Foul Play - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,22

mind? Henry Chickenhawk?”

“How about Veronica Bottles?”

“Why would she want to steal her own rooster?”

Jake shrugged. “She’s dumb enough to do anything. I’m open to ideas.”

“Good. Here’s my idea. How about we forget this whole thing and go for a nice, relaxing five-mile run.”

Jake choked on his coffee. “No! I mean, that’d be great, but what about justice? Your honor is at stake. And besides, I have an obligation here. I lost the bird, so I should find the bird. After all, I have a reputation to uphold.” Not to mention excruciating cramps in my legs. “And I don’t have any shorts with me,” he added lamely.

Amy worried her lower lip. She really wasn’t the dashing, daring detective type. She was early-to-bed, early-to-rise, dependable Amy who liked children and small dogs. She had no aspirations to be Wonder Woman, and she didn’t think her honor was in imminent danger, but she did care about Jake’s reputation as a veterinarian. Darn that chicken. He was nothing but trouble.

With a resigned sigh, Amy presented Jake with the phone book. “I suppose you’re determined to do this.”

Jake sent her a sheepish smile and thumbed through the alphabet. “Turner, Brian. He’s on Ridge Road. Bet he lives in a condo with a Jacuzzi. Bet we find feathers on his driveway.”

His eyes traveled the length of Amy. “I think it would be best if you changed your clothes. Wear something dark. Jeans and sneakers, in case we have to run.”

Amy grimaced. This was going to be a disaster. They were going to get caught and arrested and sent to prison. What would she tell her mother? Who would feed her cat?

Ten minutes later they were seated in Jake’s car. The engine churned, the car backfired twice. Amy suggested, for the sake of a fast and silent getaway, that they use her car.

Jake looked over at the sleek, low-slung red sports car and smiled wide. “Can I drive?”

Amy hesitated. There was something in his voice, in his eyes, in the way he leaned forward when he looked at her car. It was the way she looked at cheesecake.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you? It isn’t paid for.”

He ran his hand over the front fender. “Bet this baby can really move.”

“I don’t know, actually. I don’t drive very fast. I bought it because it was pretty.”

“Oh man! Teakwood steering wheel!”

Amy held the keys tight in her fist. “Except for the steering wheel, the whole car’s fiberglass. They tell me it’ll tear easily. Just crumple at the smallest bump.”

Jake slid behind the wheel and worked the gearshift. “Vroom, vroom, vroom,” he said.

Amy rolled her eyes and dropped the keys in his lap. She marched around to the passenger side and strapped herself in.

Jake was her employer, her friend, her partner in crime. He was something else. Boyfriend? No, boyfriend implied dating. Lover? Not yet. She didn’t know what to call it, but they were definitely in deep like. There was some sort of special relationship growing between them. Relationships required trust, right?

Jake put the car in gear and slowly backed out of the driveway. Okay, nothing to worry about. She trusted him. He put his foot to the accelerator, the result snapping her head back, pressing her into the back of her seat.

“What pickup,” Jake shouted, rocketing down Wheatstone Drive.

Amy clutched the dashboard. “What are you doing? This isn’t a racecourse. This is a family neighborhood. There are dogs and cats and kids scurrying across this road.”

A hint of scarlet spotted his cheekbones. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

“Men.”

Jake looked at her sideways. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Men are always getting carried away. It must be in their DNA. Too much adrenaline. Not enough vitamin B. Too much testosterone.”

“Ah hah! Now we’re getting somewhere. I assume you’re speaking from personal experience? You know someone with too much testosterone?” Give me his name and address, Jake silently raged. I’ll neuter him.

Amy thought about it for a minute. She’d always accused Jeff of being obsessed with sex. In her mind, it had all been vastly overrated, anyway. She’d never been all that tempted to go the distance. Until Jake.

Jake had an invigorating effect on her hormones. Maybe she should reconsider her ideas about getting carried away. Now that she thought about it, she’d gotten sort of carried away when he kissed her for the first time, and she’d definitely been carried away when she was drunk. And tonight … she’d melted in his arms. “Son of a gun.”

“Would you like to elaborate on