First Star I See Tonight

  “Excellent idea. Shut up for the next four hundred miles so I can ponder it.”

  Another chuckle, which was fine with her, as long as they didn’t talk.

  ***

  He should have tossed her right back on the bed and screwed her brains out until she begged him to get to the finish line. Instead, he’d been too mortified to think straight, and he’d dueled with her. Winning was in his blood, and he hated feeling like a loser. Hated even more knowing she had to be seeing him that way. He couldn’t pull off to the side of the road and throw her in the backseat like he wanted, but the silence in the car was getting to him. Somehow he had to show her he was still the quarterback of their team.

  “I’ve been thinking about our conversation last night,” he said, “and you might have a point.”

  “I usually do.”

  She’d loosened her seat belt enough to tuck a leg under her. If she’d been wearing shorts instead of jeans, he’d have had a clear view of the inside of her thigh. A thigh, he now knew, that was firm, smooth, and fine. He hurried on. “What if I’m missing out by not taking a little more time in the sack with my lady friends?”

  She pulled a face. “It’s so sad. All those traumatized women believing your problem is their fault. I should open a counseling office.”

  He would not laugh. “Yep. The more I think about it, the more I think you’re right. I might have a sex problem.”

  “Fortunately, there are a lot of books on the subject.”

  “Hell, I’m not much of a reader. Too many words to sound out.”

  “Interesting. I’ve found all kinds of books in the apartment.”

  “Cleaning people musta left ’em.” He kept dishing out the bull, exactly the way it had to be between them. “Since you’re the one who pointed out my problem, it’s only fair that you help me work through it. Only as a sex partner, you understand. This has nothing to do with our professional relationship.”

  She glanced over at him, all full of fake regret. “Don’t take this wrong, but I’ve kind of lost interest.”

  No way a woman who’d responded the way she had last night wasn’t still interested, but he only nodded. “I understand.”

  ***

  They were quiet for a while. To relieve the tension, Piper called Jada to find out how her killing spree was progressing. Very well, as it turned out. She’d offed five more of her classmates. Eventually, they made a stop for fast food, and Piper took over the driving. By the time they reached the Illinois border, the effort to appear relaxed had left her shoulders screaming. She struggled to find a topic of conversation that would take them through the last leg of this unending trip. “I happen to know you’re a real softy. And I mean that in a nonsexual way. Although . . .”

  He choked on his Coke.

  She smiled to herself. “These hospital visits you make to Lurie . . .”

  “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  He knew, all right. Even though he managed to sneak in and out of Lurie Children’s Hospital without attracting the attention of the press, she’d uncovered the interesting fact that he spent a lot of time visiting sick children. “I can’t picture you around kids.” Another lie. From what she’d seen, he was as relaxed with children as he was around beautiful women. “You can tell me. It’s the hot nurses, right?”

  “Now you’re embarrassin’ me.”

  “But there’s one mystery I can’t figure out. Not even with my amazing detecting skills.”

  “Shocker.”

  “When I was following you, you’d sometimes hang out on the mean streets with various scurvy-looking characters. What’s that about?”

  He polished off his Coke. “Shootin’ the bull, that’s all.”

  “I don’t believe you. Tell me. I’m like a priest.”

  “You’re not anything like a priest. You’re—”

  “Stop stalling.”

  He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “I don’t know. It’s . . . I’m not going to do anything about it, so there’s no point discussing it.”

  But something told her he wanted to talk, and she welcomed any topic that didn’t lead back to the bedroom. She waited.

  He gazed out the passenger window. “I had this idea . . . But it takes too much time and too much effort, with no guarantee of a payoff.” He turned back to her. “All those empty city lots are a waste. Nothing but weeds and trash.”

  She was starting to get the picture. “You’d like to do something more about that than throw seed bombs.”

  He shrugged. “There are too many people with no jobs and no prospects. All those empty plots of land. Seems like an opportunity for somebody.”

  “But not for you.”

  “Hell, no. All I’m interested in now is business.” He pulled out his cell and called Tony.

  She listened to them talk about the new bouncer Tony had hired to replace Dell, who’d been fired four days ago. She wondered if Coop had figured out yet that she’d finished her job for him.

  After six nights on the floor, she’d done as much as she could. His staff was clean, and she and Tony had put together new procedures that should keep things relatively honest. Her salary from Coop, along with the pay from her chauffeur job, would hold her over for a while. How long depended on what was in the tip envelope the limo owner was collecting for her and how much further she could stretch out her job at Spiral. Her job that was over.

  She told herself to think more like a shark and less like a Girl Scout. The salary Coop paid was her lifeline, and she needed to hold on to her job. Except there was no more she could do for him.

  If only Duke hadn’t taught her about integrity—along with how to shoot, fish, and feel bad about being female. As much as she needed to bleed Coop a little longer, she couldn’t do it. As he ended his conversation with Tony, she gripped the wheel a little tighter. “I’ve done everything I can for you.”

  He set his cell in the empty cup holder and practically leered at her. “Not quite everything . . .”

  “I’m talking about my job,” she said quickly. “I’ve done what you hired me for. Your biggest problem right now is your lamebrained refusal to keep a bouncer near you.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “It’s interesting that every other big-name jock who comes into the club brings along all kinds of hired muscle, but you’re too tough.”

  “I can take care of myself.” He couldn’t have sounded more belligerent. “Are you really telling me you’re thinking about quitting?”

  “It’s not quitting. Spiral’s clean. All that’s left is for you to hire a female bouncer. It’s not smart to have your men touching any of your women customers, no matter how drunk they are. You could end up with a big fat lawsuit for sexual assault.”

  “Good point. You’re hired.”

  She should have anticipated this, and for a moment, she let herself consider it. But she couldn’t work until early morning four nights a week and keep building her business, not long term. Before she knew it, she’d be a nightclub bouncer instead of a detective, and she hadn’t come this far to throw away her dream.

  “No, thanks. I’m an investigator. You’ll have to find someone else.”

  “This is about last night, isn’t it? You’re quitting because you—”

  “Because I slept with the boss?” The other reason she couldn’t stay on.

  He glared across the seat at her. “That is completely unethical on your part! As unethical as it would be if I fired you.”

  “Report me to the EEOC,” she snapped.

  “Stop being a smart-ass. You know exactly what I mean.”

  She struggled to sound professional. “Coop, I want to end this on a positive note. I hope you agree that I’ve done a good job for you, and I’d appreciate it if you’d recommend me to your friends.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that, all right.” He snapped down his sun visor and grabbed his cell.

  ***

  Coop tried to tell himse
lf this was a good thing. She’d done her job—done it well—and he’d been waiting for the time when she’d no longer be working for him so they could launch a full-out affair. But now that time had come, and he was no longer confident that she’d cooperate.

  He pretended to check ESPN on his phone. Spending a few weeks naked with her had become more important than it should. Maybe it had something to do with his retirement, with making certain the space between who he used to be and who he was now hadn’t changed.

  She was new territory for him. Unsentimental and unpredictable. A woman who didn’t take him seriously—who didn’t care how many games he’d won, how rich he was, how famous. A woman who didn’t find him frickin’ irresistible!

  It galled him. Compared to his usual women, she was a guy, for god’s sake. A guy packaged in an incredibly sexy, incredibly appealing, incredibly tough little body. Which basically contradicted everything he’d been trying to tell himself about her.

  And that was the reason he couldn’t let Piper Dove waltz out of his life. Because he wanted her, and she refused to want him back. She didn’t flatter him or flirt with him, and she definitely hadn’t fallen for him.

  He needed her to do that. Not fall in love for real. He’d hate that. Just fall for him.

  “I want an exit interview,” he said when they’d pulled up behind her car in the city. “Tomorrow night at the club.” He handed over the fuses he’d taken from her Sonata without offering to put them back in. She’d know how to do that herself. Of course she would. She was the leading edge of a new civilization, one that rendered the traditional male skills of ex-jocks obsolete.

  He left her with her head buried under the hood of her car, rump thrust out, and headed home. His garage door opened soundlessly. He parked next to his Tesla, grabbed his duffel, and let himself out through the side door. The floodlights on the back of the garage had burned out, and the path was dark. He heard a rustle. With no more warning than that, a man leaped from the shrubs and swung something that looked like a tire iron at Coop’s head. Coop spun and jerked. His adrenaline kicked in. He drove his shoulder into the man’s chest and grabbed his arm.

  The guy grunted but didn’t fall. He tried to swing the tire iron again but Coop had his arm. He twisted it. The man kicked out, hitting Coop in his bad knee and throwing him off balance. Coop took a hard shot that would have sent him down if his reflexes hadn’t been so sharp. The guy was big. Hulking. Coop ignored the shooting pain in his knee to go after him.

  The fight was short but brutal, and the thug had finally had enough. He tore away from Coop’s grasp, screamed something at him, and took off into the alley. Coop started after him, but his knee buckled, and by the time he got his balance again, the thug was gone.

  His jaw throbbed. His knee hurt like hell, and his knuckles were bleeding. But instead of calling the cops . . . instead of going inside to grab some ice for his face . . . he limped back into the garage and climbed into his car.

  ***

  “Oh my god! What happened to you?” Piper grabbed the edge of the door, her eyes wide with alarm. She was wearing a fucking Bears jersey again. How many of those sons of bitches did she have?

  He pushed past her into the apartment. “You’re the hotshot investigator. You tell me!”

  Instead of calling him on his bullshit, she slammed the door and came after him, her mouth set in hard lines. “Who did this to you?”

  She had vengeance written all over her. As if she personally intended to go after the perpetrator. Which, he realized, she did.

  He headed for the refrigerator, her fierceness beginning to settle him down. “A thug ambushed me as I was coming out of my garage.” He grabbed a dish towel and some ice.

  It didn’t seem to occur to her to play Nurse Nancy, unlike the time she’d shoved him down in the alley. She snatched up a notepad. “Start at the beginning and tell me exactly what happened.”

  “I got mugged, that’s what.” He pressed the ice pack to his face.

  “Tell me what the guy looked like.”

  “Big. That’s all I know. It was dark.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “A Brooks Brothers suit! How the hell do I know? I told you, it was dark.”

  “What about security cameras? Lights?”

  He shook his head, then wished he hadn’t. “They’d burned out.”

  “How convenient.”

  She made him start at the beginning and go over it, detail by detail. There wasn’t much to tell, and he regretted coming here. Wasn’t sure why he had.

  She looked up from her notepad. “You said he yelled something as he was running away. What was it?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Think.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “Hell, I don’t know. Some kind of threat. ‘I’ll get you.’ Something like that.”

  “‘I’ll get you.’ That’s what he said?”

  “Yeah, I think that’s what it was.” He shifted the ice pack.

  “That doesn’t sound like your garden-variety mugger. And why didn’t he have a gun? They’re as easy to come by as candy bars in this town and more convenient than a tire iron.”

  “You’ve seen too many TV shows.”

  She persisted. “If he’d been after your wallet, he would have had a gun. It’s like he was after you personally. But why?”

  He glared at her jersey. “Because he’s a Bears fan.”

  “Not funny.” She stabbed her pen in the air. “You need to get to the ER.”

  “A bruised jaw. Some sore ribs. I’ll take care of it. And before you say anything, I’m not reporting this to the cops.”

  He was surprised when she didn’t argue. Maybe she understood that if he reported this, the story would hit national news, the press would be all over him, and without surveillance video, the police wouldn’t be able to do squat. All he’d end up with was publicity he didn’t want.

  She shoved the pencil behind her ear. “Something’s not right about this, and I don’t want you going back home yet. You’re sleeping here tonight.”

  He regarded her incredulously. She had to be kidding. He tossed down the ice pack. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I hide behind a woman’s skirts. Or, in your case, an ugly T-shirt.” He made it outside the building before she could yell at him about sexism and all that other crap.

  He got home without a problem. His jaw hurt like a bitch, and he needed to get cleaned up, but before he did that, he crossed through the kitchen and went out into his garden.

  As always, the good scent of dirt and green growing things did their work. He loved this place.

  The illumination from a pair of headlights shone over the wall from the alley behind the building. The same headlights that had followed him home. With a sense of resignation, he pulled out his cell and hit the contact button. “Go get some sleep, Sherlock. I’m not going anywhere.”

  12

  Piper woke Dell up the next morning. Spiral’s recently fired bouncer glared at her from his open apartment door. Scrubby blond stubble covered his jaw, his eyes were sleep crusted, and he wore only a pair of boxers. “What the hell do you want?”

  She’d already seen what she’d come here for, although not what she’d expected. Dell looked like he’d had a hard night, but he wasn’t bruised or cut. He bore none of the signs of injury Coop had inflicted on his unknown assailant last night. Whatever else Dell had done, he wasn’t the culprit behind the ambush.

  “Verifying your address,” she said. “Tony wanted to make sure you got your severance check.”

  “Tell Tony to go fuck himself.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  As she began to turn away, he stepped into the hallway, his belligerence replaced by the smarmy come-on tone he used with the swishy-hairs. “Hey, you wanna hang for a while?”

  “Not so much, but thanks for thinking of me.”

  One suspect eliminated. Now she had to find Keith and Taylor. As for the possibility
that Prince Aamuzhir had discovered he was the owner of a phony Super Bowl ring and wanted revenge . . . That was going to be much more complicated.

  On her way to Lincoln Park, she contemplated the e-mail she’d gotten from the limo owner that morning about her tip from the royals, from which she’d learned she’d received only half of what the male drivers had been given. She’d worked harder than most of them, but in the world of the royals, gender trumped everything. She should have seen it coming, but the injustice still made her livid.

  The woman who answered the door of Heath Champion’s luxurious Lincoln Park home was several inches shorter than Piper, with curly auburn hair and a friendly smile. Nothing about her well-scrubbed, girl-next-door appearance matched Piper’s preconceived notion about what the wife of a megasuccessful sports agent would look like.

  “You’re Piper,” she said. “I’ve heard all about you. I’m Annabelle.”

  “And so the warriors meet,” a male voice said from inside the house.

  Annabelle laughed, stepped aside to let Piper enter, and took Piper’s black bomber jacket.

  The luxurious hallway of the house, with its tumbled marble floors, modernistic bronze chandelier, and S-shaped staircase, would have been intimidating if it weren’t for a purple stuffed puppy, discarded marker pens, an unidentifiable Lego structure, and the array of sneakers scattered around. “Thanks for letting me charge in so early,” Piper said.

  Heath appeared from around the corner, a curly-haired toddler wearing a pink tutu and a blue flannel pajama top at his side. “What’s up? You sounded mysterious on the phone.”

  Piper shot Annabelle an apologetic look and sidestepped a black-and-gold Star Wars figure. “Maybe we should talk in private.”

  Heath retrieved his cell phone from the toddler. “Annabelle would just worm it out of me after you leave.”

  “That’s true,” Annabelle said with a self-satisfied smile.

  Heath grinned. “My wife has built her business on keeping other people’s secrets. She’s a matchmaker. Perfect for You. You might have heard of it.”

  “Of course.” Piper had done some research on Heath since their first meeting and unearthed a very interesting story about the way he’d met Annabelle Granger Champion.