Page 73 of Putting Out
Feeling better about being blasé, Reilly returned to the kitchen where she picked up a wedge of avocado. After one mushy bite, in which she could only taste fish, she was done.
* * *
“I can’t believeKenny called you.” Reilly shifted the cell phone to her other ear as she slapped Kenny on the arm with her free hand. It was late afternoon and they were finally sitting down to watch more footage.
“He needed to know. It’s his house,” he whispered back as the two sat and watched Tiger Woods whack a line drive down the first hole’s fairway.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Luke said over the phone. “This guy’s attacks are elevating and I don’t like it.”
“A few calls, a few letters and a fish are hardly what I would call attacks. He’s a nut case and it’s not like he’s the only one. You should see what this Bible thumper from Oklahoma said about me. He said I was going to desecrate sacred ground. Jeez. It’s a golf course not the Wailing Wall. And it’s not as if I was going to pee in the woods.”
She heard Luke sigh and knew she had diffused some of his tension.
“I don’t like this.”
“I’m not crazy about it, either,” she admitted. “It’s a distraction I don’t need.”
“No, I’m a distraction you don’t need,” Luke told her. “This is a potentially dangerous threat. I’m calling an old friend I know at the FBI. I saved one of the letters sent to the farm. We’ll see what he thinks.”
“He’s going to think you’re as paranoid as Kenny.”
“The letters threaten to take you away. That’s kidnapping and it’s a federal offense. I’ll mail him the letter when I get back. Maybe he can do some weird FBI voodoo and get prints off it or something. In the meantime you don’t leave the house without Kenny or Odie.”
“What about Pierce?” Reilly asked just out of curiosity. Out of all of them he was buffest. “I don’t know Pierce. Why the hell do you want to go anywhere with him, anyway?”
“He makes me look good,” Reilly drawled.
“Stay close to Kenny. Better yet, sit tight and work hard. I’ll be back Sunday night.”
“Going with the gray sport coat for Saturday’s broadcast?” Reilly asked innocently.
“I was thinking about it.”
“You should wear it. It brings out your eyes.”
“My eyes are brown.”
“I know. But the gray makes them pop.”
Reilly could almost sense Luke smiling on the other end of the phone. Part of her hated to feed his ego, but the other part couldn’t stand to let a decent pair of eyes go to waste on television. After all, the lady viewers had to have something to watch.
“You like my eyes. You soooo want me.”
“I said wear the gray coat and you wanted me first.”
“I did. I definitely did. Sleep tight tonight.”
Reilly ended the call, wearing, she had no doubt, a goofy grin. It wasn’t until she realized that Kenny was still sitting next to her that she grimaced.
“What the hell was that about? Wanted you for what?”
“Wanted me first for fashion advice. Before asking Jim Mercuro because you know he’s awful. I mean, my word, those ties.”
Kenny scowled and turned back to the television. “I don’t want to know.”
Silently, Reilly agreed. Because if she wasn’t careful, she might actually decide to give the mystery brunette in Luke’s life a run for her money. If that happened, she was pretty sure hell was going to break loose.
