Get a Clue(40)

Two bars! And then the familiar beep, beep, beep, signaling that she had messages. Quickly she accessed them and laughed weakly when she heard “You have thirty-seven messages.” A bunch were from her parents and siblings, and all were in a similar vein along the lines of “Where the hell are you?” There were more from friends, wondering if she was okay. The answer was a big, resounding no.

And then came Dean’s voice, unusually subdued, and sounding as if he was in a vacuum. “Hi, Breanne—I realize you probably hate me by now.”

“Give me a reason not to,” she muttered.

“—and I know this will sound like some kind of joke to you,” he said, “but believe me, it’s not. I’m . . . in prison.”

Breanne pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it in shock before listening to the rest.

“I was arrested for identity theft and fraud, and they say I’m looking at five to ten. Oh, and you should probably toss your Palm Pilot in the nearest ocean because I once used it for some illegal downloading.” Then the sound of him hanging up. That was it, nothing more.

No good-bye, no I’m so sorry, no words of everlasting love.

There were more messages but she lost her signal. Hands shaking with the chill, she turned off her cell and tried to go back inside.

The doors wouldn’t budge. She’d locked herself out.

Her mind went numb as she stood there and looked at the handle. Her vision wavered. Dean was a criminal. That meant this engagement had been nothing more than a sham. Of course it’d been. Hell, her entire life had been a sham.

Damn, she was done being a screwup, done just moving through life, going through the motions.

Things were going to change!

She tried the door again, but apparently her epiphany didn’t have any impact on the fact that she’d locked herself out. Already frozen, she tipped her head upward in frustration, but there was no divine help to be had.

There was nothing but more bad luck as her eyes focused on the eave of the house, and the shockingly huge web there. And sitting in it was the largest, fattest spider she’d ever seen. “Oh, God.”

She really hated spiders. She’d hated them since she’d been five, when one of her brothers had put his pet tarantula in her bed. Frantic, she reached for the handle again, imagining she felt the spider drop to her head. Her breath clogged in her throat. “Oh, no. No.”

The doors were still locked.

She banged on the glass, and Cooper, at home in a large easy chair, reading the historical romance, lifted his head and smiled at her.

Waved.

“I’m locked out!” she yelled, banging on the door. “Let me in.”

“Sorry.” He shook his head regretfully. “Can’t do that.”

She would have sworn she felt the spider crawling in her hair and shuddered. “Why not?”

“You wanted to be alone, remember?”





Twelve



Men exist because a vibrator can’t change a flat tire. On second thought, I should just buy a AAA card . . .

—Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry





Cooper waved again at a furious-looking Breanne standing out there in the snow. She was glowering at him through the glass in that outfit which made him extremely hot. Surprised to find himself aroused at just the sight of her, he set down the book and came to a slow stand.

She banged on the glass yet again, her extremely kissable lips wide open in an O of vexation. Earlier he’d had them soft and wet and open to his, and it had been shockingly good, but now they were turning a lovely shade of blue. He felt bad about that, but playing with her had proven to be more fun than he’d had in far too long, and he couldn’t seem to resist.#p#分页标题#e#

“Open up!” she yelled. “Can’t you hear me?”

“Oh, I hear you. In fact, I think the people in China hear you.” He had no idea where she’d gotten that siren-red top that glittered, or the tight, tight black skirt that hugged her hips and showed off her legs, or those fuck-me boots, but he was betting it was Lariana.

God bless Lariana.

“Open the door,” she said through her chattering teeth, craning her head upward, searching the roof uneasily. “Please.”

He moved to the glass. “What’s the sudden rush?”

“There’s a spider the size of my fist hanging over my head, and it’s going to get me. Just let me in before I start screaming and never stop.” She looked up and let out a horrified squeak. “Ohmigod, it’s gone!” Frenzied, she danced around in a circle, lifting her hands to her head, running her fingers through her hair. “It’s on me, I just know it! Omigod, get it! Get it!”