If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

limbs pale and flaccid now, the softly rounded swell of her belly. Nice, full breasts … he did like a good pair of tits on a woman. The dull gleam of gold at her throat from the necklace she wore. Strong, sleek shoulders.
    Stooping down beside her, he hefted her lifeless body in his arms.
    What he needed to do now wasn’t going to be pleasant, and he wouldn’t do it here.
    “So what do you think it was?”
    “Hell, I don’t know.” A sigh slipped past Lena’s lips as she turned to face her best friend. Just talking to Roslyn Jennings made her feel better. And slightly silly. It had probably been nothing. Nothing … although it had bothered her dog something awful. “It sure as hell had Puck freaked out, though.”
    “You sound a little freaked out, too.”
    “Yeah. You could say that.”
    Although, really, freaked out didn’t quite touch it.
    Grimacing, Lena forced herself to focus. Should paymore attention to what she was doing or she was going to end up slicing up her fingers as well as the potatoes. It wouldn’t do the Inn’s reputation any good if word got out that the chef was adding body parts to the dishes, she thought morbidly.
    For some reason, that thought sent a shiver down her spine.
    “It sure doesn’t sound like Puck. I mean, that’s not like him. He loves his walks, right?”
    “Yep. He does. And you’re right … this isn’t like him.” She couldn’t recall him ever acting quite like that before. He was a good dog, protective, loving … a friend.
    “Let’s talk about this noise you heard. If we can figure out what it was, maybe we can figure out what had Puck so freaked out. It probably had something to do with the noise, right? I mean, it makes sense.”
    “I can’t place it. Weird grunting. Kind of muffled.”
    “Don’t take this wrong, but do you think maybe you heard somebody going at it?” Roslyn’s voice was a mixture of skepticism and interest.
    “Going at it?” Lena asked, blankly. “Going at what?”
    For about two seconds, Roz was silent. Then she burst into laughter. “Oh, sweetie, it’s been way too long since you’ve gotten laid. Sex, girl. Do you remember what sex is?”
    “Yes. Vaguely.” Scowling, she went at the potatoes with a little more enthusiasm than necessary. Oh, yes, she remembered sex. It had been close to a year since she’d gotten any, and before that? It had been college.
    But, yes, she remembered sex.
    “So, you think maybe a couple of people were out there screwing? Although, hell, if some guy is going to talk me into stripping nekkid in the great outdoors, it had better be good sex. Bug bites. Ticks. Poison ivy.”
    “Sunburn,” Lena offered helpfully. Perpetually pale,she had to slather down with SPF 60 just for a jaunt to the mailbox. Well, maybe not that bad. But still.
    “Sunburned hoo-haa. Heh. Doesn’t sound like fun, does it? Although if the guy is good … but you were in the woods, right? So scratch the sunburned hoo-haa. So, what do you think … could you have just heard some private moments?”
    “You’re a pervert, you know that?” Lena grinned at her best friend. Then she shrugged. “And … I don’t know. I really don’t know. The only thing I know for sure is that Puck didn’t want to be there—that’s just not like him.”
    The dog at Lena’s feet shifted. She rinsed her hands and then crouched down in front of him, stroking his head. “It’s okay, pal. I understand.”
    He licked her chin and she stood up.
    As she turned to wash her hands again, she heard the telltale whisper of the cookie jar. Smiling, she said, “If you eat all of those, you’re out of luck until next week. I am not whipping up another batch tomorrow. You’re stuck with whatever you bought from the store. With that wedding you’ve got planned, Jake and I are going to be busy enough as it is.”
    Jake was the other chef here at Running Brook. They split the week, Jake working Monday through Wednesday and Lena working Thursday through Saturday—they traded off on Sundays, but with the wedding they had going on tomorrow, they both needed to be here.
    “That wedding,” Roz muttered around a mouthful of cookie. “Hell, that wedding is why I need the cookie—and store-bought isn’t going to hold me right now, sweetie. I need the real stuff. Good stuff. Shit. If I thought I could get away with it, I would have a White Russian or three to go along with the cookie.”
    “No drinking on the job. Not even for