The List Read Online Free PDF Page B

picked you up at the police station?”
    “Well, a million thanks for driving me home. Why don’t you whip it out, and I’ll pull up my skirt and hop on.”
    Max rubbed his eyes. His tortured look. She’d only seen him a half dozen times, and the look was becoming increasingly frequent—
    every time she offered an opinion, or her cell phone rang, or she talked about her day. Why was she with this guy anyway?

    Joan found the door handle and used it. He rolled the window down.
    “Joan, let me at least take you home.”
    She ignored him and walked into the restaurant. Maybe she was being a bit dramatic, but hell, the past few hours were dramatic. Joan tried to imagine how Max would react if he had some psycho chasing him. Big corporate hotshot would probably be sucking his thumb, begging for his mama.
    But that wasn’t really fair. No one really knew what they’d do in a crisis situation, until it happened. Maybe Max wasn’t being insensitive—maybe this was his way of trying to be strong for her.
    Was his suggestion so outrageous? Perhaps the best thing for her would be to go out and have a good time. It sure beat going home and pulling Schnapps off of that stake.
    Joan turned around, hoping Max was still there, or perhaps even coming through the parking lot after her.
    Max was pulling out into traffic.
    Asshole. Fine. She didn’t care for him much anyway. He was too good-looking, and he knew it. Joan’s Second Rule of Dating; never date a man prettier than you are. She’d broken that rule because she thought Max had some class. He was young, successful, and not in the life. That was Joan’s First Rule. Never date a guy in the movie business. She had other criteria—no guys with back hair, no guys who wore Speedos or thongs, no guys who lived with their mom, but the first two were the most important.
    Unfortunately, all that her rules got her was an empty social calendar and the feeling that she was somehow unworthy, even with her many accomplishments.
    She went straight to the pay phone and punched in her pin number, calling the person she should have called when this first happened. Marty. Her assistant. Her friend. In her eyes, he was the perfect man. He’d make some guy really happy someday.
    And apparently, that’s what he was up to at that moment. When the call went through, another man answered. Tipsy, buoyant, enthusiastic.
    Joan hung up. Lately, Marty had been about as lucky as she had with men. Good for him for scoring. She didn’t want to intrude on that.
    So, what now? Joan sat down in a plastic swivel chair, noting how stupid her sockless running shoes looked with her skirt. After the police arrived, she’d demanded to fill out the report immediately, hoping that the sooner they had a description, the sooner they could get the creep off the streets. The police complied, whisking her away to the station before she had a chance to change or even grab her purse.
    And now, three hours later, after sitting with an artist and reviewing mug shots and telling her story a dozen times, she was stuck at a McDonalds without a ride, wearing these dumb shoes, afraid to go home.
    Get tough, Joanie, she thought. If you don’t face it now, you’ll never want to go back.
    Screwing up her courage, Joan removed herself from the chair and marched out to the street. It took her three shouts before a cab stopped.
    Her sense of dread increased with every tick of the meter. When the cabbie finally pulled in front of her house and asked if this was the place, Joan didn’t know if she could move.
    “Lady? You okay?”
    “Hold on. I have to go in, get some money. No purse.”
    “Meter’s running.”
    “Be right back.”
    She controlled her breathing, pushing it deep into her stomach, and got out of the taxi.

    No burglar alarm. Dark house. Dead guard dog. She didn’t even have her keys. But the rear patio window was probably still open. That was in back, past Schnapps...
    Joan followed the bushes around her home,