Intimate Enemy. Marilyn Pappano
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ranch dressing, baked veggie chips and bottled water.”
Lys gave her a thumbs-up before turning back to the machine.
It was another warm day with only the thinnest of clouds in the sky. Humidity hung heavy, trapping the fragrance of the flowers that bordered the square close to the ground. Jamie loved the mix of smells: flowers, greenery, dampness, tasty aromas from Krispy Kreme, the coffee shop and the restaurants along the block. She fancied she could even catch a whiff of fresh-sawn lumber from the River’s Edge project—which, she congratulated herself, she hadn’t so much as glanced at since stepping outside.
Ellie’s Deli occupied prime corner-of-the-square real estate, an old building that had begun life as a general store. Broad steps led to a porch, and a few items there harked back to its past: metal advertising signs mounted on the walls, a checkerboard balanced atop an old wooden barrel and rockers, silvered with age.
Jamie placed their order, took a number and went looking for a table in her favorite section, a long narrow enclosure that had once been a back porch. Screens had been replaced by windows that looked out on Ellie Chase’s kitchen garden.
Her favorite table was empty. Setting down her bag, she slid into the chair and tension she’d hardly noticed eased away. It was a lovely place, with exposed brick walls and a well-worn brick floor, with all the glass and light and ceiling fans lazily stirring the air. The noise from the main dining room was muted, and the proximity to the kitchen allowed the fragrance of hot bread to seep into the space, along with hints of desserts baking.
She was so lost in noticing that she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone until a pair of boots came into view through the glass tabletop. Work boots, spattered with paint and mud. Faded jeans, also spattered. A snug-fitting T-shirt with a coat of chalky dust overlaying its crimson hue.
And a world-class scowl.
The muscles in her neck knotted and her jaw clamped together hard. This wasn’t fair. No more surprise sightings. No more sightings at all if he was going to look at her as if she were something nasty in need of squishing.
Russ rested one hand on the back of her chair and bent closer. “I thought I saw blood oozing from the brick.” Uninvited, he sat down in the chair to her left.
She forced a smile. “Watch it, or I might turn the sky dark, too.”
Coincidentally, the sun disappeared behind a cloud, shadow falling over the garden. She resisted the urge to laugh at the timing. He clearly felt no such urge.
“Have you dragged my brother into something he can’t handle?”
Jamie kept her gaze even, unflinching. Russ didn’t even make the list of people Robbie might have discussed her admirer-stalker with. He and Jamie occupied distinctly separate areas of Robbie’s life. If he’d tattled to anyone, it would have been Tommy Maricci or his cop brothers.
“Offhand, I can’t think of anything Robbie can’t handle.” Then she slyly asked, “We are talking about Robbie, aren’t we? You’re not accusing me of impropriety with Rick or Mitch, are you?”
His response was a snort, but it said enough. His older brothers wouldn’t be interested. She wasn’t pretty enough, sexy enough, to tempt them away from their wives, but no woman was. Fidelity might not have meant much to all Calloways—J. D. Stinson came to mind—but it was important to these four brothers.
And Melinda had taken such pleasure in publicly airing all the dirty details of her extramarital affairs. A broken heart, wounded pride and a bruised ego—Russ had hit the trifecta.
“What’s going on?” His voice was deep, tautly controlled, a lot like Robbie’s, except she could count the number of times she’d heard anger in Robbie’s voice on one hand. It was all she’d heard from Russ for three years.
“Maybe you should ask him.”
“I did. All he would say was that someone he knows is in trouble.”
“And you automatically assume it’s me?”
“Who else is as deserving?”
Her first inclination was to ignore the tiny ache in her chest. As her number was called over the intercom, she decided to go with her second. Rising, she put one hand on the back of his chair, leaned close enough to smell sunshine, sweat and dust and softly said, “Bite me, Russ.”
She made it halfway to the hall that led to the main dining room before he caught up with her. “If something’s going on, leave Robbie the hell out of it.”
She didn’t slow her pace. “Robbie’s a big boy. He can make decisions for himself.”
“I’m not kidding.”
She gave the girl behind the counter a tight smile as she claimed the trays that held her and Lys’s lunches, then faced him again. “Give it up, Russ. I’ve been threatened by people way scarier than you. If you have enough energy to worry about someone’s life, make it your own. You’re way more screwed up than Robbie will ever be.”
“You don’t know what the hell—”
The bell over the door dinged, announcing a new arrival. Russ looked that way, and so did Jamie. Lys’s gaze locked on them, and she charged forward like an overprotective bulldog in puppy’s clothing.
Jamie shoved Lys’s tray into her hands, then bared her teeth at Russ in a parody of a smile. “It’s been fun talking to you. What do you say we wait another three years to do it again?”
Color stained his dark skin crimson, and his gaze turned stormy. She didn’t wait to hear what he might say, but took Lys’s arm and steered her toward the back. It wasn’t until they’d turned the corner into the glassed-in porch that Lys spoke.
“Good show. Now would you please let go of my arm so the blood can start flowing again?”
Contritely Jamie did so. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”
“I know. It’s just Russ.”
He’d been the reason for a lot of emotions in her life—happiness, giddiness, need, desire, lust, satisfaction, affection, love, anger, betrayal, headache, heartache and every other kind of ache. He’d been the best part of her life for a time, and the worst.
One of these days, he wasn’t going to be any part. She promised herself that.
Just as soon as she figured out how to perform magic.
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