Janet Evanovich - Manhunt

If you took Alexandra Scott apart, piece by piece, you

If you took Alexandra Scott apart, piece by piece, you would reach the conclusion that she was not Miss America. She didnt have the classic prettiness of a Hollywood starlet. It was the extravagance of her features, her intense vitality, and the dramatic combination of all the pieces put together that made her into an arrestingly beautiful woman. Her eyebrows were darker than her hair, almost black, with just a slight angle. She had a straight, small nose, high cheekbones, a wide mouth that smiled easily, and large deep blue eyes, their exotic almond shape testifying to a Mongolian ancestry.

Every six weeks her thick auburn hair was cut at an expensive New York salon. When it was freshly styled, it framed her oval face in sweeping waves that flowed into a lush cluster of soft curls at the nape of her neck. But by the end of a workday, the voluminous, shining mass of hair seemed electric with energy and often contained pens, pencils, and an assortment of ineffective hair clips. It was pushed behind her ears, secured with scrunchies, and occasionally stuffed under a hat, but it was never defeated. Even her hairdresser had to admit that the more unruly the hair became, the more glorious it appeared.

Alex leaned forward, resting her elbows on the polished surface of the mahogany conference table, and hoped she wasnt making a stupid mistake. She was a junior vice president of a large corporation, too young to be in such a position of authority. Twenty-nine going on sixty-five, she thought ruefully. She loved her job, but she was tiredfrom too many twelve hour days, too many deadlines, too many long commutes from the suburbs. But all that was about to change.

Her expressive hands, loosely clasped, tightened as she prepared to speak. Her hair had been temporarily tucked behind her ears, drawing attention to the soft glow of lapis-and-gold earrings. She caught her glossy, full lower lip between perfect white teeth and briefly looked at each of the eleven other people seated at the table. A sudden rush of emotion swept over her, momentarily flooding her eyes with tears before she blinked them away. She liked these people. They were her personal staff, and shed miss them.

Shed prepared a speech, but it seemed inadequate, now. When she finally spoke she found herself stammering.

I I know this is very sudden, but Im going to be leaving the firm. She made a dismissive gesture over the notes lying in front of her. I was going to make a speech about my future and our past, but it seems too impersonal. And I dont think I could get through it without blubbering!

She uncrossed her long, slim legs clad in sheer black stockings and stood at her seat.

Ive got some presents, she said, moving around the table, distributing small boxes, hugging each person. Then she smoothed her black linen skirt, straightened the matching suit jacket over her azure raw silk shirt, and turned toward the door on elegant black snakeskin slingbacks.

I dont have time to stay and talk, she said, biting her lip to keep her composure. I have so many things to do, but I promise to write everyone a long letter as soon as I can.

She walked with the hurried briskness of a Wall Street executive, as if the faster she walked, the sooner shed be free from the troubling, sentimental feelings that had brought tears to her eyes in the conference room. Shed done something rash and frightening, and she didnt want to dwell on it. She was, by nature, a positive person, and her positive personality made short shrift of purposeless retrospection.

She quickly traveled the long, carpeted corridor to her office, all the while going through a mental checklist. All necessary forms had been completed. All projects were tidy. She marched straight to the plateglass window behind her desk and saluted the Statue of Liberty in the harbor below. From her thirty-third-floor office the monument looked like a little green toy. She held her breath for a moment, sorting through her emotions, feeling an enormous sense of relief. She felt taller. Younger. Older. Definitely excited.

Good-bye, Statue of Liberty, Alex said.

She turned from the window and pulled a pair of running shoes from the bottom drawer of the huge, elaborately carved cherrywood desk. Good-bye, desk. Good-bye, slingbacks, she said, kicking the black shoes halfway across the room.

She laced up the running shoes, slung a canvas tote bag over her shoulder, and let loose a war whoop that rocked the halls of the staid brokerage firm. Once she had composed herself, she closed her office door with a smart click and walked to the bank of elevators.

Bruno and I are going to Alaska, she explained to an elevator filled with strangers. Ive bought a hardware store.

Michael Casey strolled along the Juneau waterfront, enjoying the briny smell of the early morning mist and the screeching Keee of seabirds overhead. He rubbed his thumb across the dark stubble of beard on his chin, ruffled his unkempt sandy-colored hair, and admitted that he was a bum at heart. In an hour his cargo plane would be loaded with salmon, and he would be off to San Francisco, but for now, he was at leisure to do as he pleased.

He watched the Alaskan state ferry dock and swing its boarding ramps into place. Cars and campers began to trickle from the lower deck, and a few passengers hustled down the gangplank to stretch their legs while the ship went through the loading and unloading process. A young woman struggled along the ramp, dragging a mountain of a dog behind her. She was tall, maybe five-foot-eight, Casey guessed, and had the bones and slim angular beauty of a high-paid fashion model. She paused for a second to shove a mass of glossy red-brown hair behind her ears and to push the sleeves of her fuzzy cream-colored sweater above her elbows. Casey smiled unconsciously as he watched her, wondering about her destination, enjoying the spectacle she was creating as she tried to drag her reluctant dog down the gangplank.

Alex didnt notice the man watching her from the dock. She had more pressing places to direct her energy. Bruno was being a pain. She took a firm grip on his leash and silently cursed her grandfather for willing her a rottweiler. Why couldnt she have inherited a small, polite animal? A hamster, or a guppie, or a hermit crab.

Listen up, Bruno, Alex said, gritting her teeth, Ive dragged you all the way from the cargo deck so we could take a walk while the boat is being loaded, and Im not going to give up now. Either you haul yourself down that ramp, or Ill cancel your subscription to Dog World.

In all honesty, she couldnt blame him for throwing a temper tantrum. Shed carted the animal three thousand miles across the country in a two-seater sports car, and for the past four days hed been kept in a kennel cage belowdecks.

The big black dog, obviously not impressed with the threat, settled in an uncooperative heap at her feet.