Mr. Perfect Read online

  “Of course, dear,” said Mrs. Holland. “The big bathroom is the second door on the left in the hallway, and there’s a small bathroom opening off Sam’s bedroom.”

  Funny that they knew that when she hadn’t, but then it was difficult to explore much when one was flat of her back with a two-hundred-pound man on top of her.

  She chose the big bathroom, because it was closer, and carried her purse with her. Hurriedly she stripped off her clothes, used the facilities, then found a washcloth and washed away the evidence of four hours of sex. She used his deodorant, combed her hair—which was indeed sticking out in spikes all over her head—and this time when she dressed she put on her bra.

  Feeling more in control, she returned to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of coffee.

  “It’s terrible about your house, dear,” said Mrs. Holland, “but wonderful about Sam. I take it congratulations are in order?”

  “Eleanor,” admonished Mrs. Kulavich. “Times are different now. Young people don’t get married just because they’ve been jumping each other’s bones.”

  “That doesn’t mean they shouldn’t,” said Mrs. Holland severely.

  Jaine cleared her throat. So much had happened that she could barely comprehend it all, but the hours in bed with Sam stood out clearly in her mind. “He did ask me to marry him,” she confided. “And I said yes.” She didn’t use the cursed word “engaged.”

  “Oh, my!” Mrs. Kulavich beamed at her.

  “That’s wonderful! When’s the wedding?”

  “In about three weeks, when my parents get back from vacation.” She made a rash decision. “And everyone on the street is invited.” So their small wedding just got a little bigger; so what?

  “You’ll have to have a bridal shower,” said Mrs. Holland. “Where’s a pen and notepad? We have to make plans.”

  “But I don’t need—” Jaine began, then saw the expressions on their faces and stopped in mid-sentence. Belatedly she realized that she did indeed need a bridal shower, to help replace what had just been destroyed.

  Her chin wobbled. She quickly firmed it as one of the patrolmen stepped into the kitchen carrying two cans of cat food. “Detective Donovan sent these over,” he said.

  Grateful for the distraction, Jaine looked around for BooBoo. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. Upset at being plopped down in a strange environment, he was probably hiding. She knew all his favorite hiding places in her house, but she had no idea where he would hide in Sam’s.

  As bait, she opened one of the cans of food, then crawled through the house softly calling BooBoo’s name, pushing the open can in front of her. She finally found him behind the couch, but even with the lure of food, it took her fifteen minutes to coax him out of his hiding place. He crept out and daintily began eating, while she stroked him and took comfort in his warm, sinuous body.

  He would have to go to Shelley’s house, she thought. She couldn’t risk letting him stay with her now.

  Tears seared her eyes, and she bent her head to hide them, concentrating on the cat. When she hadn’t been at home, the maniac had taken out his rage on her possessions. While she was grateful beyond telling that she had been in Sam’s bed rather than her own, she couldn’t risk BooBoo and her dad’s car again—

  The car. Oh, my God, the car.

  She sprang to her feet, startling BooBoo so much he darted back behind the couch. “I’ll be right back,” she called to Mrs. Kulavich and Mrs. Holland, then ran outside.

  “Sam!” she yelled. “The car! Did you check the car?”

  Her yard and Sam’s were full of neighbors. Since the Viper was sitting right there in her driveway, startled faces turned toward her. She hadn’t thought to check the Viper, but as much as she loved it, her dad’s car was at least five times more valuable, and totally irreplaceable.

  Sam came out on the kitchen stoop. He glanced at the garage and jumped from the stoop. Together they ran to the garage.

  The door was still padlocked. “He couldn’t have gotten in, could he?” Jaine asked in an agonized whisper.

  “Maybe he wouldn’t have tried, since your car was sitting in the driveway. He probably thought the garage was empty. Is there another way in?”

  “No, not without knocking a hole in the wall.”

  “Then the car is okay.” He put his arm around her and walked her back toward the house. “You don’t want to open the door with all these people watching, do you?”

  She gave an emphatic shake of her head. “I’ll have to move the car,” she said, planning ahead. “David will have to take it. And Shelley will have to take BooBoo. Mom and Dad will understand, under the circumstances.”

  “We can put the car in my garage, if you want.”

  She thought about it. At least it would be close to hand, and whoever was doing this didn’t know about the car in the first place, so it should be safe. “Okay. We’ll move it when everyone leaves.”

  She didn’t look at the Viper as she walked by it, but she stopped. Staring hard at the blue lights on top of the patrol cars, she asked Sam, “Is my car okay? I can’t look.”

  “It looks okay. I don’t see any scratches or anything, and nothing’s broken.”

  She heaved a sigh of relief and sort of sagged against him. He hugged her, then sent her back to his kitchen and the care of Sadie and Eleanor.

  It was dawn before she was allowed to enter her house. She was surprised at the amount of attention given to what was essentially vandalism, but she supposed Sam was responsible for that. Of course, he didn’t think it was just vandalism.

  Neither did she.

  She couldn’t. Walking through her house, looking at the destruction, she noticed immediately how personal it all was. Her television hadn’t been touched—strange, since it was an expensive item—but all her dresses and underwear had been shredded. Her jeans and pants, however, hadn’t been touched.

  In the bedroom, her sheets and pillows and mattress had been hacked to pieces, her perfume bottles broken. In the kitchen, everything made of glass had been broken, all her plates and bowls, glasses, cups, even the heavy lead-crystal serving trays she had never used. And in the bathroom, her bath linen was untouched, but all her makeup was destroyed. Tubes were smashed, powder dumped, and all the compacts of eyeshadow and blush looked as if they had been stomped, then ground to pieces.

  “He destroyed everything feminine,” she whispered, looking around. The bed was kind of generic, but her bed linen was feminine, in soft pastels with lace-trimmed edges.

  “He hates women,” Sam agreed, coming to stand beside her. His face was grim. “A psychiatrist would have a field day with this.”

  She sighed, exhausted from lack of sleep and the sheer size of the task before her. She glanced at him; he hadn’t had any more sleep than she had, which amounted to nothing more than a couple of short naps. “Are you going to work today?”

  He gave her a startled look. “Sure. I have to get with the detective working Marci’s case and bring him up to speed on this.”

  “I’m not even going to try to work. It’ll take a week to get this mess cleaned up.”

  “No, it won’t. Call a cleaning service.” He put a thumb under her chin and tilted up her face, looking at the bruises of fatigue that shadowed her eyes. “Then go to sleep—in my bed—and let Mrs. Kulavich oversee the cleaning. She’ll be thrilled.”

  “If she is, then she’s in dire need of therapy,” Jaine said, once more surveying the wreckage of what had been her home. She yawned. “I also need to go shopping, to replace my clothes and makeup.”

  He grinned. “The kitchen stuff can wait, huh?”

  “Hey I know what’s important.” She leaned against him and looped her arms around his waist, reveling in the freedom to do so, reveling also in the way his arms automatically went around her.

  She suddenly stiffened. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t once thought about Luna and T.J. tonight. Her brain must be misfiring, that was the only explanation.

  “I