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The Hunt
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Год написания книги
2018
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The Hunt
Jennifer Sturman
Meeting the in-laws was the least of her problems…There's nothing like being the guest of honor at an engagement party to remind a person she has commitment issues, but Rachel Benjamin has finally put her neuroses behind her. A weekend with her fiance, Peter, and his parents will put her skills to the test, but she's confident they'll never guess how new she is to normal relationships. Then Rachel receives a cryptic message: her friend Hilary is missing. Hilary was last seen in the company of Igor "Iggie" Behrenz, a budding Internet tycoon with strange fashion sense and even stranger secrets–secrets Hilary had been threatening to expose. Someone is orchestrating an elaborate scavenger hunt across San Francisco, dangling Hilary as the prize. Now Rachel has to track down her friend, which would be enough of a challenge if she weren't already busy proving how normal she is to her future in-laws. And when Rachel stumbles upon secrets all Peter's own, she wonders if maybe she's declared victory over her neuroses too soon.
The Hunt
Jennifer Sturman
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to Rulonna Neilson.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A number of friends were extremely generous with their time and their knowledge of the Bay Area as I was writing this book. These kind people include Rita and Joe Brogley, Maria and Jan Leeman, Jasper Malcolmson, Stefanie Reich Offit, Elizabeth Porteous, Raj Seshadri and Rick Ostrander, and Marybeth Wittekind Sharpe and Amory Sharpe. Many thanks to Michele Jaffe, who again served as an early reader, and to Carrie Weber for her ace translation skills. And, as always, thanks to my agent, Laura Langlie, Margaret Marbury and the team at Red Dress Ink, and my family for their continued encouragement and support.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
1
“T hey’re so normal.
Luisa lit her cigarette and snapped the lighter shut. “And how is that a problem?”
“I didn’t say it was a problem. But they named their dog Spot.”
“The dog does have a spot, Rachel.”
It was true. The dog in question had a spot. And as dogs went, Spot was okay—not too yappy or slobbery. In fact, he was a completely normal dog, exactly right for his owners, Charles and Susan Forrest, my future in-laws and the source of all this rampant normalcy.
The phrase my future in-laws still felt unreal to me, even though Peter and I had been engaged for several months now and in spite of the very real engagement party we were currently attending at the Forrests’ San Francisco home. Or, to be more accurate, the engagement party from which Luisa and I were sneaking a break. She had wanted a cigarette, and the sight of my family mingling with Peter’s family, especially our grandmothers with their heads close together, undoubtedly hammering out just how many children we should have, was enough to make a little second-hand smoke seem nearly appealing.
We’d slipped out of the house through the side door and walked the short distance to the top of the Lyon Street steps, which led down from Pacific Heights to the Palace of Fine Arts and the Bay beyond. The steps were the local hot spot for underage drinkers on a Saturday night. Clumps of kids gathered on the landings, discreetly sipping from beer cans and plastic cups and apparently unconcerned that even in June the air was damp and chill.
I heard the staccato of high-heeled feet approaching, and one of the kids looked in our direction and whistled, a long, piercing wolf whistle. Since Luisa and I had already been there for several minutes, I knew the sound had nothing to do with us. I turned, and sure enough, Hilary was heading our way. Six-foot tall women with platinum hair and a proclivity for small clothing generate a disproportionate amount of whistling, especially in a city where most people’s wardrobes are comprised largely of fleece.
Fortunately, Hilary enjoyed the occasional objectification. She flashed the whistler a smile and pulled herself up to sit on the stone railing. “I thought I’d find you two out here.”
“Luisa needed a cigarette,” I explained.
Jennifer Sturman
Meeting the in-laws was the least of her problems…There's nothing like being the guest of honor at an engagement party to remind a person she has commitment issues, but Rachel Benjamin has finally put her neuroses behind her. A weekend with her fiance, Peter, and his parents will put her skills to the test, but she's confident they'll never guess how new she is to normal relationships. Then Rachel receives a cryptic message: her friend Hilary is missing. Hilary was last seen in the company of Igor "Iggie" Behrenz, a budding Internet tycoon with strange fashion sense and even stranger secrets–secrets Hilary had been threatening to expose. Someone is orchestrating an elaborate scavenger hunt across San Francisco, dangling Hilary as the prize. Now Rachel has to track down her friend, which would be enough of a challenge if she weren't already busy proving how normal she is to her future in-laws. And when Rachel stumbles upon secrets all Peter's own, she wonders if maybe she's declared victory over her neuroses too soon.
The Hunt
Jennifer Sturman
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to Rulonna Neilson.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A number of friends were extremely generous with their time and their knowledge of the Bay Area as I was writing this book. These kind people include Rita and Joe Brogley, Maria and Jan Leeman, Jasper Malcolmson, Stefanie Reich Offit, Elizabeth Porteous, Raj Seshadri and Rick Ostrander, and Marybeth Wittekind Sharpe and Amory Sharpe. Many thanks to Michele Jaffe, who again served as an early reader, and to Carrie Weber for her ace translation skills. And, as always, thanks to my agent, Laura Langlie, Margaret Marbury and the team at Red Dress Ink, and my family for their continued encouragement and support.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
1
“T hey’re so normal.
Luisa lit her cigarette and snapped the lighter shut. “And how is that a problem?”
“I didn’t say it was a problem. But they named their dog Spot.”
“The dog does have a spot, Rachel.”
It was true. The dog in question had a spot. And as dogs went, Spot was okay—not too yappy or slobbery. In fact, he was a completely normal dog, exactly right for his owners, Charles and Susan Forrest, my future in-laws and the source of all this rampant normalcy.
The phrase my future in-laws still felt unreal to me, even though Peter and I had been engaged for several months now and in spite of the very real engagement party we were currently attending at the Forrests’ San Francisco home. Or, to be more accurate, the engagement party from which Luisa and I were sneaking a break. She had wanted a cigarette, and the sight of my family mingling with Peter’s family, especially our grandmothers with their heads close together, undoubtedly hammering out just how many children we should have, was enough to make a little second-hand smoke seem nearly appealing.
We’d slipped out of the house through the side door and walked the short distance to the top of the Lyon Street steps, which led down from Pacific Heights to the Palace of Fine Arts and the Bay beyond. The steps were the local hot spot for underage drinkers on a Saturday night. Clumps of kids gathered on the landings, discreetly sipping from beer cans and plastic cups and apparently unconcerned that even in June the air was damp and chill.
I heard the staccato of high-heeled feet approaching, and one of the kids looked in our direction and whistled, a long, piercing wolf whistle. Since Luisa and I had already been there for several minutes, I knew the sound had nothing to do with us. I turned, and sure enough, Hilary was heading our way. Six-foot tall women with platinum hair and a proclivity for small clothing generate a disproportionate amount of whistling, especially in a city where most people’s wardrobes are comprised largely of fleece.
Fortunately, Hilary enjoyed the occasional objectification. She flashed the whistler a smile and pulled herself up to sit on the stone railing. “I thought I’d find you two out here.”
“Luisa needed a cigarette,” I explained.
Последний отзыв
Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
Далее