Naughty Neighbor - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,37

second. She lowered her lashes and sipped her drink, embarrassed that she’d almost burst into tears at the thought of becoming a lawyer. It was amazing how such a powerful dream could be buried so deep that it had been all but forgotten.

He saw the joy and the emotion and had a hard time not crying along with her. He gave himself a fast lecture on macho behavior, took a hard breath, and steadied his voice.

“Okay, so it’s settled,” he said. “You’re going to be a lawyer. What else is different?”

“I’m more assertive.” She shook her finger at him. “Don’t try to push me around. I won’t stand for it.”

He pretended to be offended.

Louisa ignored him. “I want to be treated like an equal in this pig project.”

“You want to be an equal to Kurt? Honey, even I don’t want to be an equal to Kurt.”

“You know what I mean.”

He knew exactly what she meant. She didn’t want him being overprotective of her. It was an unreasonable demand. He could more easily stop breathing than stop wanting to keep her safe.

“I understand your point of view,” he said. “From now on you’re one of the boys.” It was an outright lie, and he didn’t feel the least bit guilty about making it. There was more to love than truth, he told himself. There was survival.

Chapter 8

Louisa didn’t like working for Stu Maislin. The atmosphere in his suite of offices was oppressive, his administrative assistant looked like a bookie, and she suspected her phone was bugged by both Kurt and Maislin. It was like living in a goldfish bowl filled with piranha.

She was on her third day on the job, and she was still wearing a wire at Pete’s insistence. He was outside, somewhere, listening to her every word. To say she had no secrets was an understatement.

“I wonder if I unplugged the iron?” she said into her chest. “Hope it doesn’t burn the house down. And did you remember to close the front door after you went back in for my briefcase? I bet the house isn’t locked up.”

She smiled, knowing she drove Pete crazy with these mutterings. It was the only fun part of her workday.

“Only kidding,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I unplugged the iron. I don’t think it would burst into flames, anyway, because I had it on a low setting because I was ironing my red silk teddy. You remember that teddy? The one I wore the night before last? The one with the wide, easy-lovin’ legs? I wore that teddy to the office today because I thought I might take an extra long lunch hour and”—she crinkled a paper, simulating static—“and when I was done with you, you’d be sitting funny for the rest of the afternoon.”

She allowed herself another smile and turned to the stack of mail on her desk, thinking he now had something to occupy his mind while she did some work. She was halfway through the mail when a check slipped through her fingers. It had been delivered earlier by a bonded messenger. Not an unusual occurrence. She’d signed for it and placed it in the priority bin. It was to Maislin, personally. And it was against a claim on his homeowner’s insurance, to the tune of slightly less than half a million. She did a silent whistle. It was a lot of money, and it piqued her curiosity.

She copied the claim number, the amount, the name of the adjuster and his phone number, and went down the hall to the public phone. She dialed the adjuster and introduced herself. She was new, she explained. She needed to be brought up to speed on Mr. Maislin’s claim.

Pete was at the water fountain behind her when she hung up. “Well?” he asked.

“Couldn’t wait until I got off work?”

“I was intrigued.”

“Maislin’s house was broken into five days before the pig incident. A very expensive pair of diamond earrings, a choker, and two rings were stolen. The thief also took several stamps which were extremely valuable. They were insured for big bucks.”

“Never found?”

“Never found,” Louisa said.

“You think the pig could have eaten them?”

She wrinkled her nose.

“I’m serious. Years ago, before Reuters sent me to South America, I did an article on insurance fraud. It’s common. If you’re a big roller and times get tough, you fake a burglary. That way you get paid twice. You collect the insurance, and then you turn around and you sell the family jewels under the table. Suppose Maislin