Bait & Switch Read Online Free PDF Page A

promise?”
    “I promise.” He told himself to move away. Instead, he edged closer. She smelled sweet, like honeysuckle. He wondered what honeysuckle would taste like.
    “I shouldn’t believe you, but I do,” she said in a soft voice. Or, at least that’s what he thought she said over the honking.
    His traitorous body was about to ignore the warning his mind was issuing when the doorbell rang, adding to the racket. Reluctantly he straightened, placing two fingers to her lips for a brief touch before he let go of her hand. Moments later, he opened the door.
    A middle-aged woman with a broad-brimmed hat who couldn’t be anything other than a tourist stood on the stoop. She gestured at the one-lane street. The horses hadn’t budged, but behind them was a row of cars worthy of a rush-hour traffic jam.
    “We got a situation here,” the tourist said.
    “Jiminy,” Peyton exclaimed and sprinted for the road.
    Mitch stepped onto the small porch and darned if he wasn’t admiring the sway of her hips as she ran.
    A short time later, he stood in front of the refrigerator where Cary had posted his work schedule for his dual jobs.
    The eleven-to-seven shift at the parks and recreation department wouldn’t prevent Mitch from keeping his promise to Peyton to escort her to the ball. However, he hadn’t counted on bartending duty beginning at nine-thirty.
    He groaned.
    He’d have to leave the ball early, if he managed to get there with Peyton in tow. Considering he didn’t know where she lived, that was questionable.

CHAPTER FOUR

    Mitch stared across the net at a sight bound to cause lasting nightmares.
    A half dozen children in shorts, T-shirts and tennis shoes stared back. The eldest, who was no more than six years old, wore an image of a purple dinosaur on her shirt. The youngest, who’d held up four fingers when Mitch asked her age, carried a racket almost as tall as she was.
    Mitch liked kids. A lot. Except when they were waiting for him to instruct them on the finer points of tennis, a game he’d played only once or twice in his life. A long, long time ago.
    The ball-hopper at his feet was filled with dozens of fuzzy yellow tennis balls. Bending, he picked one up. As a cop, he’d faced gunfire from criminals. How hard could it be to feed balls to kids?
    “Everybody in one line,” he ordered in his best authoritative, cop’s voice. The children shuffled obediently into place. “Okay. Get ready.”
    He cocked his arm in a windup. One little boy disengaged from the group and puttered to the net. Mitch held onto the tennis ball. The boy’s eyes were as big as a doe’s. He scuffed a sneaker-clad foot.
    “Mister,” he said, “you’re s’posed to use a racket.”
    He was? Mitch had no doubt he could whack balls with the racket, but he couldn’t vouch for his aim. Considering he’d probably wind up beaning a kid, using a racket wasn’t a good idea.
    “I’m trying a new way today, sport. How ‘bout getting back in line?”
    “Dick,” the little boy said crossly, his mouth a straight line.
    Mitch blanched. Had the kid actually sworn at him? “What did you say?”
    “Dick,” the little boy repeated, louder this time. “You promised to ’member our names. My name’s Richard, but everyone calls me Dick.”
    Sweat broke out on Mitch’s forehead. Cary had claimed a trained monkey could do his parks and rec job. If only one were handy.
    “I’m sorry, Dick. I won’t forget again.”
    The boy gave him an unhappy look and ambled back in line. Mitch chucked the first ball to Dick’s racket side. A swing and a miss. Strike one.
    He checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes left in the half-hour lesson. This was going to be interminable. If the kids didn’t boo him off court before time was up.

    THE TWO-STORY BRICK mansion where Peyton lived with her parents was located in Charleston’s prestigious historic area south of Broad Street. On the quiet side of Murray Boulevard, the grand house with its elaborate