for more than his custom-made Berettas and his first editions of
Spiderman
.
DANNY SPENT THE rest of the day putting every facet of his new game on disk, revising his security codes in the event he or she had gotten to first base, and finally setting up the security camera that had been sitting in its box for six months. Apparently even Mayberry country wasn't safe—electric gate or not. Not that there was any point in putting in a yard security system. The local police wouldn't get here in time if it were broached anyway.
During the course of the due diligence required to secure his office, he was able to distract his mind from its preferred focus on sex with Stella Scott. But the second after he shut the office door and locked it behind him, he was right back on that hamster wheel—reliving the nirvana of the previous night… wanting sex… wanting her. Despite the fact she was a prime suspect.
There was no explanation. Or at least no rational one.
He'd never obsessed over a woman before.
Never.
In an effort to distance himself from his fixation, he called his sister. She was always good for a nonstop monologue about her husband, kids, or the state of the environment. Maybe she could divert his mind from sex with Stella Scott.
Or then again, maybe she couldn't.
No more than two minutes into Libby's discussion of the new chickens her kids were raising for a 4-H project she said, "You aren't listening. What's wrong?"
"Chickens. I heard."
"What about Jenny's 4-H project?"
"Okay, I may not have listened to every word."
"My first impulse would be to say it's a woman, but with you I know better. Care to talk about it?"
Libby was three years older and uberheedful of her role as big sister. Not that he confided in her much, but she had this sixth sense. "It's nothing. Have you heard from Mom and Dad? I had a call last week from Nepal, but the reception wasn't great." His parents were trekking with some
National Geographic
tour.
"They called yesterday. They'll be in Beijing next week. You weren't home. They tried calling you."
"I was at Lumberjack Days this weekend. Lots of stuff was going on."
"Such as?"
"A friend of mine has a good-sized boat. We went down the river, swam, that kind of thing."
"Anyone fun in the party?"
"Fun?" he evasively replied, because she wasn't asking that.
"Like interesting."
She wasn't asking that, either. She was asking about women, and that was the last thing he wanted to talk about. "There were a few interesting people—a museum curator, a political activist for global warming I think, a couple developers who were doing green stuff. I mostly swam though," he lied.
"And then what?"
She was like a human lie detector. "And then nothing. I came home."
"No you didn't. You never just come home after a party. You always bring people with you."
"A few people came home, I guess."
"Anyone I know?"
"Jesus, are you writing a book?"
"I just thought you might have seen that bookstore owner I met at your party this spring—you know, the one with the store in White Bear."
Wrong bookstore owner, he thought. The one he'd brought home didn't talk about esoteric literature. She didn't like to talk at all. She just liked to screw. "The guy who had the boat came over and some friends of his and a woman who owns a comic book store, too." How was that for casual?
"A comic book store? You two must have hit it off. You've been collecting comics from the time you could read."
"She has a really good store—you know… well-stocked, comprehensive." He kept his voice bland.
"What about her? Young, old, fat, thin, married, unmarried?"
"Sort of young, not fat"—how was that for cryptic— "unmarried, I think."
"Does she have favorites like you?"
Hot sex. But his sister meant comics. "I didn't ask. She writes her own comic though, and it's not bad."
"She sounds like a match made in heaven for you, not that I'm matchmaking when I know how much you like your independence, but—"
"You always
Spiderman
.
DANNY SPENT THE rest of the day putting every facet of his new game on disk, revising his security codes in the event he or she had gotten to first base, and finally setting up the security camera that had been sitting in its box for six months. Apparently even Mayberry country wasn't safe—electric gate or not. Not that there was any point in putting in a yard security system. The local police wouldn't get here in time if it were broached anyway.
During the course of the due diligence required to secure his office, he was able to distract his mind from its preferred focus on sex with Stella Scott. But the second after he shut the office door and locked it behind him, he was right back on that hamster wheel—reliving the nirvana of the previous night… wanting sex… wanting her. Despite the fact she was a prime suspect.
There was no explanation. Or at least no rational one.
He'd never obsessed over a woman before.
Never.
In an effort to distance himself from his fixation, he called his sister. She was always good for a nonstop monologue about her husband, kids, or the state of the environment. Maybe she could divert his mind from sex with Stella Scott.
Or then again, maybe she couldn't.
No more than two minutes into Libby's discussion of the new chickens her kids were raising for a 4-H project she said, "You aren't listening. What's wrong?"
"Chickens. I heard."
"What about Jenny's 4-H project?"
"Okay, I may not have listened to every word."
"My first impulse would be to say it's a woman, but with you I know better. Care to talk about it?"
Libby was three years older and uberheedful of her role as big sister. Not that he confided in her much, but she had this sixth sense. "It's nothing. Have you heard from Mom and Dad? I had a call last week from Nepal, but the reception wasn't great." His parents were trekking with some
National Geographic
tour.
"They called yesterday. They'll be in Beijing next week. You weren't home. They tried calling you."
"I was at Lumberjack Days this weekend. Lots of stuff was going on."
"Such as?"
"A friend of mine has a good-sized boat. We went down the river, swam, that kind of thing."
"Anyone fun in the party?"
"Fun?" he evasively replied, because she wasn't asking that.
"Like interesting."
She wasn't asking that, either. She was asking about women, and that was the last thing he wanted to talk about. "There were a few interesting people—a museum curator, a political activist for global warming I think, a couple developers who were doing green stuff. I mostly swam though," he lied.
"And then what?"
She was like a human lie detector. "And then nothing. I came home."
"No you didn't. You never just come home after a party. You always bring people with you."
"A few people came home, I guess."
"Anyone I know?"
"Jesus, are you writing a book?"
"I just thought you might have seen that bookstore owner I met at your party this spring—you know, the one with the store in White Bear."
Wrong bookstore owner, he thought. The one he'd brought home didn't talk about esoteric literature. She didn't like to talk at all. She just liked to screw. "The guy who had the boat came over and some friends of his and a woman who owns a comic book store, too." How was that for casual?
"A comic book store? You two must have hit it off. You've been collecting comics from the time you could read."
"She has a really good store—you know… well-stocked, comprehensive." He kept his voice bland.
"What about her? Young, old, fat, thin, married, unmarried?"
"Sort of young, not fat"—how was that for cryptic— "unmarried, I think."
"Does she have favorites like you?"
Hot sex. But his sister meant comics. "I didn't ask. She writes her own comic though, and it's not bad."
"She sounds like a match made in heaven for you, not that I'm matchmaking when I know how much you like your independence, but—"
"You always
Similar Books
