Troublemaker by Linda Howard Page B

there, even though hands-down she would have preferred a condo in a city. The lemons-to-lemonade theory had given her friends, a surprising sense of belonging, and Tricks. She glanced at the dog and had to smile at the expression of bliss on the furry face. Tricks loved riding anywhere, but she knew she was going home; she recognized the routine with the mailbox, and the drive. Home meant comfort and familiarity and all her toys, as well as a late-afternoon romp and then supper.
    Bo rounded the last curve, and the house came into view. An unfamiliar vehicle, a new-looking black Chevy Tahoe, was sitting in the driveway. She stopped the Jeep, then had a horrifying thought: My God, what if Axel had come to visit and that nasty surprise card was his way of announcing himself? She narrowed her eyes; if it was Axel, he could leave the same way he got here, and the sooner the better. He wasn’t welcome in her home.
    But it wasn’t Axel who slowly exited the SUV. A quick look was all she needed to know this was a stranger, a tall man with somewhat shaggy dark hair. She reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the pistol Jesse had insisted she get. Beside her, Tricks’s attention was riveted on the stranger, and she gave an excited “Woof!” She was leaning against her harness, eager to exit the Jeep. ln her world, strangers were someone new to play with her.
    Bo’s world wasn’t as optimistic. She didn’t turn off the ignition, in case she needed to get away fast; instead she lowered the window and called out, “May I help you?” The words were courteous; the tone was the one Jesse had taught her to use, louder than a woman would normally speak, and more authoritative.
    The man put his arm on top of the SUV. “Are you Isabeau Maran?”
    â€œI am.” The fact that he knew her name didn’t mean she was any less cautious. Besides, he looked like a ghoul, with a dead-white face and sunken eyes ringed with dark circles.
    He wiped a hand across his face. “My name is Morgan Yancy. Your stepbrother sent me to you.”

CHAPTER 4     
    I DON’T HAVE A STEPBROTHER,” SHE SAID FLATLY, COMPLETELY unappeased by the obvious conclusion that this man was the “present” Axel had sent. She didn’t know what he’d meant by that and didn’t care. She wasn’t having anything to do with Axel or his present—not that this guy looked like any kind of present other than a gag gift, and she wasn’t laughing.
    â€œAxel MacNamara,” he clarified. His voice sounded funny, kind of thin and breathless. He was a big guy—tall, anyway, because his head was well above the top of the SUV, so the thin voice was out of place.
    â€œI know who you were talking about. Doesn’t matter.”
    â€œHe said you’d feel that way.” The man looked around, his gaze moving slowly from object to object as if it was an effort to move even his eyes. She got the impression he was buying time more than anything else. Suddenly she realized that he didn’t look ghoulish, he looked unhealthy. A sheen of sweat coated his face though the day was too cool to warrant sweating from just sitting in a car.
    â€œHe was right.”
    Then something clicked in her brain, and Bo narrowed her eyes, studying him. People who were sick and weak had that thinness to their voices, as if they didn’t have the strength to draw a good breath. The pallor of his skin emphasized the stark angles of his face and the darkstubble of several days’ growth of beard, the dark circles under his sunken eyes.
    She got the sudden impression that his outstretched arm on the top of the SUV was all that was keeping him upright. She looked at his hand. Yes; the tips of his fingers were white from pressing hard against the metal. He was sweating from the effort he was making to stand upright.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you?” she demanded, her tone still