Chapter One
The woman next door was driving Barrett Wheeler to
distraction, and he hadn't even seen her. This was not a
good thing since he had exactly seven days, one hour and
four minutes to complete his research study for a grant on
the mating habits and preservation of tree snails for the
University of Miami. The university would then take the
data and approach the government with a plan to preserve
these important inhabitants of the Everglades.
He'd trudged through the swamps of Everglades National
Park for a year, sure that he had finally found what he'd
been seeking the last twelve years - the life goal his
father had been haranguing him about since he'd graduated
high school when he was fifteen. He was sure biology was
what he should have gotten into in the first place. That's
where he belonged. But that's what he'd thought when he'd
undertaken course work in physics and mathematics, too.
Now, though, he had his PhD and was satisfied with that.
He was. He only needed to figure out what field of biology
interested him and stick to it. Instead, he kept choosing
different kinds of projects, hoping to find the one field
that grabbed his interest permanently.
He did care about the plight of the endangered tree snail,
and he always gave his all to whatever project he
wasworking on. He was proud to be part of the effort to
preserve the dwindling tree snails. Even if his mind was
already wandering to the endangered seahorses. Or maybe
survival aspects of the big cats in Africa.
Maybe he just didn't know what he wanted. He was ashamed
to admit it, even to himself. He started a project with
all kinds of interest and lost some of that steam along
the way.
It wasn't his mental meanderings that were hindering his
progress on the tree snail study. First, there had been a
mistake made on the due date of the study. Barrett had
three weeks less than he'd planned on to complete his
study. Then his sister, Kim, had shown up at his
condominium with her husband and four kids needing a place
to stay after the pipes in their house burst. That crisis
was averted by a colleague's offer. Since his parents were
going on a cruise, Barrett could stay at their house in
Sunset City, a retirement community. It sounded perfect.
He'd stick to himself and complete his study with nothing
but the occasional call of "Bingo!" to disturb the quiet.
At least in theory. Sunset City wasn't exactly what he'd
envisioned. It was, in fact, a small city, with a grid
layout lined with cozy homes and quaint yards. A large
community center and pool were situated in the middle of
the city, and toward the front entrance was a small store
and gas station. Instead of being a quiet, restful place,
it bustled with activity. When he'd pulled in evening
before last, he was nearly run down by a pack of women
wearing T-shirts with bright pink flamingos who were doing
a remarkably good imitation of a power walk. Instead of
rocking chairs on the porches of the small, neat homes,
there were threewheeled bicycles and even a Harley. A yoga
class was doing their moves in the park, striking
storklike poses to Chubby Checker tunes. Three men were
dismantling a classic Mustang's engine under a covered
driveway.
Well, the sign had said Older Persons Community, not a
word about retirement. Still, no one should bother him
here.
At least in theory. Normally, his theories were sound.
What he hadn't factored in was the woman next door.
Yesterday, he took his files and laptop computer onto the
back porch after his morning jog to enjoy the gorgeous
fall weather. Maybe reward himself with a dip in the small
pool in the backyard if he were particularly productive.
The yard was small and private, surrounded by thick, tall
hedges. He settled in to work, fingers poised above the
keyboard.
That's when her voice had floated through the hedge that
separated their yards. He couldn't see into her yard to
verify, but she had to be an older person. Yet her voice
had a young, provocative sound to it. He didn't know why
it had caught his attention. He usually immersed himself
in a project and didn't come up for hours. He was utterly
embarrassed at the stirrings in his body. Come on, it was
a voice, for Pete's sake!
He had tried to ignore her when she called to her husband.
Then she crooned about how handsome he was despite the
fact that he apparently drooled a bit. But Barrett got
completely off track when she said, "Would you stop
licking me, Frankie? I swear you've got the biggest tongue
I've ever seen."
Mental images like that he did not need. He'd gone inside.
Early that evening he'd taken a break and eaten his TV
dinner on the porch. Again, her voice floated through the
hedge. "George, did you fart again? Holy stink bombs,
honey, no more beef Stroganoff for you! I don't care how
much you beg. And I know how much you love to beg."
George? Wasn't she with Frankie earlier? Was he staying
next to a senior citizen floozy? For a moment, he actually
felt a spark of curiosity, an urge to peek through that
hole in the hedge and see who this woman was. But that
kind of nosy curiosity was impractical, at least outside
his research. It didn't serve much purpose in the real
world.
Not that he could claim to be part of the real world in
any sense. He'd been raised by his father, the man from
whom he'd inherited his one-hundred-eighty-five IQ. His
mother had gotten bored with her scientist husband and his
scientist friends and even having a son who was smarter
than she was by the time he was twelve. So she'd taken his
sister, Kim, and moved to West Palm Beach. Barrett and his
father moved onto the university campus and, at fifteen,
Barrett entered University of Miami's program. Because he
was years younger than his peers, he felt more comfortable
hanging out with his father's contemporaries. Even now,
professors and other research scientists were the people
he related to best.
"Aw, do you love me? I love you, too," she crooned, and
Barrett thought he heard an answering groan. "Give me some
sugar." She'd giggled, a sound that sent a trill through
his stomach. Then she'd squealed. "That tickles!"
He'd gone inside. This morning she was with Buddy. He
hadn't said much, but the woman was rambling on as though
they were old friends. "You're one big boy. Oh, you want
your butt scratched, do you?"
He'd almost gone inside then. The words, "Oh, you like
that, don't you? Mmm," stopped him. He tried to put an
older woman's face to the voice, but couldn't.
"Oh, goodie, sit on me, why don't you?" She made a
grunting sound, as though trying to shove the guy off.
"Get off me, already! Geez, you weigh a ton!" After sounds
of a struggle, she said, "Stop pawing me, you animal!"
It wasn't his curiosity that finally propelled him to that
hole in the hedge. The lady obviously required some
assistance. He could tell himself that, anyway.
The hole, unfortunately, wasn't as deep as it had looked.
He had to bend down, stick his head into the gap and push
branches aside before he could see into her yard.
The first thing he saw was pink spandex wrapped snuggly
around a behind that wasn't anywhere near octogenarian. He
took her in as he would any fascinating specimen - slowly,
analyzing each part. White sneakers with pink balls at the
ends of the laces, shapely calves, then the pink spandex -
forget about the pink spandex - a white tank top and
short, brown hair.
"Get off my foot!" she said as she shoved Buddy aside.
Buddy was a large, tan horse dog that was sitting squarely
on the woman-who-wasn't-a-floozy's foot. And Buddy had no
intention of moving ... until he spotted something more
interesting.
That something more interesting, unfortunately, was
Barrett. Buddy stampeded toward the hedge, a string of
drool hanging from his sagging lips.
Barrett was at Buddy's face level. He pulled back, but the
hedge had other ideas. It pinned him in place with
branches and one well-placed sharp edge against his neck.
Buddy screeched to a halt in front of Barrett, some of the
drool flying forward and just missing him. The dog was
staring at him, its head tilted in utter fascination.
© 2003-2026