Free Primal Threat by Earl Emerson Page B

combination of boldness and shyness—he even liked the way she wanted all the gruesome details about his accidents.
    His father had told the Newcastles that Zak roomed with him, but it was the other way around—a minor fiction Zak let him maintain to preserve his dignity. Zak was proud of his old man but just a bit embarrassed about the circuitous route his father had taken to reach his current position in life, and a little irritated that he had less than eight hundred dollars in savings and couldn’t seem to build a large enough nest egg to move out, though there were times when Zak suspected his father’s lack of savings had more to do with wanting to remain near Zak than it did with any failure to budget effectively.
    Stacy was an entirely different proposition. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was coming off a delicate, windblown perch she’d been poised on the last few years, and Zak didn’t want anything to disturb her equilibrium. After almost ten vagabond years of moving from city to city and state to state, she had finally settled down in Seattle and obtained a part-time position delivering mail for the US Postal Service, a job she was overqualified for but loved. In years past she’d been a legal secretary, a doctor’s assistant, and a supermarket manager, and was now trying to finesse her way into a permanent position with the USPS. When you thought about it, her story was even stranger than Al’s. In fact, when you thought about it, everyone in his family had an odd story except Zak. At least that was how Zak viewed it.

10

    “ F orty–love,” Nadine said, after tossing the yellow tennis ball into the sky and whacking it with all her might. Zak was only able to return a fraction of her serves, though he was doing better on his volleying, but even those points were infrequent against Nadine’s powerful returns and anticipation. After half an hour he noticed she was having a harder time moving to her right than her left, no doubt because her left leg still had pins in it, but the inside knowledge helped only a little.
    She was surprisingly aggressive, putting him away with wicked overhands, grunting as she smashed the ball into his court. Her thighs were tan and thick with muscle, and her calves flexed as she moved in the sunshine. She rarely hit the net and almost never sent a ball out of bounds. She had one grunt for her forehand and another distinctive sound when she put both hands on the racket for a backhand. He began to find the grunts endearing.
    “You’re not going to win this one,” Zak said, even as they both knew she certainly was—she’d won every game so far. The ball landed inside the line on her right side, and she returned it as hard as she could, but he’d run up to the net and was able to tap it inside the left corner for a point.
    “Nice,” she said.
    “Thanks. How much longer do you want to play?”
    “As long as you can stand it.”
    “I was just thinking it looks like your ankle’s starting to bother you.”
    “Is that why you were hitting more to that side?”
    “You noticed that?”
    “Sure. It is getting sore, but I don’t have anybody lined up to play tomorrow, so I’ll swim and that’ll give it an extra day of rest.”
    “Are you trying to wear me out, Nadine?”
    “Your serve.”
    “You can’t wear me out. You can beat me, but you can’t wear me out.”
    “I’m killing you.”
    “And enjoying every second of it, aren’t you?”
    “Serve.”
    In Nadine’s mind every minute on the court was clearly for tennis; she didn’t like resting or talking. All she wanted to do was play. He knew he couldn’t beat her, but he was determined to grind her down and maybe get a few points, even win a game if he could. He’d been an athlete all his life and thus admired her innate aggressiveness, her dogged determination to do him in. In many ways she reminded him of his dead sister, Charlene, who had been a high school swimmer and was just as