Sam squeezed Candy’s hand and grunted. “Let’s just hope the police find this maniac soon.”
Marc scratched his head thoughtfully. “Maniac is probably the key word here.”
Gwenyth moaned. “Please don’t get my husband riled up.”
Marc held up his palms in a gesture of mock surrender and grinned. “I’m not trying to, I swear it.” His expression grew serious. “But Gwen, let’s face it. There’s something seriously off about that guy.”
Sam shot to his feet and stomped over to the phone. Gwenyth waved her hand toward him. “Who are you calling?”
“I’m callin’ Harry in D.C. I want him to pull a few strings and get us some more help on this case.”
“Do you think he can?”
“At this point anything’s worth a try.”
* * * * *
Even though Gwenyth felt that, at times, her situation resembled that of a chicken penned up in its coop, the next few days passed by well enough. It seemed as if she and Candy spent more time together in three days than they’d spent in the last year. Gwenyth mused to herself that when spring training had finally arrived, she’d basically ended up trading in one prison guard for another. And Candy was taking her duty altogether seriously.
Gwenyth absently rubbed her slightly distended belly while she flipped through channels on Candy’s TV. Candy was sitting across the room at her computer, typing up a love scene with one hand and drinking a cup of coffee with the other. Occasionally she would mumble something unintelligible, but other than that, the only sound that could be heard from her corner was the clicking of the keyboard.
An hour later, Candy turned off her computer and groaned as she stretched out her shoulder muscles. Gwenyth flipped off the remote and grinned. “Tired?”
“Yeah.” Candy popped a piece of bubble gum into her mouth, chewed it for all of thirty seconds, then spit it into a nearby tissue. “Good lord, I’m so tired I can’t even chew gum.”
Gwenyth rested her chin in the palms of her hands and smiled. “Is that the book about the nun and the ex-con?”
Candy picked up her cup of coffee and padded across the room. “No. I finished that one already. This is a short story I’m working on for an anthology.”
“Oh? What’s it about?” Candy’s fidgetiness made Gwenyth’s curiosity soar. “Come on, Can. Do tell.”
Candy plopped down on the sofa cushion next to Gwenyth and shrugged. “A baseball player, I think,” she muttered. She took a quick sip of coffee before adding, “And it’s not based on Brian Goodman either, okay?”
Gwenyth pretended to study her cuticles. “What’s the hero’s name?”
Candy raised her cup up to her lips. “I forget,” she mumbled. At Gwenyth’s raised eyebrows she elaborated, “It’s Ryan Hoodman, okay?”
Gwenyth grinned. No connection to Brian Goodman indeed. “So tell me, Can,” she teased, “is Ryan Hoodman good in bed?”
Candy had the grace to blush—profusely. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had him. He isn’t real.”
“He’s very real,” Gwenyth murmured.
“Trust me, Gwen. No man is really as nice as Brian—I mean Ryan—pretends to be. In the end they are all dogs.”
Gwenyth patted her best friend’s hand as she took to her feet. Candy would have to get over that particular problem on her own. “Sam will be home in an hour so I’m going to head out and pick up some dinner.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Gwenyth shook her head and grinned. “No, you’ve done more than your fair share of babysitting today. Go get some rest.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Candy stared at Gwenyth for a drawn out moment before acquiescing with a nod. “Okay, but drive carefully.”
“Relax,” Gwenyth chuckled, “how dangerous can Chinese take-out be?”
