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bathroom isn’t much better. It’s the best I can do on short notice.”
    Leaving Cupcake to check out her facilities in private, Jamie reentered the house and headed for the kitchen. She opened the fridge and found it empty, but at least the interior was cooling off. When she checked the freezer, she discovered it was also empty—except for a sealed bottle of vodka. Finally, something useful in this joint.
    Time to tackle the dead clam smell. Since she hadn’t packed air freshener, she dug out her toiletries bag, then liberally sprayed the entire cottage with her favorite after-shower body spray. She was still spritzing the kitchen when Cupcake sauntered in.
    â€œEverything come out okay?” Jamie asked. She crouched down, and after a few seconds of cat internal debating, Cupcake decided to bestow upon Jamie the honor of stroking her long white fur.
    â€œSee? That wasn’t so bad.”
    Cupcake’s expression indicated that, yes, it really was that bad.
    â€œYou’ll feel better after a nice long nap. And don’t be thinking you’re going to collect that fifty bucks,” Jamie added, scratching between Cupcake’s ears. “I had to haul that dead clam ickiness down to the trash myself. But I refuse to be beaten. In fact, I’m thinking things might be looking up, Cupcake. The room smells more like vanilla sugar cookies than dead clam”—she drew a deep breath and her eyes crossed—“sort of—and the beach is fabulous. You’ve got food, water, and a place to do your business, there’s a bag of peanut M&M’s and a bottle of Diet Coke in my purse—not to mention a bottle of vodka in the freezer. And let us not forget that a beautiful seven hundred miles lie between us and New York. Yup, things are looking up.”
    A flash of lightning illuminated the interior of the house, followed immediately by a deafening boom of thunder that seemed to shake the house on its stilts. As was her habit during thunderstorms, Cupcake slunk off and bellied her way under the sofa.
    More lightning and thunder crackled, this time followed by the sound of rain. “Things could definitely be worse,” Jamie said to the tip of Cupcake’s twitching tail visible from beneath the sofa. “At least we have a roof over our heads. And a good thing, too. It’s really starting to come down hard.”
    Deciding to celebrate her small victory in style, she dug through her purse and pulled out the bag of peanut M&M’s. Just as she ripped it open, a wet drop plopped on the back of her hand. Before she could react, another plopped on her head. She looked up. A huge water stain marked the kitchen ceiling. The center of the stain contained a growing wet spot. Another drop hit her chin, followed by several more that bombed her nose and forehead. Well, damn. They might have a roof over their heads, but a friggin’ leaky roof it was. A howl of frustration rose in her throat, one she barely managed to swallow. Instead of screaming she closed her eyes, counted to ten, then slowly walked to the fridge—doing her damnedest to ignore the raindrops falling on her head. She pulled open the freezer section and slid out the bottle of vodka. Moving to the living area, she grabbed one of the folding chairs and positioned it so she could see the dark outline of Southern Comfort. Another raindrop landed on her head, but she was beyond caring. She sat, opened the vodka, took a delicate sip, then narrowed her eyes.
    And waited for Nick Trent to return.

Chapter 3
    T he sound of pounding penetrated Nick Trent’s comalike sleep. He pried open one eye and groaned when a shaft of sunlight stabbed his pupil. Damn. He’d forgotten to close the blinds again. How was anybody supposed to get any sleep around here? And who the hell was making all that racket?
    He closed his eye, but the pounding continued, along with the added annoyance of someone ringing his