Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [99]
Tyler wished he could close off the mess that was his life as easily, but he couldn’t. As his father always told him, “You made your bed, son, now you have to lie in it.” Until recently, he’d never really given much thought to what that actually meant. But here he was again, on the verge of ruining a fifteen-year career just because he wanted the glory, the respect that came with the job. He’d had anything but. He didn’t want to work the shit jobs that the other agents were assigned to, he wanted the fame and glory that occasioned national news coverage and invitations to the White House.
After this last escapade, meaning his racing down here to, as it turned out, beat Rush and Martin to the pot of gold, he’d acted foolish and stupid. But they were foolish and stupid, too; otherwise, why were they here working off the book? They wanted the fame and glory as much as he did. And Tyler knew something was going down at that mansion on Mango Key. He’d raced down, hoping to discover exactly what it was, only to find Rush and Martin had beat him to the prize as they usually did. He wanted, needed one last big bust under his belt before they kicked his ass straight to the curb.
He saw that his rental was no worse for the wear; no one had keyed the paint job, and the tires were all inflated. He took the keys out of his pocket, slid in behind the wheel, put the key in the ignition. Just as he was about to crank the key to the start position, a hand reached in and touched him on the shoulder.
“What the hell?” he said, then looked over his left shoulder. Surprise didn’t describe what he felt. “Oh my God, I’m sorry! I thought someone was about to yank me out of the car!”
Nancy Holliday in the flesh.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Sorry.” She stood on the edge of the street beside his car. “I saw the car and thought it might be yours.”
Tyler wasn’t sure what to say. For starters, she hadn’t bothered to show up at Sloppy Joe’s as they’d planned, and now here she was acting like . . . well . . . Shit, Tyler, if she was looking for your car, there must be some reason she wanted to see you, he thought to himself. He wanted to smack his head and say Duh.
He stepped out of the car. He saw a Ben & Jerry’s right across the street. He’d bet anything Nancy Holliday would rather have an ice cream than a beer. “Want to get an ice cream?” He nodded to the small yellow structure across the street.
Nancy was dressed in white knee-length shorts with a cherry red tank top. She wore red sandals, and Tyler noticed that her toenails were also painted a bright cherry red. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail secured with a white ribbon. To Tyler, she looked like an angel. A candy-apple red angel.
“That’s the best offer I’ve had all day,” she said.
Tyler reached for Nancy’s hand as they made their way across the street. “And you’ve had lots of offers today?” he asked, once they made it safely across the street. They joined a long line that snaked around the shop. He figured this would give him a little bit more time to find out as much as he could about her.
Nancy laughed. To Tyler it sounded like choir bells. And wasn’t he getting snookered? Rush would love this side of me, he thought.
“No, I’m afraid not. I went to Sloppy Joe’s, and you weren’t there,” she said. “I was running late because the spa where I’d scheduled a massage for the evening had overbooked and, of course, instead of relaxing and letting myself enjoy the luxury, this being my first massage and all, I just couldn’t because I knew I would be late meeting you. And what’s even worse, you never told me your name, or if you did, I can’t remember. All I remember is that you said you lived in LA.”
“I remember you teach tenth grade at J. P. Stevens High School in Edison, New Jersey, but I don’t recall telling you my name. What an idiot I am! Well, let me introduce myself. I’m Lawrence Tyler.”
Nancy had a sense of humor, and normally he didn’t like women with a sense of humor, thought they were goofy airheads. But if