Driven to Distraction (Silhouette Desire S.) Read Online Free PDF Page B

straggle inside after watching the sunset. Janie with the pink hair was guffawing. She had a great laugh, apparently oblivious to the fact that her face crinkled up like used wrapping tissue. She probably had better sense than to invest in any of Silver’s junk anyway, but Ben would watch over her, just in case. He liked her.
    Her friend Georgia, too. Ben sized her up as a likely candidate. White hair, flowered dress, embroidered button-front sweater, support hose and cross trainers. Not to mention a rock the size of a golf ball on her third finger, left hand. With her swollen knuckles, she probably couldn’t get it off, poor woman. He’d keep a special eye out for her. First time he caught Silver spending an unusual amount of time with her, he’d follow up with a word of caution.
    Okay, Janie and Georgia and who else? There were at least a dozen candidates, not counting the two blondes and the two guys, including Charlie and himself.
    Maybe he should hold an impromptu seminar on how not to be drawn into a sucker’s trap. He had yet to work out a plan for getting the goods on Silver, but he was used to going in without an ironclad plan. A good cop left plenty of maneuvering room; he’d learned that his first year on the job when he’d walked in on a convenience store robbery and got a face full of Reddi-wip. Since then he’d at least had sense enough to work the perp around to the bagged goods before trying to cuff him. A face full of corn chips couldn’t do a whole lot of damage.
    â€œWanna join the others out on the porch?” he asked.
    Riley looked at him a full thirty seconds before shaking her head. “No thanks,” she said, and walked off.
    Nice going, Hunter. From now on, keep your mind on the job you’re supposed to be doing.

Three
    I t was a good hour earlier than her usual bedtime when Maggie headed for her assigned quarters. Beginning tomorrow the students would be responsible for meals. They were to work out a plan among themselves. Suzy, seated in the middle of her cot, was painting her toenails. She suggested that some of the older women would naturally want to take charge.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWell…because, I mean, most of them have been married, so they’re used to cooking.”
    So was Maggie, not that she intended to advertise it. Her mother had left home when Maggie was eleven, after announcing that life was a fleeting thing. Several weeks later she’d written from a commune out in Idaho, something about being free to become herself. She still came home occasionally, never staying more than a few days. Actually, she hadn’t been home in several years, but at least she still wrote when she remembered to. Handmade postcards for the most part, filled with colored drawings of moons and stars and rainbows and elves.
    So maybe, Maggie mused, she had inherited some artistic talent after all.
    She considered unpacking her laptop to record a few first impressions to work into a special column once the week was over. With any luck, her editor might accept it—might even spring for a small bonus. If she earned enough to pay income taxes she could write off this whole horribly expensive week as research—but first she would have to write about it.
    She found a place to set up her laptop by shifting Suzy’s array of cosmetics, then looked around for an outlet within reach. Her batteries were probably dead. Since she rarely used them, she rarely remembered to check them. Why didn’t someone invent a computer that plugged into a cell phone? Or maybe they already had. Technology wasn’t her thing, but that would bear checking out.
    She might even get a column about that, too. Technology for the technophobe. Not that she was really phobic, she was simply too busy to keep up with the stuff.
    â€œI still don’t think he’s an artist,” Suzy announced out of the blue.
    â€œWho?” As if she didn’t know.