Free Revenge by Debra Webb Page A

time, wouldn’t you say?’
    ‘We should.’ He would try. He really would.
    ‘How long will they need my car?’
    It took a sec for him to shake off the I-want-you fog wrapped around his brain and to focus on the answer to her question. ‘You’ll have it back tomorrow. You can use one from the motor pool tonight.’
    ‘I don’t think so.’ Her laugh was the real thing this time. ‘I can catch a ride with one of my detectives, thank you very much.’
    ‘You could catch a ride with me,’ he proposed. Smart, Burnett . Spend time alone with her in her apartment again tonight. Way to go, idiot.
    She smiled and he felt a little twinge deep in his chest. That smile and those lips had haunted him for two decades. God, he was glad she was back where she belonged. Home . Close to him even if not with him, officially.
    ‘I should get back to work,’ she said with a pointed look that told him she had a good idea what was on his mind.
    Before he could formulate a response, she gave him her back. At forty-two he shouldn’t still have those moments of uncertainty as to what to say or do next, but here he was watching her go with no idea how to proceed either way.
    Jess paused at the door. ‘By the way, we’re invited to the Barons’ Labor Day party. Mark your calendar, Burnett. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
    Leaving him dumbfounded by the announcement, she was gone before he could ask how the hell that invitation had come about.
    He heaved a big breath that did absolutely nothing to relieve the frustration banding around his chest. On top of all the rest, apparently between now and Labor Day he would need to explain his past with the Baron family. The whole story.
    Something else he wasn’t looking forward to. He’d spent ten years trying to put that nightmare behind him.

Chapter Seven
    Vestavia Village, 4.00 P.M.
    J ess finished her tea and placed the glass on the elegant crystal tray waiting on the coffee table in the middle of Frances Wallace’s unexpectedly opulent gathering room. Not a living room or great room or den, she had explained to Jess. The condos had gathering rooms with mini kitchens equipped for serving cold refreshments. No cooking kitchens or dining rooms. There was no need. The residents’ meals were served in the facility’s dining hall.
    At least this way there was no worry about anyone accidentally burning the place down.
    ‘This won’t stop them,’ Lucille argued. ‘The construction will continue anyway. Our situation has not changed. At all . Why would we want to kill Scott much less bother doing so?’ The last she delivered with a look that proclaimed the mere idea grated like broken glass against her delicate sensibilities.
    Lucille Blevins was as blunt as Frances and about as delicate as the Glock Jess carried. She was the eldest of the group and made sure everyone understood that detail carried certain privileges.
    And the two janitors had called Frances the ringleader. Ha!
    Frances sighed loudly. ‘Mercy alive, Lucille. No one’s saying that.’
    ‘You said it.’ Polly Neal lifted her thin chin in consternation. ‘Said you wanted him dead. I heard you. So did everyone else.’
    Molly Jones, Polly’s twin, nodded adamantly. ‘I heard it too.’ She turned to the others. ‘We all heard it. Didn’t we?’
    The heads of the other three, Geraldine Lusk, Colleen Sharp, and Pansy Cornelius, moved up and down in frantic agreement. They stole a glance at Jess and stopped abruptly. Then another of those free-for-alls started with everyone assuring Jess that Frances would never hurt anyone. Absolutely not. Not even Scott Baker.
    No wonder Frances felt compelled to rally around these ladies despite every last one of them being a tattletale. Well into their eighties, all lacked the actual know-how to dive into a war against the facility’s board unless their strategy was to frustrate them to death. The sort of ladies who lived their whole lives with husbands taking care of