B008KQO31S EBOK by Deborah Cooke, Claire Cross Page A

flashing. “I’m sure it is okay . I’m sure you’d love for me to lose my temper. I’m sure you’d enjoy being able to laugh at the success of your little trick.”
    She hauled the truck over to the shoulder suddenly and hit the brakes with such ferocity that they squealed. The truck fishtailed to a stop, raising a cloud in its wake and he got a much better look at the windshield than he might have preferred.
    Phil spun to face him, her eyes blazing. “Get out of my truck.”
    “What?”
    “You heard me. Out!”
    “I heard you, but I seem to be missing a few pages from the script here.” So much for calm. His voice rose. “What in the hell is going on?”
    “What’s going on?” Phil’s eyes flashed and she jabbed her finger at him. “I thought we were friends , Nick. I thought you were someone I could trust. And you know what? I just found out that I was wrong. Dead wrong. I found out that you’re just like all the rest of them, not above a little trick on Fat Philippa.”
    “What trick?”
    But Phil was on a roll, his question trampled beneath the stampede of her words. “What did you expect me to do? Did I miss some booby trap? Or was it enough that I was terrified going into that house? Did you rig a camera to capture the moment on film forever? Maybe you can get together with all the boys and have a chuckle over how you fooled me into making a fool of myself, maybe...”
    He interrupted her tirade. “Phil, I didn’t...”
    “Spare me the play of innocence,” she said coldly. “Lucia isn’t dead. There’s no rotting corpse in the greenhouse, and I’m sure there never was. The paphiopedilum orchids, however, are in full bloom and the plumeria smells divine. So, why don’t you go and phone your grandmother, have a cup of tea, enjoy your homecoming and forget that we ever knew each other.”
    He didn’t know what had happened, but he didn’t like what was happening now. He held Phil’s gaze, willing her to believe him. “Phil, I didn’t play a trick on you.”
    “Bull.” She glared back just as steadily. “Get out of my truck.”
    “Just give me a chance to explain.”
    Her eyes widened. “Why you couldn’t just come home and leave me out of it? I’m sure I don’t want to know.”
    “Phil...”
    “Don’t you dare suggest that you wanted to see me. If that was the truth, it wouldn’t have taken you fifteen years to bother.” There was heat in those words but she didn’t give him time to think about that.
    She leaned past him, reaching to open the door of the truck and showing a breathtaking stretch of leg in the act. “Get out.”
    He’d never seen Phil angry and could have done without it. She was completely composed, her voice flat, her eyes cold. In a way, it was much worse than if she had screamed and shouted. The traffic whizzed past them as they stared at each other.
    He didn’t get out. “All I want a chance to explain.”
    “Then tell someone who gives a damn. Your account with me is overdrawn.” She pointed again to the door.
    He knew better than to force the issue. He’d argue from the shoulder of the road. He got out of the truck, but had no chance to lean back in and make a last appeal.
    Because Phil slammed the truck into gear and floored the accelerator, swerving back onto the highway in a daring merge that spewed loose gravel all over him . The open door swung wildly, then slammed of its own accord. He coughed and, when the dust cleared, stared after the hulking silhouette of the truck.
    It didn’t seem that Phil even looked back.
    He blew out his breath and ran a hand through his hair as he reviewed the bidding.
    Lucia wasn’t dead in the greenhouse. There was no way she could be. He knew Phil was telling the truth—and there was no other reason for her to be so angry.
    Which meant someone had cleaned up after he had been there. Come to think of it, he had left the front door wide open. It couldn’t have been the cops, or they would have been all over