that demeaning name but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, she was positive he said it just because he knew exactly how much it annoyed her. Instead, she marched back into the kitchen and picked up the phone.
He was right behind her. She hadn’t even heard him following her.
“This is your last chance,” she said.” Leave now, and I won’t call the police.”
“What are you going to tell them? You’re throwing out an invited guest?”
Was this 911-worthy, or should she use the sheriff’s office number? “Invited? I hardly think so.” She looked at him, waited. “Are you leaving?”
“No.”
The threat of calling the police had no effect on him. He’d probably been in trouble with the law so many times one little B and E would be nothing more than an insignificant blip on his mile-long rap sheet.
On second thought, she’d call her brother. Tonight she’d had to listen to her family tell her how having a partner might be a good idea. Once they saw he was a criminal, they’d have to reconsider their pro-partner angle.
She punched in Paul’s number. The line was busy.
Could just one thing go her way today? Just one?
“No luck?”
She wanted to wipe that knowing smirk off his too-good-looking-to-be-true face. “This is your final chance.”
“Sweetheart, you could give me a hundred chances, and I still wouldn’t budge.”
“I hear our jail is quite comfortable.”
He walked around her, and she caught the subtle whiff of cologne. Really nice cologne. And something more—something that hadn’t come from a bottle. Like sun-warmed earth, and a gentle breeze off the water. How long had it been since she’d been this close to a man?
He headed into the living room, sat back down in the club chair, and picked up the remote. She noticed an open beer on the table next to him.
Unbelievable.
“Be honest.” He took a drink from the longneck bottle. “You’re speaking from firsthand experience.”
“Excuse me?”
“The jail. How many times have you been locked up?”
He really was an ass. Nice-smelling or not. With his back to her, she tried her brother’s number again. Still busy. She looked at the kitchen clock. It was nearly eleven thirty. Who could Paul be talking to?
All threats aside, she really didn’t want to call the police. Or her brother. The sirens would wake her neighbors, Bill down at the Hidden Lake Tribune would pick up the story from his police scanner and plaster it all over the front page, or at least page two. He’d never liked her ever since she’d told her best friend Maddy he’d been two-timing her in the eleventh grade. And her family would only make her life all that more miserable. The porch light debate paled in comparison to the locking her doors argument. Contrary to what she’d told Jared, some people on Hidden Lake did lock their doors—her parents and brother, to name a few.
Jared flipped through the channels. All five of them. “Ever heard of cable?”
“If you like TV so much, you should have stayed at Lovie’s Bed-and-Breakfast. I hear she has cable.”
“Mrs. Murphy closed up shop and left for a family reunion today.”
A fact her mother conveniently forgot to mention tonight when she’d told Jenny where Jared had been staying. Jenny hadn’t even thought to question how her mother knew this. Nothing escaped her mom’s notice. “Seattle and the surrounding area has hundreds of B and Bs. I’ll get you a list. And another of hotels.”
He stopped surfing and settled on a late-night news program. Jenny got the impression he wasn’t too interested; the sound was muted. “I told you I’m not leaving. I was invited.”
“For the second time, I didn’t invite you.”
“I never said you did.” He pulled a duffel bag out from alongside the chair. The bag looked as old as he was. He reached in and withdrew something.
It looked like a letter, but Jenny didn’t care. The bag was the final straw. She couldn’t believe it—he’d all but moved in. Ignoring the letter or whatever it was in his hand, she stepped forward, grabbed his bag, and planned to throw it out the front door. Along with him. But she forgot it was unzipped. Clothing spilled out along with his motorcycle helmet, landing right on her foot.
With a muffled curse, she looked down, ready to throw it across the room. Then realized it wasn’t a motorcycle helmet. She stared at the fighter pilot’s helmet at her feet and felt herself hurled back in time.
She thought Jared might have said something, but she