All Things to Me

Начало книги

She was blonde and tall and very regal. Her name was Nicki Jensen. Her eyes were a lazy violet in a deeply tanned face. She was icy fire, and after a look at her, I knew what the old proverb about playing with fire meant. Still, I took another look, and decided to hang with the proverb. I wanted to get burned.

The first time she saw me she almost killed me.

I was giving my game leg a work-out, walking down Ransom Cove Road. The late summer afternoon was hot, but here on the road, sheltered by the intertwining branches of elms and maples, with thick, cool green undergrowth stretching away on either side, it was cool. The road is a rutted, dirt affair, twisting back up into the hills, and birds were singing, a few squirrels chattering and a mountain brook gurgling somewhere to my left, when I heard the roar of the motor.

I spun about, kicking up dust, just as the heavy Buick rounded the curve. The curves on Ransom Cove Road make it practically blind driving, and the Buick was coming like a low-flying fighter plane. For a moment it was nip and tuck; then I was bottomside up in a blackberry bramble, where my dive had brought me. The Buick was slewing around, stopping sideways in a thick, billowing cloud of dust.

Читать дальше →