Along Came Trouble(29)

With Carly shut tight in her house and Callahan out in L.A., the vultures were going to get restless. Caleb wouldn’t put it past them to start poking their beaks where they didn’t belong. He wouldn’t put much of anything past them.

And then there was Plimpton.

Too many variables for him to let Ellen take her safety for granted. Too much to be on guard against. She needed defenses more foolproof than her temper. Which was why this afternoon, a couple of guys were coming over to install floodlights and an alarm system on her house whether she wanted them or not.





Chapter Eight



Carly let him in the back door when he knocked.

“Jarhead,” she said with a nod of acknowledgment.

“Jarheads are the Marines, Shortie.”

“Okay. I’ll just stick with calling you ‘Killer.’”

“I’ve asked you a million times not to call me that.”

The nickname was short for “Lady Killer.” She’d come up with it in high school, an act of retaliation for his relentlessly teasing about her height. Even at seventeen, he hadn’t liked the suggestion that he was some sort of player who used women and then discarded them.

He expected a retort, but instead Carly just sighed. “Come on in,” she said with a half-hearted sweep of her hand. “You can yell at me while I make lunch. You want a sandwich?”

She walked around the kitchen island and started pulling dishes down from the cabinets.

Even if she’d seemed up to it, Caleb no longer had the urge to hassle her. He’d acted patient and calm with Henry for so long that he’d started to feel that way.

“Yeah, a sandwich would be great, thanks.” He leaned both elbows on the countertop and caught her eyes. “Look. I’m gonna change out the lock on your back door. Later on, I’m sending a couple guys over to install an alarm system. I’ll show you how to use it. It’s no big deal. I want you to stay in the house and not give me any shit about it. I know you hate this, but it’s not safe for you to be walking around town alone, and it’s not safe for the baby, either.”

Carly started pulling stuff out of the refrigerator—deli meat, condiments, vegetables. “All right,” she said with her back to him. “I wasn’t going anywhere this afternoon, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“You want pickles?”

“Just make it however you make it, and I’ll eat it.”

Caleb got out a screwdriver and started removing the strike plate from Carly’s doorjamb. The lock needed an upgrade, but upgrading a deadbolt was easier than installing one from scratch. No drilling, no sawdust, and not much cleanup.

Simple. With Carly, this was all pretty simple. Why couldn’t it be simple with Ellen?

But he knew the answer to that question, or at least some of it. Ellen wasn’t bored and ornery, like Carly. She had a chip on her shoulder about her house approximately the size of Texas, and Caleb didn’t think it had much to do with him, or even with the situation. He was merely the one who had to deal with it.

“Did Ellen tell you what her problem is with security?”

“Nope. Is she giving you a hard time?”

“Her default position is ‘Bite me.’”

Carly piled slices of salami on top of the Muenster cheese she’d started with. She made odd sandwiches, but they were usually good. “Ellen likes to do everything herself,” she said with approval.

“A one-woman island, huh?”

“Pretty much. She’s good at it, but she juggles a lot. I’m not sure she ever sits down and rests.”

Caleb had seen her rest. She’d seemed like a natural. Just how unusual had that hour on the porch last night been?

He worked the cylinder of the old lock free and dropped it to the floor. “Who was she talking to downtown?”

“Richard.”

“Her ex?”

“Yeah.”

That explained the touching. And the antagonism. “What’s he like?”

Carly gave him an inscrutable look. “He tried to pick me up at the pub once. I’d say he’s smooth as Scotch on the rocks, if you have a thing for good-looking guys whose pickup lines are all from John Donne.”

“Who?”

“A poet.” She gave the plate on the countertop a small, private smile. “You don’t need to worry about Richard.”