Metro Girl

by Evanovich Janet

• ISBN13: 9780060584023
• ISBN10: 0060584025
• Edition: Reprint
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2019-07-10
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publications

Summary

A New York Times Bestselling Author Dogs and cats never die in the world of Evanovich, and bad guys are almost always brought to justice. Sam Hooker and Alexandra Barnaby, in their quest to reclaim what's theirs, blast through Florida from Daytona straight on to Key West, exposing a plot to grab Cuban land and to lay waste the people involved. Cussing and tasteless sexual innuendo included.

Excerpts

Metro Girl

Chapter One

Just because I know how to change a guy's oil doesn't mean Iwant to spend the rest of my life on my back, staring up hisundercarriage. Been there, done that. Okay, so my dad ownsa garage. And okay, I have a natural aptitude for rebuildingcarburetors. There comes a time in a girl's life when she needsto trade in her mechanic's overalls for a pair of Manolo Blahnikstilettos. Not that I can afford a lot of Manolos, but it's a goal,right?

My name is Alexandra Barnaby, and I worked in my dad'sgarage in the Canton section of Baltimore all through highschool and during summer breaks when I was in college. It'snot a big fancy garage, but it holds its own, and my dad has areputation for being an honest mechanic.

When I was twelve my dad taught me how to use anacetylene torch. After I mastered welding, he gave me somespare parts and our old lawn mower, and I built myself ago-cart. When I was sixteen, I started rebuilding a ten-year-old junker Chevy. I turned it into a fast car. And I raced it inthe local stocks for two years.

"And here she comes, folks," the announcer would say."Barney Barnaby. Number sixteen, the terror of BaltimoreCounty. She's coming up on the eight car. She's going to theinside. Wait a minute, I see flames coming from sixteen.There's a lot of smoke now. Looks like she's blown anotherengine. Good thing she works in her dad's garage."

So I could build cars, and I could drive cars. I just nevergot the hang of driving them without destroying them.

"Barney," my dad would say. "I swear you blow thoseengines just so you can rebuild them."

Maybe on an unconscious level. The brain is a pretty weirdthing. What I knew was that on a conscious level, I hated losing.And I lost more races than I won. So, I raced two seasons andpacked it in.

My younger brother, Wild Bill, drove, too. He never caredif he won or lost. He just liked to drive fast and scratch hisballs with the rest of the guys. Bill was voted Most Popularof his senior class and also Least Likely to Succeed.

The class's expectation for Bill's success was a reflection ofBill's philosophy of life. If work was any fun, it would becalled play. I've always been the serious kid, and Bill's alwaysbeen the kid who knew how to have a good time. Two yearsago, Bill said good-bye Baltimore and hello Miami. He likedthe lazy hot sun, the open water, and the girls in bikinis.

Two days ago, Bill disappeared off the face of the earth.And he did it while I was talking to him. He woke me up witha phone call in the middle of the night.

"Barney," Bill yelled over the phone line. "I have to leaveMiami for a while. Tell Mom I'm okay."

I squinted at my bedside clock. Two AM. Not late for Billwho spent a lot of time in South Beach bars. Real late for mewho worked nine to five and went to bed at ten.

"What's that noise?" I asked him. "I can hardly hear you."

"Boat engine. Listen, I don't want you to worry if youdon't hear from me. And if some guys show up looking forme, don't tell them anything. Unless it's Sam Hooker. TellSam Hooker he can kiss my exhaust pipe."

"Guys? What guys? And what do you mean, don't tellthem anything?"

"I have to go. I have to ... oh shit."

I heard a woman scream in the background, and the linewent dead.

Baltimore is cold in January. The wind whips in from the harborand slices up the side streets, citywide. We get a couplesnowstorms each year and some freezing rain, but mostly weget bone-chilling gray gloom. In the midst of the gray gloom,pots of chili bubble on stoves, beer flows like water, sausagesare stuffed into hard rolls, and doughnuts are a necessity tosurvival.

Miami, it turns out, is hot in January. I'd taken the middayflight out of BWI, arriving in Miami midafternoon. When I lefthome I was wrapped in a quilted down-filled coat, cashmereBurberry scarf, fleece-lined boots, and heavy-duty shearlingmittens. Perfect for Baltimore. Not great for Miami. On arrival, I'd crammed the scarf and mittens into the mediumsizeduffel bag that hung from my shoulder, wrapped my coataround the duffel bag handle, and went in search of the taxistand. Sweat was soaking into my Victoria's Secret MiracleBra, my hair was plastered to my forehead, and I was suckingin air that felt like hot soup.

I'm thirty years old now. Average height and average build.I'm not movie-star gorgeous, but I'm okay. My hair is naturallymousy brown, but I started bleaching it blond when Idecided to stop being a grease monkey. It's currently platinumand cut in a medium-length shaggy kind of style that I canpunk up with paste if the occasion arises. I have blue eyes, amouth that's a little too big for my face, and a perfect noseinherited from my Grandma Jean.

My parents took Bill and me to Disney World when I wasnine. That's the extent of my in-the-flesh Florida experience.The rest of my Florida knowledge consists mainly of horrificbug stories from my mom's friend Elsie Duchen. Elsie wintersin Ocala with her daughter. Elsie swears there are cockroachesas big as cows in Florida. And she says they can fly. I'm hereto tell you, if I see a cow-size cockroach fly by, I'm gone . . .

Metro Girl. Copyright © by Janet Evanovich. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

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Excerpted from Metro Girl by Janet Evanovich
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.