Wicked Game by Mercy Celeste Read Free Book Online

bread in the pantry, I thought we could slather butter on it or something. It’s all I know how to cook.”
    “So either we muddle through, or I should hire a new cook?”
    “Something like that. And after Sam leaves, I need to get Alicia a check sent out. I’m thinking three months’ salary ought to make her happy.”
    “She’ll probably sell all of your secrets to the tabloids anyway.”
    “She doesn’t know any of my secrets. She didn’t live here, and I didn’t bring people over. She just came in, cleaned the house, and prepared a meal or two every day.”
    “Oh, she knows something, I’m sure. She most likely went through all of your stuff while you were out. She read your mail at the very least.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “Because that’s what I would have done; that’s what everyone does when they’re left alone in someone else’s house. Go through their stuff. Alicia knows where you’ve buried at least one body, you can bet the farm on that.”
    “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you still drunk?”
    “Oh come on, Jaime, you are not a Pollyanna. People are people. Of course, she knows something about you that you would rather your fans didn’t find out about. That you’re gay and in love with a country music star maybe, or worse, that you’re secretly married to three different women, none of whom know the others exist, that you cheated on your taxes last year, or that you pick your nose and eat the boogers.”
    “I did not cheat on my taxes.”
    “Well, that’s a relief. I was worried that you might be hiding something terrible.”
    “Pepper, you talk too much. Has anyone ever told you that?”
    “It’s why I went into teaching in the first place. I like the sound of my own voice. Well that, and I am addicted to the smell of chalk and white-board markers. The combination is nirvana.”
    “I’m glad you cleared that up. When the cops ask why, I’ll be sure to tell them it was self-defense due to you being a chalk junkie.”
    “Don’t forget those markers. They are the meth of the teaching profession.”
    Thunder rumbled outside, matching the noise in her stomach. Jaime cussed under his breath and ran out to pull the grill under shelter just before the heavens opened up.
    The air coming in from the screened-in patio was damp, sweet, and cool. Raindrops fell fat and heavy into the pool; palm fronds swayed in the wind just past the patio. Contentment washed over her, through her, nearly overwhelming her with its punch.
    “No, no, this is not right.” The knife in her hand felt suddenly heavy, the walls began to close in. “This is only temporary. Jaime Dalton is still a jerk and is just waiting to pull your hair again, you stupid, silly woman. Tomorrow he’ll fire you, and that will be the end of that.”
    The stern talking to did little to stop the surge of … of, whatever that feeling was, when she watched him battle the flames and the elements. Jaime Dalton could pose for the Ironman poster after all.
    Her thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing coming from somewhere in the front of the house. It continued, becoming more insistent.
    “Jaime!” she shouted from the doorway, “I think there is some sort of alarm going off. Jaime do you hear me?”
    “What kind of alarm? Oh shit, it’s the front gate, Sam is here.” He raced past her and into the foyer where he spoke into a monitor on the wall near the door. A few moments later, a man dressed in khaki shorts and a rain jacket tumbled in through the front door.
    “Sorry about the weather, Sam, but as they say in Miami, wait a minute and it’ll change.”
    Sam wasn’t what she pictured. Of course, her only image of an intrepid sports agent was, unfortunately, Tom Cruise. Sam Copeland was, by far, no Tom Cruise.
    He was more of a Tom Hanks, though, with wavy dark hair, laughing eyes, and a bit of a paunch and crow's feet. His handshake was strong when Jaime introduced her. His eyes took in every detail before he