BAIT AND SWITCH
Digital Edition, 2011
Original Edition, 2002

EXCERPT

Alarm bells pealed in Mitch’s brain. Alarm bells that had sounded far too late.
           
One of his eyes snapped open, then the other. The bells continued to ring. Groaning, Mitch reached out and hit the snooze button on the alarm clock. Still, the ringing persisted.

He tried to sit up, but rolled to the middle of the bed instead, feeling as though he were navigating the sea of insanity. As his head cleared, he realized he was stuck in the middle of Cary’s water bed and somebody was ringing Cary’s doorbell.

What was it about him that encouraged others to wake him out of a sound sleep?

Unlike when Cary came calling in Atlanta, however, Mitch wasn’t expected to answer the door. Cary was.

Except Cary was safely ensconced in Atlanta, thanks to Mitch’s grudging agreement to switch places and straighten out his mess. Cary didn’t seem to appreciate that Mitch was taking risks that involved his career as well as his kneecaps. One misstep and Mitch would land in a jail cell. Then his career would surely be over.

Besides, considering who could be on the other side of Cary’s door, Mitch would much rather open it than Cary. He was a cop. He could take care of himself.

Mitch executed a log roll that took him to the edge of the waterbed, stuck out a bare leg and foraged for dry ground. All the while, the doorbell kept buzzing. Then the pounding started.

He pulled on jeans over his boxers and tucked a handgun at the small of his back. He stepped into the hallway, caught his toe on the edge of a skinny oriental rug and lost his balance. He went sprawling, saving himself from falling by slamming into the wall with a tremendous thud.

“Son of a gun,” he shouted. He righted himself and thanked God the gun hadn’t gone off. Rubbing his sore shoulder, he stalked the rest of the way to the door and the infernal ringing.

He didn’t care if the person on the other side was there to bust his kneecaps. He flung open the door.

“You unreliable jerk!”

Standing on the doorstep of his brother’s fancy Tradd Street sublet was the most desirable woman Mitch had ever seen.

Her eyes were a smidgen too close together, her nose a hair too long and her mouth a little too wide, but the net effect slammed into him with a sensual punch. Her short blond hair was cut in haphazard, fly-away layers that framed an oval face with the highest cheekbones he’d ever seen. The eyes that glared up at him were the color of Coca-Cola, which happened to be his favorite beverage.

He wasn’t quite through admiring her figure, which tended toward the very lushness he preferred, when she thumped him once in the chest. Hard enough that he gasped.

“You are the biggest, most irresponsible jerk I have ever had the displeasure to meet.” He even liked her voice. If she sang, she’d be an alto. Maybe a tenor. “I was stupid to believe you.”

“Uh, I’m sure you’re not stupid,” Mitch stammered.

“How dare you disagree with me after what you did.”

“What did I do?” Mitch asked. Stupidly, he instantly realized.

Her full mouth narrowed in a thin line, and her dark eyes flashed. “You’ve got a lot of nerve to ask that. Why, oh why, did I ever get involved with you?”

“You’re involved with me?” Mitch gaped at her. For an instant, he felt as though he’d won the lottery. Cary teased him about his dearth of dates, but the reason was because he seldom ran across a woman he wanted to ask out. For this woman, though, he’d brave a minefield. Then the reality of what was happening crashed down on his sleep-addled mind.

This enchanting blonde wasn’t involved with him. She was involved with Cary. . .