Killer Getaway Read Online Free

Mike leaned over to where I stood, next to a rack of cleaning supplies, and kissed me. “Still dating your veterinarian?” he asked.
    â€œOf course,” I assured him. “In fact, everything’s going great with John.”
    I could see Mike smiling in the dark. “Well, call me if you decide not to go to Florida.”
    â€œI’m going to Florida!” I grabbed Waffles’s leash and my keys and bag, and unceremoniously ushered us all out the back door, whereupon I locked up. “See you in the spring!” I told Mike, jumping in the car after loading Waffles in and speeding away. Well, as much as it was possible to speed, given that it was snowing like a scene from Frozen and I could barely see through the slapping windshield wipers.
    Five minutes later, I was home in my drafty but charming house, angry at myself for picturing Mike in his masculine cottage, which I happen to know has a massive stone fireplace. I could be in front of said fireplace with Mike, putting my January soggy blues behind me.
    Then again, John had been an incredible boyfriend for the past seven months! What kind of person was I, anyway?
    I had a feeling I was the kind of person who would be over at Mike Woodford’s within twenty-­four hours if I didn’t take immediate preventive measures. Just then, fresh sleet started hammering the windows of my house. “Don’t worry, this is going to be great!” I told Waffles, who wagged his tail from his end of the sofa as I dialed Bootsie.
    â€œI’m in,” I told her.
    â€œGreat!” she said. I could hear a suitcase being snapped open and garments whooshing into it as we spoke. “See you at three tomorrow! In fact, let’s make it two-­thirty.”
    â€œIsn’t that a little late to leave?” I asked, starting to formulate a list of everything I needed to do between now and then. “Maybe we should leave in the morning.”
    â€œWe are leaving in the morning. That’s 2:30 a.m. , not p.m.,” Bootsie informed me airily.
    My next call was to Holly.
    â€œYou arrive when?” she answered. I heard a tropical bird chirp in the background, and I think I heard the sound of a gorgeous pink sun setting.
    â€œTomorrow around seven p.m.,” I confirmed, having calculated the distance on Google Maps and subtracting an hour and a half from its ETA, given the fact that Bootsie speeds like a NASCAR driver. “I have a ­couple of, um, extra items coming with me, if that’s okay?”
    â€œLet me guess,” she sighed. “Is one of them short, overweight, and sheds all over everything?”
    â€œThat’s the first one,” I confirmed. “The other one is six feet tall and obsessed with tennis.”

 
    Chapter 3
    S O HERE WE were, fourteen hundred miles away from the cold and sleet, and a safe distance from Mike Woodford. Who needed Mike and his muscular arms and sexy beard scruff, anyway? Waffles and I were officially commencing our first full day in Paradise, and thanks to Holly—­and thanks to Bootsie’s insane end run down I-­95—­we were now residents of Bahama Lane! At least, we were for the next six days.
    I did a few more seconds of my Happy Dance, made even happier by the fact that Bootsie was staying in the guest room of Holly’s main house, not out here with me and Waffles. I threw open the French doors, blinking in the bright sunlight, and stifled a small shriek of delight at the sight of swaying palm trees and gorgeous white chaise lounges surrounding the fantastic pool, which was set in a flower-­filled courtyard between the main house and the guesthouse.
    After I jumped in the shower and got dressed (Gap Outlet dress, $24.99 from last summer), I sent John Hall a quick e-­mail, giving him the highlights of the ride down with Bootsie and Waffles. While I waited for Waffles to wake up—­he logs about twelve hours of sleep per night,