Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle by Pauline Jones (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

from Boudreaux, her aunts’ handyman, had provided assurance that they did understand she was coming, but no surprise it had been sparse on details, which explained the pig. Only her aunts would have kept it, remembered it and produced it in lieu of identification. She studied it with remembered fondness, noted the tightening ribbon, and looked up to tell him, “You’re choking it.”

Mickey gave this comment the lack of attention it deserved. “I don’t think—”

Her straight brows rose in surprise. “Then it’s time you started.”

“But—” He shook his head, trying to punch through tired to comprehension. “This can’t be your pig. You’re not a little girl!”

“I used to be. But I grew up.”

Her punctuating smile invited him to move on. The slow widening of her straight red mouth launched a feeling not unlike the plunge of a roller coaster. He wanted to move on. He did, but—

“Your aunts—” Mickey tried again, faint but pursuing.

“—probably liked the way the pig looked with your gun.”

He clapped his hand over his weapon. “I’m a cop.”

Luci had already figured that out, but she attempted to look enlightened. It wouldn’t do to drive him to violence when he had the hardware to do something about it. She smiled. “A cop. Who’s not afraid to pack a pig. I like that.” She held out her hand. “I promise I am Luci Seymour.”

Mickey took her hand. He didn’t shake it. He couldn’t. All he could do was stare into her green gaze as want did a quick crawl up his midsection. “Ross. Mickey Ross.”

“Ross. That would put you on the bridegroom’s side of the church.” Her smile was pleased-to-meet-him, but the fluorescent lighting and her drooping lids turned her eyes bedroom soft.

“Eddie’s my uncle,” Mickey admitted through a dry throat.

Assessment entered her gaze, which then did an unnerving up and down.

“What?” he asked, trying not to sound as defensive as he felt, since it wasn’t exactly PC to object to something he routinely did.

“Ever since I got the invitation, I’ve been wondering what kind of man would marry Unabelle. Are you and Eddie—”

“No! We’re not at all alike. In any way. Except we’re both cops. But that’s it.” Unbidden, the image of his uncle’s fiancée rose in his mind. Faint. Indistinct, but somehow there.

“I guess that answers my next question.”

“What?”

“Has Unabelle changed?” Her eyes sparked with amusement. “I can’t wait to see her again.”

Mickey shuddered. “Yes,” he said positively, “you can.”

Her smile was insistent. Mickey had to smile back. It was almost a moral imperative.

A PA announcement crackled. She stepped back at the same time he did. Mickey gestured down the terminal. “Uh, we need to go this way.”

“Sure.” With an agreeable air, she turned. As she passed, men turned to stare. Some ran into pillars.

Mickey loosened his tie, gave a silent whistle of appreciation, then started after her, the pig bouncing unnoticed against his leg.

Fern was tense as the Yugo they’d lifted passed at the legal speed limit through the arrival underpass of the airport. It was a grim place. Way too many cops around, and the thick humid air stank of gasoline fumes and something Fern couldn’t identify but made her think of lingering death. She just wished it didn’t make her think of her own.

“Pull in there,” Donald directed.

He pointed to an empty space against the curb. She did as he asked with a sigh of relief at the respite from driving the unfamiliar car. It might have been a mistake to steal foreign, she admitted to herself, though she wasn’t ready to admit it to Donald. Not only was the interior of the Yugo cramped, but the pedals were so small she was having trouble hitting them with her orthopedic shoes. The controls were opposite what she was used to and labeled with tiny, blurred symbols.

She reviewed her gear shift changes, in between keeping an uneasy eye on the two police officers aiding an attractive blonde who had locked her keys in her car. Only a shuttle bus and a couple of cabs loitered in the area. They were exposed, she noted, but Donald was too busy getting his rocks off on his new toy to notice.

She had a bad feeling about this.

“So, how are you related to Unabelle?” Mickey asked, breaking a silence that had ruled for most of the length of the terminal.

Luci looked at him, brows lifting in surprise. “I’m not. She’s one of the aunts’ debs.”

“Debs?” Mickey looked, a puzzled frown putting tiny lines between his well-defined brows.

“Debutantes.” She waited a moment, but understanding still didn’t make an appearance. “Didn’t you know they’re matchmakers?”

“Matchmakers?” He stopped. “For real?”

“For real. For years.” Luci grinned. “They specialize in the...hard-to-launch young ladies. And back it up with a guarantee.”

“Guarantee?” Comprehension was beginning to break in his eyes, like little blue sparks. Very attractive blue sparks.

“They don’t quit until the deb is walking down the aisle. No matter how long it takes.” She hesitated, to smooth the giggles out of her voice. “Unabelle’s been...a challenge. That’s why she’s the last debutante.”

Mickey didn’t try to hold back his chuckle. “How long—”

“Long as I can remember. That’s one reason I had to come and see who—” Her laughter-rich voice made his pulse thunder and the quick flash of her mischievous gaze was a minor lightning strike to his already eager libido.

Mickey tugged at his tie again, this time undoing the knot and the top button of his white shirt. It didn’t help. He lengthened his stride, forcing Luci to recalibrate hers to keep up. That didn’t help either. What he needed was a cold shower. A long cold shower—which just plain wasn’t possible in the doggiest of the dog days of August.

“And,” he said as he swallowed dryly. “Your other reason?”

“Reason?”

Luci’s eyes widened in surprise and a hint of alarm, activating Mickey’s cop instincts. It was almost as good as a cold shower. If gasoline could almost put out a fire.

“You came to the wedding?” he prompted.

Luci’s lashes swept down like a lady’s