Not Since You Read online

  She'd never made that mistake with any man again. She'd had relationships, even intimate ones, but she never again allowed a man to touch her heart the way Zack had. Probably because he'd ripped it out of her chest that night, and she'd never been able to find it again.

  Ellie nudged Carrie with her nose, and she realized she'd stopped talking. She continued, "I was on a date with Mike O'Hare. He was on the hockey team, too. We went to the movies, and he got this idea in his head that he could stick his hand in my shirt. Even when I said 'no' and pushed his hand away, he kept trying. I guess he thought it was a game or something."

  Ellie growled, a deep, rumbling noise that nearly shook the seat off its tracks. Grrrr.

  "That's what I thought, too." Carrie patted the dog's head and nodded. "So after about the fifth time I said 'no'—loud enough for everyone in the entire theater to hear—along comes Zack. He actually left Tiffany to come sit next to me. And when Mike tried again, he leaned across me and said, 'No means no, you friggin' asswipe. So leave her alone.' And Mike told him to get the hell out of his business and says, 'Just because you're captain on the ice doesn't mean I gotta listen to you off the ice, too.' "

  "Raow."

  "Right." By this time, Carrie didn't even care if she was talking to a dog. She needed to talk out the past. Just seeing Zack up close had brought it all up, like an e. coli-contaminated meal. "Eventually, Mike climbed over the two of us and left. And get this—I found out later that he went back to where Tiffany was, and felt her up, instead. So…basically, Tiffany and Zack broke up, because he decided to rescue me."

  "Wuff."

  "I know. What a shallow bi-otch she was. I mean, if my boyfriend decided to go stop a guy from harassing a girl—a girl who was a friend of his, mind you—I'd be more head over heels in love with him than ever. I wouldn't decide to entertain the harasser with my hooters as retaliation for leaving me to sit by myself.

  "Come to think of it…why didn't she just come down the aisle and sit with us?"

  "Raow?"

  Carrie looked down at the dog. For a moment, she'd thought she'd heard an echo of Nana's voice in Ellie's doggie responses. Which was crazy. She shook her head. Just like she was crazy, talking to a dog.

  Sometimes, though, you just needed to talk out loud. And it wasn't like she had anyone around here besides Phelps to talk to, anyway. Not anymore.

  Carrie pulled into the driveway, parked the van behind her own car and shut it off. It sat ticking while the motor cooled. Ellie stood up, peered over the dashboard and wagged her tail.

  "Look at you. You don't even have to stand on tiptoe to look outside." Carrie pushed the dog out of the way and went to the back to untie the remains of the leash from the leg of the rear seat. Ellie had pulled three of the four screws loose. So even if she hadn't snapped the leash, she would have snapped the seat's leg from the floor of the van.

  "You, dog, are a piece of work." Forty-five minutes in a vehicle, and she'd already trashed it. Carrie wondered why she didn't see any evidence of destruction in Nana's little house. Or any evidence of a dog, either. Not a dish, a bed, a bag of kibble. Nothing that indicated a dog had ever lived there.

  Weird.

  And then, there was the fact that Phelps hadn't filled her in during the reading of the will.

  Maybe the desperate Dog Lady had lied about her ownership of The Beast, foisting it off on anyone possible. Maybe…maybe she'd read the obits, found Nana's name, and looked her up.

  But then, how would she have known to ask for Carrie and not someone else? How had she known she'd be at the house? Even though her name had been in the obit, too, as family of the deceased, there was nothing that said she'd be there. In fact, it had specifically said that she lived in the West, which wasn't really specific. Or even correct. There was nothing that said she lived in Texas.

  So…how had the Heavenly Doggie Kennel's owner tracked down her cell number?

  She needed to call Phelps and find out. After she got Ellie inside the house. She bent and tied the frayed end of the pink leash around the dog's collar, hoping it was tight enough. If it had taken her twenty minutes to get the dog into the van, even with help, how long would it take her to get it into the house?

  She took a deep breath and opened the side door. "Come on, Ellie," she said, and stepped down into the driveway.

  "Arf!" said Ellie, and lunged.

  Carrie sailed through the air, slamming on the sidewalk hard enough to see stars. Ellie took off at a run. Carrie's arm strained like it had been if pulled from its socket as the dog dragged her down the sidewalk. Skin scraped off her legs, her arms, and finally, as her shirt rode up, her stomach.

  But she didn't feel the pain. When the dog finally pulled the leash from her hand, Carrie jumped up to run after her. Ellie moved with amazing speed, zigzagging across lawns and through sprinklers, plowing through flower beds, and even—in one horrifying moment—straight through a carefully tended row of boxwood hedges, leaving a jagged hole in what was once a property line of solid green leaves.

  "No! Ellie! Ellllliiiiiieee!" Carrie shrieked as the monster dog galloped through a backyard birthday party, scattering children and popping balloons. She leaped onto the long row of tables, racing through the gifts. Boxes flew, paper tore, ribbons unfurled. Carrie heard frantic electronic-toy noises coming from the broken boxes, but it didn't stop Ellie. She plowed through the tiered birthday cake, leaving white and purple frosting footprints on the rest of the table as she jumped down. The table fell at one end; bowls of popcorn, potato chips and cheese curls slid down the table to scatter onto the ground. Pizza soared through the air. Carrie winced as the bowl of purple punch made a splash landing, splattering liquid like raindrops over all the panicked party guests, and leaving her drenched. Through the sticky rivulets, Carrie watched Ellie pause only long enough to almost casually tear down a blue princess-shaped piñata and rip out its throat. She wolfed down a bowl of candy and wrappers in one gulp, then continued on her way, climbing over the stockade fence to disappear.

  Carrie stood, staring at the spot where the dog had leaped from the top of the fence. She'd never seen a dog climb a stockade fence like a squirrel before. Especially one six feet tall. "Damn," she said, then turned to face the ruined party site.

  Pizza- and punch-covered children sobbed and clung to their mommies, who scowled at her. And one red-faced woman marched up to shake her fist in Carrie's face. "You—that—dog—this—ruined!"

  "I'm so sorry," she said.

  "Sorry? Did you—look at—this party cost me seven hundred dollars! And now it's ruined!" The woman gestured at the carnage. "Plus—did you see—the gifts! The cake!"

  "I—seven hundred dollars? Are you…sure?"

  "My party!" One small child's wail rose above the rest. "My special birfday!"

  Oh. Crap. Carrie felt her stomach sink and her heart clench. "I'll go home and get my wallet. Will you…take a check?"

  * * * * *

  Carrie limped home on numb legs. Numb where they weren't throbbing from bruises or stinging from scrapes, that is. She didn't even want to think about what she looked like, though one quick glance in a glass-paned storm door while trying to soothe a flustered homeowner with an Ellie-broken mailbox showed her a woman with sticks in her hair, blood running down her legs and torn clothes.

  Her wallet didn't look much better. Three thousand, five hundred and seventy-five dollars, and one promise to replant an entire bed of impatiens later, she still didn't have her dog. No, not her dog. Nana's dog. Nana's evil, wretched, destructive, horrible…dog. "I hate it," she muttered. She wondered if she'd ever find Ellie, and a part of her hoped she didn't. She never wanted to see the beast again.

  She slowly dragged her sorry carcass up the driveway to the van. The side door was still open and as she leaned, pulling the door shut, she noticed the card on the front seat. She owed not only big bucks she barely had plus manual labor to replant flowers, but also the cost of one uniform hat and shirt. Zack's hat an
d shirt.

  Of all the cops in Narragansett, why did he have to be the one who pulled her over?

  One short week ago, she'd been home in Texas, making a meager but satisfying living writing freelance articles for the local papers, national periodicals and websites. Then Nana had died out of the blue, and her whole life had turned upside down. Even though Nana had been many states away, she'd been there, a constant, someone who loved her and whom she loved. And now…she was alone.

  She was terrified.

  She opened the door and picked up Zack's business card with stiff fingers. She didn't want to look at it, but she couldn't not look at it. He was her last link with the life she'd known.

  Captain Zack Mahoney, Narragansett Police Department. Animal Control Coordinator. And then, in smaller letters in the center of the card: Community dog training classes.

  Zack was the dog officer?

  Carrie lifted her face toward the sky. "Nana? Did you have something to do with this?" There was no answer, of course. Nana was gone and Carrie was here. Alone. Except for the Hound of Hell.

  Well, maybe. The dog was gone now, too.

  Along with part of her bank account.

  She tucked the card into the torn remains of her shorts’ pocket. She wouldn't call Zack. She'd keep the card, but she wouldn't call him. She wouldn't need to. She'd just make Nana's house fit to sell, and then return to Texas. She had friends there. She had a life, there.

  Here, there was nothing but heartache and bad memories. She limped up the steps and into the house.

  Chapter Three

  Zack climbed the stairs to Carrie's Nana's porch and knocked on the door. Her big dog tugged on the leash, but one good glare and a firm, "Sit!" and she sat, with a yawn.

  Carrie had called the shelter earlier in the day to see if the wolfhound been found, and considering where the dog turned up, he doubted she belonged to anyone else.

  He knocked again, then began ringing the bell. Bingbongbingbongbingbong…

  The dog lay down and sighed.

  It was dark—around ten-ish, he figured, but there were lights on in the front window. How many more times should he knock and ring the bell? He'd be damned if he had to keep that dog overnight. She'd already proven she could open a kennel door. She just lifted the latch with her nose. He could've locked it and just gone home, but—Carrie. Carrie was here, and dog or no dog, he wanted to—needed to—see her.

  He couldn't get her out of his mind. The minute she'd driven off, he'd begun hoping she'd look at that business card and call. He kept checking his messages just to be sure he hadn't missed her. He'd convinced himself that his cell phone was broken and he'd even called home and asked his daughter if a woman had called for him.

  "A woman, Dad? What woman?" Her voice had been coy. She'd been after him for years to start dating. He wasn't sure why, except he thought she might feel bad leaving him alone in the house after she started college in the fall. A good kid, Samantha. Always very compassionate and thoughtful. Sarah had said Samantha reminded her of him, even though he wasn't her real dad. Not that Samantha knew that. She never would, if he had any choice in the matter.

  Zack banged on the door one more time, this time hard enough to make the horseshoe-shaped brass knocker rise and fall against the door. The dog shifted at the end of her heavy chain leash.

  "Aroow," she muttered, stood and moved to the steps, peering straight up as if trying to see in the bedroom windows on the second floor. She lifted her snout and barked.

  Good idea. When he and Carrie were kids, there'd been many nights when he'd climbed the trellis to the porch roof and then through the window of her bedroom. They'd lie on her bed, talking to each other and holding each other, exploring each other's bodies under pajamas and clothes. Things were different, then. Sex was still a big deal, not taken lightly as it was with the kids from Samantha's generation. They didn't do anything but cuddle and kiss deeply. As time went by, the kisses led to hands roving over bared skin in tremulous exploration, to stifled moans and sighs. But never sex. They'd stopped just short of the actual act, telling themselves they'd wait until they were ready, until they were older.

  But never wiser.

  Zack shook his head, remembering how it felt to be young and in love, to fall asleep in each other's arms, and wake when the sky turned pink to kiss some more and clutch at one another as if they were to about to be separated for eternity.

  If only he'd known, then. He never would have slipped down the trellis and away. He would have managed, somehow, to stay in Carrie's bed—and her arms—forever.

  Right.

  And his parents would have castrated him.

  Though they hadn't when he'd told them Sarah was pregnant with his child.

  He sighed and looked toward the once-familiar trellis. "I must be out of my mind," he told Ellie, hooking the end of her chain over the flagpole holder on one of the porch pillars before moving to stand at the bottom of the aged wooden structure covered with morning glory vines.

  Shit. He looked at the dog. "I'll have you know, I'm thirty-eight."

  "Woof." The dog barked. And then barked again, as if urging him to go, go, go!

  Right. Here I am, eighteen years older and twenty pounds heavier. And if this freaking thing breaks, how much will the ambulance cost? And the physical therapy?

  He put his foot on the first rung and started climbing. And how in the name of God will I explain what the hell I'm doing? The guys at the station will never let me forget this…

  The dog started barking louder, and he realized if he didn't hurry, she'd wake the entire neighborhood. Shit.

  He moved quickly up the trellis, hoping that if he only stayed a moment on each square, he'd be less likely to break it. Zack practically leaped onto the roof, landing with a thud and a bang. Ellie continued to bark. The lights in Carrie's bedroom window came on, glowing yellow against the black and blue of the nighttime shadows. Zack scrambled up to the sash and knocked on the pane. "Carrie? Open up. It's Zack!"

  She appeared in the window, staring out at him with the phone pressed to her ear. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her shoulders in a silken tangle over her peach-colored, un-sashed robe. Beneath, she wore a peachy silk-looking nightgown that clung to her figure. Zack swallowed as a lump rose in his throat and his groin tightened. Carrie was beautiful. Still slender, but with a woman's curves instead of a girl's gauntness; he could even see a hint of a valley between her breasts.

  He remembered that her nipples had been the color of raspberry sherbet, and his mouth watered; he'd loved taking them into his mouth and sucking each one until she squirmed. Would she still squirm now?

  How many men had done the same thing, since he'd seen her last? He didn't even know if she was involved with someone, or married, or divorced, or even widowed, as he was. All he knew was, if he could climb through the window and lie down on her bed with her again, he'd be the happiest man in the world. But first, he had to get her to open the window.

  "Carrie, open up!"

  Amazingly, she did. "Why the hell are you on the roof?" She held the phone out. "I was calling the cops, until I realized it was you."

  "Why the hell didn't you answer the door?"

  "I was asleep." She noticed him noticing her nightie, and tied the sash on her robe. "You found it."

  "The door?"

  "The dog, you moron. Get in here, before someone sees you."

  Zack slipped through, first one leg, then his head and shoulders, then his other leg. He looked around. The bedroom hadn't changed a bit. The wallpaper was the same. So were the Backstreet Boy and Third Eye Blind posters.

  Her bed was in the same spot, the sheets turned down and twisted as if she and he had just left them.

  He'd never made love to her on a bed, but if he did…

  His groin tightened even more.

  Behind him, Carrie slammed the window shut. Then she pushed past him and out of the room, almost as if she were running away.

  He left th
e bed with reluctance and followed down the stairs to the foyer, where Carrie leaned with her cheek pressed against the front door and her eyes wide. Listening. "She stopped howling. You don't think she got loose…again?"

  "I don't think so." Zack opened the door. Ellie sat on the welcome mat, panting. The leash dangled from her collar. He couldn't believe it; it was strong enough to hold a bear, for crying out loud. "Damn. She snapped her leash!"

  "You're kidding," Carrie muttered behind him. "Really. What a surprise."

  He opened the door; Ellie came in without hesitation, went into the living room and jumped onto the yellow chintz armchair in the corner by the front window, settling her chin on the armrest. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes.

  "Well, that's that." Zack turned to Carrie and looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time in eighteen years. Shock jolted through him—she looked as though she'd been in a prizefight. She had a scrape on her little pointed chin, a welt under her eye, and a mouse on her cheekbone. Her knees were swathed in bandages. One of her feet had a huge purple bruise on it, and there was a bandage around the top of the tall toe. "Holy crap, Carrie-da, you look like hell!"

  "Hello to you, too. And I'm not your querida anymore, so don't call me that." She pointed to the door. "Thank you for bringing Ellie home. You can leave, now."

  "I will not. Not until you tell me what happened to you." Zack turned and went into the kitchen, stopping for a moment to look around.

  Nothing had changed. The house was still the same. Circa 1972. "House needs work." He opened the olive-drab fridge, pulled out a can of Diet Coke and popped the top. Then he sat down at the table. He wasn't going to leave easily, and the sooner she realized his intention, the better. He took a sip of soda. "I'd start with updating the appliances."