When Sam was driving back with Harry and Marc from having picked up take-out dinners for everybody to indulge in, the last thing he or his friends had expected to see was Gwenyth and Candy racing by them so quickly it made their heads spin. When he considered the brief glance he’d gotten at his wife’s wide-eye expression coupled with Candy screaming “hiiii-yeeeeeee!” like some hell-bent Apache warrior from an Old West movie, he knew there was trouble brewing on the horizon.
“What the hell are they doing?” Harry bellowed. “Are they trying to get themselves killed?”
Marc pointed toward a white sedan hot on the women’s trail, doing its damnedest to keep up, but failing. “Look at that car lagging behind them. I think we’d better follow.”
A cold sensation slammed into Sam’s gut. He didn’t want to consider the fact that the white sedan and the threatening notes might be connected. Cursing, Sam made a sharp turn that sent his brand new, day old Mercedes barreling in the direction of his wife, Candy, and the white car.
“Be careful,” Harry said from the backseat in his usual controlled tone. His hands clutched onto the bags of food containing their dinners. “You’re going to spill the raspberry-almond sauce that goes on our salads.”
Sam shot Harry a sour look through the rearview mirror. “I think I’m more worried about the white sedan following my wife!”
Harry’s head snapped to attention. “What?”
Sam followed Candy and the white car into another series of high-speed turns. “Didn’t you hear what Marc said? That car is following Gwenyth and Candy!”
“Oh no.” Harry swallowed nervously. “We can always get more raspberry-almond sauce,” he concluded in what Gwen often referred to as his senatorial tone. “Catch my sister, damn it!”
“What do you think I’m tryin’ to do?!”
“Will you two shut-up!” Marc heatedly chastised. He waved his hand toward the white sedan. “Get as close as you can, Sam. I want to take down the license plate number.”
“Good idea.”
“Yes,” Harry agreed, “a very good idea.” Thinking more on the subject, he frowned slightly. “And if the raspberry-almond sauce soils my clothing, I plan to sue the pants off of that guy.”
“Would you forget about the damn sauce already!” Sam growled. Spitting out a string of inventive curses, he made another sharp turn. “Sweet Jesus, Candy can drive like a bat out of hell.”
“She once took drag racing lesson,” Harry added helpfully.
“Oh great,” Sam drawled out, “as if I wasn’t worried enough.”
“I can almost make out the plate number,” Marc announced, his eyes squinting slightly for a better focus. “Just another foot or two, Sam.”
Sam nodded implacably. “I’m tryin’. Give me a few seconds.”
“Got it!” Marc jotted the number down on the upside of his hand.
“Good,” Sam spat out, his jaw rigid, “because now I’m goin’ to make this guy wish he’d never laid eyes on my wife.”
Harry’s green gaze widened considerably. He’d known Sam for twenty-one years and the icy light in his brother-in-law’s eyes didn’t bode well. “What do you mean?” he asked hoarsely.
Sam’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Think Thelma and Louise, my friend.”
“They were women!”
“Oh well.”
Marc’s tie inexplicably tightened of its own accord. He reached up to tug at it. “Just what are you saying here—Saaaaaaaaaaam!”
Harry clapped a hand to his forehead. “There goes the goddamned raspberry-almond sauce.”
Chapter 19
“It’s no wonder that opposites attract.” Wearily, Harry closed his eyes while Monique stood behind him massaging his temples and fussing over him. “If two people like Sam and Candy ever got together, World War III would ensue.”
Grinning, Sam winked at Candy. “Brian Goodman is as stable as Gwen, Can.” He waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “You still have his phone number?”
Blowing out a bubble, Candy flipped Sam the bird, then stood up to go help Marc warm up dinner in the kitchen. Sam and Gwenyth laughed as they watched her shuffle away. Gwenyth could only hope that Candy relented and called Brian soon. She had a feeling the duo would be great together.
