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Jaine wasn’t one who lingered over grocery shopping. She hated doing it, so she attacked a grocery store as if it were a racecourse. Piloting a buggy at high speed, she zipped through the produce department, tossing cabbage and lettuce and an assortment of fruit into the basket, then raced up and down the other aisles. She didn’t cook much, because it was too much trouble for just one person, but occasionally she would prepare a roast or something similar, then eat sandwiches made from it for a week. BooBoo’s cat food was a necessity, though—
An arm wrapped around her waist and a deep voice said, “Miss me?”
She managed to strangle her shriek so it emerged as not much more than a squeak, but she jumped at least a foot straight up and almost crashed into a stack of Sheba cat food. Whirling around, she quickly positioned the buggy between them and gave him a look of wide-eyed alarm. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I don’t know you. You have me mixed up with someone else.”
Sam scowled. Other shoppers were watching them with acute interest; at least one lady looked as if she intended to call the cops if he made one wrong move.
“Very funny,” he growled, and deliberately removed his jacket, revealing the holster on his belt and the big black pistol that resided in it. Since his badge was also clipped to his belt, the wide-eyed tension on aisle seven melted away as murmurings of “He’s a cop” reached them.
“Go away,” Jaine said. “I’m busy.”
“So I see. What is this, the Produce Five Hundred? I’ve been chasing you up and down the aisles for the last five minutes.”
“No you haven’t,” she returned, checking her watch. “I ha
ven’t been here five minutes.”
“Okay, three. I saw this red streak heading up Van Dyke and turned around to follow it, figuring it was you.”
“Is your car equipped with radar?”
“I’m in my truck, not a city car.”
“Then you can’t prove how fast I was going.”
“Damn it, I wasn’t going to give you a ticket,” he said, annoyed. “Though if you don’t slow down, I’m going to call a patrolman to do the honors.”
“So you came in here just to harass me?”
“No,” he said with exaggerated patience, “I came in here because I’ve been gone and I wanted to check in.”
“Gone?” she repeated, opening her eyes as wide as they would go. “I had no idea.”
He ground his teeth together. She knew because she could see his jaw working. “All right, I should have called.” The words sounded as if they had been ripped, painfully, from his gut.
“Really? Why is that?”
“Because we’re …”
“Neighbors?” she supplied, when he couldn’t seem to find the word he wanted. She was beginning to enjoy herself, at least as much as was possible when she was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep.
“Because we have this thing going.” He scowled down at her, looking not at all happy about their “thing.”
“Thing? I don’t do things.”
“You’ll do mine,” he said under his breath, but she heard him anyway and had just opened her mouth to blast him when a kid, maybe eight years old, ran up and poked her in the ribs with a plastic laser weapon, making electric zinging noises as he repeatedly pulled the trigger.
“You’re dead,” he said victoriously.
His mother came hurrying up, looking harassed and helpless. “Damian, stop that!” She gave him a smile that was little more than a grimace. “Don’t bother the nice people.”
“Shut up,” he said rudely. “Can’t you see they’re Terrons from Vaniot?”
“I’m sorry,” the mother said, trying to drag her offspring away. “Damian, come on or you’ll have to have a time-out when we get home.”
Jaine barely refrained from rolling her eyes. The kid poked her in the ribs again. “Ouch!”
He made those zinging noises again, taking great pleasure in her discomfort.
