Foul Play by Janet Evanovich Page A

almost untouched by it. Jeff had proven himself a hollow shell.
    But, Jake. Jake was the sort of man who belonged in your kitchen. She could imagine him stealing swipes of frosting from afreshly baked cake, or with his nose buried in the newspaper on a Sunday morning. The sexual attraction between them made Amy nervous, but it was exciting, too. And, somehow, Jake eventually always managed to make her relax.
    She turned her head to look at him in his faded navy running shorts and gray T-shirt with cutoff sleeves. She didn’t even notice the renegade root snaking across the dirt path until she tripped over it, snagging her toe.
    â€œYeow,” she gasped, sprawling face first into a rhododendron.
    Jake staggered to a halt and wiped the sweat from his eyes.
    â€œAre you okay? You have a thing for leaping into bushes?”
    â€œI skinned my knee.”
    Wow. He didn’t want her to be hurt, but he wouldn’t mind if she couldn’t run anymore. Skinned knee, stubbed toe, minor muscle cramp.
    He collapsed into the bush next to her. “Looks pretty bad.”
    Amy wrinkled her nose and stood. “It’sjust a scratch.” She dusted off her legs and shorts and turned to go.
    Jake grabbed her by the ankle. “Wait! You shouldn’t run with your knee like that. It’s bleeding. It’ll swell. It’ll get infected.”
    â€œThanks, Jake, but it’ll be fine, really.”
    He held his hand up. “I know about these things. I’m a veterinarian. There are germs in the dirt that are just waiting to jump into that cut. You need a disinfectant.”
    He struggled to his feet. “You need to rest, elevate your leg. I’ll cut through these yards and call us a cab…”
    Amy rolled her eyes and trotted away. One of Jake’s most endearing traits was his sense of humor. Picking up the pace a little so he wouldn’t get bored, Amy flushed with pleasure at the obvious concern she’d seen on Jake’s face. She had the feeling she had already taken a much bigger fall—for him.
    Jake was glad for the encroaching darkness as he doggedly plodded beside Amy, down Gainsborough Drive to Wheatstone, thinking his appendectomy had been less painful than this run. Therewas little satisfaction in Amy’s declaration that she was tiring. He’d passed “tired” five miles back and was working on “near death.”
    He forced himself to walk up her front steps in a normal fashion, dragged himself into the foyer, and sprawled onto the living room rug. “I have a cramp,” he mumbled.
    Amy bent to help. “In your leg? Want me to massage it?”
    Jake closed his eyes. “Mmmm.”
    â€œWhich leg? Right? Left?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYou have a cramp in both legs?”
    Jake flopped over onto his back. “I have a cramp in my body.”
    â€œUm, could you be more specific?”
    He opened one eye. Tell me this isn’t happening, he said to himself. She’s asking me where I want to be massaged, and I’m too tired to tell her. “It sort of moves around.”
    â€œYou need a nice hot shower.”
    â€œYeah, you’re right. I’ll go home and take one.”
    Amy tried to keep the disappointment from her voice. She didn’t want the eveningto end so quickly. She didn’t want Jake to leave.
    â€œYou could stay for supper. I could put a couple steaks on the grill.”
    Jake thought it sounded great, but he didn’t have the energy to chew steak. His only chance of avoiding total humiliation was to get home before rigor mortis set in.
    â€œI’d like to stay for supper, Amy, but I have things to do. This is the night I work out at the gym. You know, Nautilus, and stuff. Then I go for a swim…”
    He got up carefully and slowly walked to the door, thinking that his hamstring must have shrunk two inches in the past hour. If she had this kind of stamina on the jogging path, what