Naughty Neighbor - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,2

female voice carried up to him. “Uh-oh,” he said, “it’s the ditz downstairs, and she wants her paper.”

He kicked back on a kitchen chair and grinned. She was mad, and she was not being polite. He looked at his watch. She’d have to leave for work pretty soon. He could wait her out. “We’ll let her cool off a little,” he told the cat. “It’s always best to avoid violent women.”

Louisa gave one last kick. He was ignoring her! “Slimy, yellow-bellied coward,” she shouted. “You’re not going to get away with this! I will not be ignored!” She stomped back into her house and took the broom handle to the kitchen ceiling. Thunk, thunk, thunk. “This is for parking in my parking space. And this is for hogging the dryer. And this is for waking me up every night with your late calls.” Thunk, thunk, thunk.

Pete sighed. She was becoming annoying. The floor was vibrating, and he could hear muffled shouts coming from the air duct.

“I like to think of myself as a patient person,” he said to the cat, “but she’s starting to get on my nerves. I can’t concentrate on the funnies with all this noise.” He pushed away from the table and stood, searching through his jeans for a stick of gum. When he didn’t find any, he gave another sigh and ambled out of the kitchen, down the stairs to the front porch. In her haste to harass him, the woman-from-hell had left her door open, so Pete Streeter walked in and followed the racket to the kitchen. He took a wide stance, hands on hips, dark black brows drawn together, and bellowed over her thumping and shouting. “Lady, what is your problem?”

Louisa whirled around in midthump. “Ulk.” Fury was quickly replaced with panic over the fact that there was a large, almost naked man standing in her kitchen. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

“I’m Pete Streeter. I occupy the apartment above you, and you’re ruining my morning with your ranting and raving.” He grabbed the broom from her and threw it into the hall. “No more brooms. No more kicking my door. No more cussing at the top of your lungs.”

He paused to look at her. She was prettier than he’d imagined. Average height with a lean, athletic body and a classic oval face. Snappy dresser. Too bad she was such a fruitcake.

Louisa was temporarily speechless. She’d been right about him being big and hairy, she thought, but she’d been wrong about the overall effect. He was six feet, with a rawboned, tightly muscled body, low slung jeans that sat on slim hips, and the most glorious head of curly brown hair she’d ever seen. It was rock-star hair. Hair she’d die for. “Is that really your own hair?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“You play in a band?”

“No. I write movie scripts.”

Figures, Louisa thought, a flake from Hollywood. Her eyes narrowed. “You took my newspaper!”

“Sorry.”

“I want my paper back.”

“Be reasonable, I’m not done reading it, and you don’t have time to read it now. You’re late for work.”

“How do you know I’m late for work?”

“Lady, I could set my clock by you. At five-thirty your alarm goes off. I don’t know what the devil you do at that hour of the morning, but it involves a lot of door slamming. At six-thirty there’s more door slamming. You take a shower, tune your radio to NPR, and force me to listen to news until you leave precisely at seven-thirty every weekday morning.”

“I didn’t know my noise carried up to you.”

“Sweetheart, I can hear when your zipper goes down. And you shouldn’t be talking to your mother about your dates. Time to cut the umbilical cord, you know?”

She felt the air stick in her lungs. “You listen to my phone calls?”

“Yeah, and it’s pretty depressing. Why don’t you move your phone away from the air duct—”

“Out!” she screamed. “Get out of my apartment, out of my sight, out of my life! I’m going to get Mace. I’m going to get a gun. If I ever see you again, I’ll permanently disable you!”

Streeter grinned. “Must be awful to have PMS like this.”

“Ugh.” She smacked her fist against her forehead.

Washington was cold in February. Wind barreled up the open mall and wide avenues, and the sun hung shrunken and pale in the gray winter sky. The granite buildings seemed unrooted without their flower borders and the sere grass flattened under intrepid tourist feet. Street people huddled in plastic