives—and damn near killed her with my car.” His hands shook slightly so he put his coffee down and folded his arms across his chest.

  Chris merely sat and waited.

  “Cut the shrink crap,” Dev muttered. “I hate it when you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Just sit there without talking and wait for me to spill my guts. You’re not my therapist anymore so you can lose the couch-side manner.”

  “Okay. So you just found out she lives close enough to call using two empty soup cans and a piece of string, but you drove over instead and tried to kill her with your car?”

  “I didn’t try to kill her. The accident was her fault. She pulled out in front of me without looking. Luckily the Rover has good brakes. After I got out of my truck, I realized who she was.”

  “So you went over to introduce yourself . . .”

  “Actually she introduced herself first. I merely told her my name—which meant nothing to her—checked the damage, which was minor, thank God, and suggested we not involve the police in an accident report.”

  The hum of the refrigerator filled the room.

  Dev took another slug of coffee and concentrated on the tabletop. Damned if Chris would get another word out of him on this subject.

  Chris caved first on their silent tug-of-war.

  “Okay, then let me ask you this. How long are you going to wait before you tell her who you really are?”

  Dev’s scowl would have made a lesser man back off. He had perfected it dealing with Iraqi rebels at numerous checkpoints.

  “You do plan on telling her at some point, right?” Chris glanced at him over the rim of his cup as he sipped his coffee, his own bland expression perfected in hundreds of interviews with troubled, frightened, belligerent soldiers.

  “Of course.” Dev rocked his chair back on two legs. “I’m trying to help get her new business venture off to a good start. That, plus hiring her to do the station’s books will give her a bit more financial security. Then I have to convince her to move on and find someone to replace Danny in her life.”

  He leveled the chair, and went over to the sink where he dumped the remains of his coffee and stared out the window. Without turning, he said, “You and I both know as soon as I tell her who I am, that will be the end of any kind of interaction between us.”

  “I’m not as sure about that as you are, Marconi, but I understand your caution. Is Amanda showing any signs of interest in other men? Do you know if she’s dated anyone yet?”

  Dev pivoted, rubbing his left arm and flexing the fingers in the thin glove he wore. He came back to the table and placed both hands flat on its surface, then leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, Chris, is your interest purely clinical or are you hoping for a date?”

  “It’s simple curiosity, Dev. No need to get your hackles up.” He finished his blueberry muffin and brushed the crumbs from his fingers. “I really stopped by to see if I could interest you in another employee.”

  Dev rolled his eyes skyward. “What’s the matter with this one? Please tell me he can at least get around under his own power and doesn’t have any violent tendencies.”

  Chris cast a reproachful glance at Dev before he withdrew a sheaf of papers from his inside jacket pocket. “Physically he’s fine. But you’d have to assign him an evening slot, for a while at least. Nights would be even better, if you’d be willing to give up part of your shift. He has a little difficulty with noise and daylight.” Chris put his hand up to stop Dev’s interruption. “He is coming along quite well, actually, or I wouldn’t have suggested that you take him on. He needs some time to get his feet back under himself, that’s all.”

  Chris Majewski was nothing if not discreet about his patients’ histories and diagnoses. Dev took the paperwork and glanced through it. Lance Fisher, thirty-five, a sergeant, and the only survivor of a suicide bombing on the police station he and his men were protecting out in Zabul province. A fifteen-year veteran whose only skill before entering the Army was as a wide receiver on a Level II College Football team. He quit college to join the military and now here he was with PTSD and no marketable job skills—assuming you didn’t count shoo
ting people. Dev could relate.

  “You bring him along with you?”

  “Nah. Didn’t want to get his hopes up until I spoke with you first.”

  Dev gave a half-smile and shook his head. “I appreciate your restraint, Dr. Freud.” He blew out a breath. “Luckily for you I just happen to have an opening from three to seven a.m. Send him on down here and we’ll see if we can work him into our little group.”

  Chris’ smile dropped years off his face. “Wish I could get you to cut yourself a little slack, Marconi. You’re a much better man than you give yourself credit for.”

  “No. I’m not. Be grateful for my guilt. It’s the only reason I let you dump your hapless rejects on me.”

  He saw the change in Chris’ expression, and closed his eyes. “Mike’s right behind me, isn’t he?”

  Chris nodded. “Yep.”

  “It’s okay, boss. I knew I was a reject when you hired me. And I’ll always be grateful you gave me a chance anyway,” Mike assured him.

  He went straight to the sink and began washing up the mugs left in it. Clouds of steam rose from the scalding hot water. He brought a dishcloth over to the table and began to wipe up the crumbs Chris had left behind, giving him a disgusted snort.

  Chris threw up his hands. “I know, I know. I’m a slob.”

  “You are,” Mike agreed. “But you’re in good company around here. They’re all slobs.”

  “Mike, I’ll take care of this. You don’t always have to be the one who cleans up,” Dev said. He regretted Mike had heard the way he referred to the men Chris had talked him into hiring. He didn’t see them as rejects at all, really. He was only trying to jerk Chris’s chain and get him off the topic of his own shortcomings.

  “I’ve got this, boss,” Mike replied. He glanced over at Chris. “You sending us another reject, Captain?” He purposely ignored Dev’s frown but didn’t hide his little smirk from Chris.

  “I think I may have found someone to shorten Dev’s all-night shift, Mike. I know I can count on you to give the guy a hand finding a place to stay. Maybe you could be roommates for a while till he gets settled in.”

  The horror on Mike’s face had Chris back-pedaling quickly. “Or not. I just thought with opposite shifts you wouldn’t be in each other’s way much.”

  “I’ll help him find a place, Captain, don’t worry. This economy has lots of folks around here renting out rooms in their homes for some extra income. When’s he starting?” Mike asked Dev, who bounced the question over to Chris with a shrug.

  “He’ll be discharged from the hospital tomorrow. How soon can you work him into your schedule, Dev?”

  “Pretty confident I’d say yes, weren’t you? Humph. Might as well have him come on over right away unless he has something else he has to do. I’ll ask Ed to show him the ropes for the next couple of days—”

  Chris winced.

  “Oh, right.” Dev tried to figure out a plan but it wasn’t going to be easy. “Well, hell, Chris, they aren’t going to discharge him in the middle of the night. He’s going to have to deal with some daylight till we find him a place to stay. I’ll ask Ed to work late and go over procedures in the evening. Then I can start him with me until he’s ready to solo.”

  Mike folded the dishcloth in three exactly equal sections, made sure the handles of the mugs were all pointing in the same direction on the shelf over the coffee pot, and came over to straighten the chairs at the table. “I’ll check on a house that put a sign in the front window a few days ago about a room rental and see what they’re asking. Maybe we can have him settled in by tomorrow or the day after.”

  He moved the salt and pepper shakers a half-inch further apart and Dev had no doubt they were aligned exactly along a north-south meridian and equidistant from both edges of the table. “Thanks, Mike. Let me know when you’ve got those test patterns on the antennas done and I’ll sign off on the paperwork.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Chris stood up and carefully set his chair opposite the one on the other side of the table. “I have to get back to the hospital, Dev. Thanks for helping out with Lance. I think you’ll like him. And, ah, let me know how things go with A—”

  “Yeah, I’ll keep you posted,” Dev interrupted.

  “Right. Good to see you, Mike,” Chris finished as he headed toward the door.

  “Likewise, Captain.” Mike nudged Chris’ chair two millimeters to the left.

  Dev followed Chris down the hall and watched as he leaned into the doorway of his office.

  “Nice meeting you, Amanda.”

  Amanda glanced up from her laptop. “A pleasure to meet you too, Chris. Will we be seeing you again soon?”

  Nice that she used the word “we”, Dev thought. As though she considered herself a member of their organization. Not so nice that she cared whether Chris stopped in again or not.

  “Oh, I’m the prototypical bad penny,” Chris replied. “You never can tell when I’ll show up.” He shot Dev a look over his shoulder that was part amusement, part challenge. “Hang in there, Marconi.”

  “Yeah. You drive safe, Doc.” Dev clapped Chris on the shoulder. “Roads can be dangerous around here.” He glanced over at Amanda in time to see her drum her fingers on the conference table and give him a dirty look. That was all it took to improve his mood one hundred percent.

  CHAPTER 9

  No. This couldn’t be happening. Amanda turned the key in the ignition again and got the same result. Nothing. Not even a sputter. She checked to see if she’d left the lights on or the radio or . . . anything. She hadn’t, yet somehow the battery was dead.

  She pounded her hands on the steering wheel. She was supposed to pick Zoe up in fifteen minutes. And then turn back around and retrace her route to Mrs. Wyndham’s house and get there by two o’clock. Not a chance she would make it now.

  Zoe didn’t own a car. Her living quarters above the gallery were right in the center of town and she walked anywhere she needed to go, or hitched a ride on the back of Jeff’s motorcycle.

  She hated to ask Dev for a favor but if he was going to meet them at the Wyndham’s anyway, he was her next best bet. She dialed quickly but had her hopes dashed as the call went to voicemail. She left a message without much hope he’d get back to her in time to help. Damn, was nothing going to go right today?

  Back inside, she grabbed the phone book to find the nearest car repair service. Maybe she could get a jump-start and still make it on time to Mrs. Wyndham’s. She remembered the woman’s remark about how the first event planner had been late. That was the company that didn’t get the contract.

  There were only two service stations in town. Amanda quickly dialed the number of the first one, and got a recording. Drat. She hung up and called the second one. Thank God, a human voice answered the phone. She explained her problem and the man on the other end promised to have someone out to her house with jumper cables, just as soon as he got back from changing a flat tire for Mr. Abernathy. Shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes.

  Great. Perfect. She blew out a breath. She called Zoe next and explained her problem.

  “Um, okay, let’s try this,” Zoe suggested. “Jeff was going to meet us there. I’ll just ask him to stop and pick me up first. Then, after he drops me off he can come get you. At least one of us will be there on time. That should count for something.”

  Amanda wasn’t thrilled at the thought of riding on the back of Jeff’s Suzuki, especially the way he flew around corners on the thing, but desperate times called for desperate measures . . .

  “Okay, Zoe. Tell Jeff I really appreciate the rescue. And call me when you get to Mrs. Wyndham’s, please? That way I can relax a little. Meanwhile, I’m going to call Dev again and see if I can hitch a ride with him.”

  “Right. Hanging up to call Jeff,” Zoe said. “I�
��ll keep in touch.”

  “Kay. Bye.”

  On the second try, Dev picked up.

  “Hi, Dev, it’s Amanda.” She tried to slow down because she sounded a little frantic even to herself. “I hate to bother you, but I’ve got to ask you for a big favor.”

  “Hi, Amanda.”

  She could hear the surprise in his voice, but he didn’t miss a beat.

  “What do you need?”

  “I’m having car trouble and I don’t want to be late to this appointment with Mrs. Wyndham. I was wondering if you have enough time to swing by my house and pick me up on your way there.” She closed her eyes and crossed her fingers.