She, on the other hand, had had a fabulous night, and the memories made her look up from the legal pad and ponder Mr. Reese the Fine Anthony. Goodness, his loving was amazing, she thought. A daily diet of that could make a woman want nothing more in life for the rest of her life. Her body was tender everywhere, but it was a good tender, and yes, she wanted more. She also wanted to know more about him. Did he really like to fish in the rain, or was he just messing with her? With Reese it was hard to tell. He was as multifaceted as he was handsome, and who knew he had money? He certainly didn’t act like any high-powered men she’d met. Where they were often stiff and boring, Reese was silly. None of them would have been bowled over by seeing whales, or make her almost drive off the road with talk about women melting in their mouths. Reese was a mess, really. Handsome, charming, sexy. Nice too. That quality seemed to be rare in the eligible men in her sphere, but maybe he was that way because of where and how he’d been raised. She didn’t know a thing about living in the Midwest, but if it produced men like him, she bet the women didn’t mind the cold.
So the question remained: What did she want? The answer was obvious. She wanted Reese. But under what format and for how long? She’d been raised to take care of herself, and she did it well; too well, according to some of the men who’d called themselves having a relationship with her. She thought back on the financial planner from Sacramento who after a few months of being with her stomped off because she refused to let him oversee her portfolio. After him came a Seattle lawyer. He seemed nice enough at first, but one night over dinner declared that her being a sports agent wasn’t something he wanted “his” woman to be doing. She dropped him quick. In hindsight, she realized neither man knew a thing about lovemaking. With them sex had been something she’d tolerated, but Reese showed her it could be a volatile red hot sport, and she did love her sports.
By eleven o’clock her eyes were starting to cross and her fingers were cramping from all the writing. Rolling her chair back from the desk, she stood to go freshen up for her noon appointment. As she walked by the television, the announcer on the sports channel said, “This just in. High-powered sports agent JT Blake is reportedly on her way to rehab.”
She stopped and stared.
“According to sources, Ms. Blake is seeking help for an unspecified problem, leaving the fate of her agency and her clients up in the air. In other news…”
“What!”
She snapped open her phone, got the network on the line and barked to speak to whomever was in charge. While waiting for the secretary to put her through, JT yelled, “Carole! Call Francine!” Francine Ross was her lawyer. “Tell her to break out her lawsuit pearls. We’re hunting bear!”
Twenty minutes later the bear was all but nailed to the wall. The network cut into the finals of a poker championship to retract the Blake story, and offered an on-air apology for running the unsubstantiated report. When she got done blistering them, she turned them over to Francine, who, from her Bel Air kitchen, demanded chapter and verse on where the story had come from and the identity of the so-called source. JT bowed out of the three-way call, knowing Francine had her back, and turned her attention to the phones ringing off the hook in Carole’s part of the office. It seemed everyone in her part of sports-dom had seen the report. Never mind the network’s retraction, all fifty of her clients called over the next two hours to find out what the hell was going on. In reality, she wished she knew.
In his Wilshire Boulevard office, a pleased Bobby Garrett clicked off the big screen and put down the remote. He could only imagine the surprise on Bitch Blake’s face when she heard she was on her way to rehab. He laughed. It was just something he’d done to mess with her head. These opening salvos would lay the foundation for the more serious stuff he planned to throw at her later. He also imagined she’d be spending the rest of the day on the phone denying the story, and that was okay too. Pro athletes were notoriously skittish about their money and their futures. Rumors that their agent of choice might not be as mentally or physically fit as they believed could lead to some hard thinking on their part, even if the rumors were false. Too bad he wasn’t in the Bay area so he could stop by the office and offer his support. He was out to get her, and by the time he finished his campaign, she would be begging someone to take over her business, and he’d be right there to scoop it up.
Trina’s voice came over his intercom. “Mr. Wenzel here to see you, Mr. Garrett.”
“Send him in.”
Wearing his usual black cowboy boots and string tie, Big Bo Wenzel walked in. Bobby considered him too country to really trust, but he put up with his good old boy ways because he had to. “How was your trip?” he asked, gesturing the big man to a chair
“Relaxing. Nothing like a young blonde to take the edge off. So where are we on this deal?”
“Your son says you want out.”
“My son’s scared of his own damn shadow. What’s your man saying?”
“He wants to wait another few days to make sure the police are done sniffing around then he’ll be ready. Your people in place?”
“Ready to roll whenever I give the word.”
“Good, but you need to talk to Matt. He’s shaky. Real shaky.”
“You leave Matt to me. He’ll do what I tell him.”
“I hope you’re right because I’d hate to have to make his wife a widow.”
“I said, he’ll be fine,” Big Bo replied with a soft edge to his voice. “You just handle your part and try not to kill anybody this time around.”
Bobby’s jaw tightened angrily.
Big Bo didn’t seem to care. He stood and his cold blue eyes met Bobby’s. “Let me know when your man is ready. You have yourself a good day.” And he walked out.
Bo drove back to his office in El Segundo and thought about Garrett. He hadn’t liked the agent from the beginning, and liked him even less now. If there was a way to cut him out so he could deal with his man Ham directly, the operation would probably run a whole hell of a lot smoother. An innocent man might or might not be dead either. The night it happened, he could tell by the look on Ham’s face that Ham had been as stunned as he was when Garrett blew Pennington away. Ham had left immediately afterward, and Bo wished he’d been able to follow, but the murder had taken place on his home turf, so he had to clean up the mess.
Now, to hear Garrett threatening Matt? He and Matt rarely saw eye-to-eye, and no, they didn’t like each other particularly much, but Matt was his son, and as far as Bo knew, his only son. That being the case, nobody was allowed to threaten his life but his daddy, and he didn’t remember seeing Bobby Garrett’s name anywhere on Matt’s birth certificate. In spite of the silk suits, fancy speech, and fine manners, Garrett was still a bottom feeding shark from Compton, but he was a big ol’ Mississippi swamp gator, and when you toss a shark in a tank with a gator, he thought, the gator always wins.
JT never made it to lunch with her accountant, so Carole went out and picked up burgers in a bag for them to eat. The phones were still ringing, JT’s cell in particular as she continued to mop up the mess caused by that morning’s erroneous report. Francine was still leaning on the network for a name.
“You know,” Carole said, “it’s been a pretty interesting last few days.”
“No kidding. First the computers and now this. What else is going to happen?”
“I’m not sure, but two of the finest men I’ve ever seen in my life are crossing the street coming this way,” she said, looking out of the window by her desk. “Oh, my goodness.”
JT sidled over to take a look. She smiled. “You’re getting your first look at Reese the Fine. The younger one has to be his brother Bryce.” And they were two fine specimens. Their walks alone were enough to stop traffic.
“That smile on your face says you’ve been keeping something from me,” Carole said, looking up into JT’s beaming face.
“Who me?” she responded innocently. “Of course not. Well, maybe a little. Did I tell you the man ma
kes love like a god?”
Carole’s mouth dropped. “You already done the horizontal tango with him and you didn’t tell me. What kind of friend are you?”
A laughing JT hurried back into her office so she wouldn’t be caught staring. “I love you too.”
“Liar!”
A few moments later there was a soft knock on her closed door. Seated behind her desk, she took a deep breath, composed herself, and called, “Come on in.”
The sight of Reese in her doorway did something to her. She still didn’t have a name for it, but it felt good. She stood. “Well, hello.”
“Hey,” Reese said. “This is my brother Bryce.”
JT stepped over to him and stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Bryce. I’m JT.”
Bryce was a dreds-wearing, caramel-colored, thinner version of his older brother. “Wow,” he whispered, looking her over with appreciative amazement in his light brown eyes. “Nice to meet you. Big brother said you were fine, but man.”
Reese laughed. “Would you act like you have some home training,” he said to his brother. “Let go of her hand.”
JT grinned. “Welcome to L.A., Bryce.”
Releasing her hand, he shook himself. “I’m sorry. If Pops were here, he’d’ve already popped me upside the head.” Seemingly recovered, he said sincerely, “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Blake.”
“Come on in and have a seat.”
Reese was shooting daggers his brother’s way, but when he remembered having the same reaction meeting JT for the first time on the 5, he chilled.
JT asked, “How was the flight?”
“Long, but I brought some work, so it wasn’t too bad.”
“I told Reese you didn’t have to come all this way. I just needed you to point me to someone.”
He shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I needed a break. We Anthony men are suckers for a damsel in distress.”
Hearing him use Reese’s exact words on the subject caught her off guard.
Reese seemed to have read her mind. He looked pleased. “Told you.”
“Okay. I give,” she said with a smile.
Bryce looked confused, but before she could attempt an explanation, Carole’s voice came over the intercom. “JT. Fran just called. The network said their source faxed over the story on our letterhead.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what they said. She said she’ll call back after she smacks a few more people around.”
“Thanks, Carole.” She could see the concern on Reese’s face, and since half the world already knew what was going on, there was no reason not to bring him up to speed. “According to the news this morning, I’m going into rehab for an undisclosed reason.”
When confusion creased his features, she explained in more detail. When she finished, both brothers still looked confused.
Reese asked, “Why would somebody plant a rumor like that?”
“You tell me. Between that and the computer problems, I’m starting to wonder if someone’s sticking pins in a voodoo doll.”
Bryce asked, “You think the two events might be related?”
She shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it like that, but who knows?”
Reese didn’t know either, but the cop in him and the man inside who cared about her were not pleased to think they might be. “Who would have access to your letterhead?”
“Everybody I’ve ever dealt with. Players, team execs, the media, charity organizations.”
“Ex-employees?”
She paused to study the seriousness in his eyes. “You met him.” It was a statement. Not a question.
He nodded. “Like you said, he’s a piece of work. You think he’s capable of this?”
“The phony story, yes. The computers? No. He’s not that tech savvy, or at least he wasn’t when he worked for me.”
Bryce asked in a dead-on English accent, “You have brigands in your life, my lady?”
JT chuckled. She liked Bryce. “Yes, I do.” She saw Reese drop his head.
Bryce added, “Then point me to the computer and a place where I can work. The sooner we banish the bad guys, the sooner big brother can get on with his campaign to win the hand of yon fair maiden.”
Reese shook his head again. “And you wonder why I don’t let you roll with me?”
Bryce grinned, and an amused JT went to clear space in the conference room so he could get to work on banishing the brigands.
After getting Bryce set up, she and Reese went back into her office. “I like your brother,” she told him.
“He’s an idiot.”
“But a cute one.”
“Thought you said I was the cute one.”
“You are. He’s little boy cute. You’re man cute.”
“I like that. Wait until I tell him. That’ll kill the Einstein playa.”
“Leave Bryce alone, at least until he finds out what’s up with the virus.” She brought the conversation back to an earlier subject. “So you met Mr. Bobby G3?”
“I did. And he told me Quise Chambers won’t be taking the anger management class.”
“Why not?”
“Because now that he’s the agent, the agreement you worked out is void. Wants to meet with Commissioner McNair to work out a settlement more in his client’s favor.”
“Said I sold Quise down the river, right?”
“Basically.”
“He’s the real idiot here. Lord.”
“Yes, he is, because he’s not getting another agreement.” He studied her for a moment and couldn’t help but see the stress on her face that hadn’t been there when she left his lap that morning. “So how are you really doing with this?”
“I’m pissed. I’ve talked to every athlete on my list, trying to convince them that there’s nothing wrong with me. Some wanted to know if they needed to get a new agent, was their money safe? I understand their concerns. I’d be asking the same questions if I were in their shoes, but it’s aggravating to even have to deny some crap like this.”
“Suppose it does turn out to be Garrett. What will you do?”
“Try and keep D’Angelo, Jason, and the rest of my children from kicking his gang-banging ass.”
“Gang banging?”
“Don’t let Bobby’s high maintenance look fool you. He’s straight out of Compton, and has the rap sheet to prove it.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “On the outside he’s an American success story—gang member makes good—but beneath the façade is a snake who’ll eat his young to get to the top.”
“So you fired him.”
“With a smile.”
Reese now had a better picture of Bobby Garrett, and it wasn’t flattering. “Would he get physical?”
She shrugged. “I had a man put me in the hospital before, and I refuse to go down like that again.”
“What do you mean?”
She told him the story about being beaten by Lamont Keel.
When she was done, Reese’s blood was ice cold with fury. “He’s dead, right?”
“Yes. Killed in prison by the babydaddy of another woman he’d beat half to death.”
“Karma’s a bitch.”
“Amen, and I’m never going to be a victim again.”
“You took self-defense classes?”
“Yep, and then I got a gun. This gun.” She took it from its hiding place and showed him.
He looked surprised.
She thought back on that awful day. “I never felt so helpless. He threw me around in here like a rag doll.” It seemed she could still feel the pain from his first punch. It was like her face exploded. “Never again.” As she replaced the piece, she gave him a rundown on her injuries, how long she’d been hospitalized, and the surgeries she’d had to have to repair her face.
In spite of all his police training, Reese didn’t know what to say. He’d never taken his anger out on a woman and had no respect for any man that did. “Damn, girl,” he whispered emotionally.
> “It’s okay,” she offered reassuringly, but added, “If Bobby Garrett wants to get physical, he’s going to eat some lead first.”
Reese ached inside that no one had been able to help her during the attack. “When was the last time you were on the gun range?”
“Few days ago. I’m a regular, believe me. Max and I were taught to shoot when we were teenagers, but as I got older I didn’t keep up with my practice. I do now.”
That made him feel better.
The empathy in his eye and voice touched JT’s heart. She knew that he thought of himself as a twenty-first-century knight, and unlike Calvin Beard, the man she’d been dating at the time of that attack, Reese would have stayed by her side. When Calvin came to see her in the hospital, he took one look at her face, turned around and walked back out. A few days later he called and gave her a lame excuse about not liking hospitals, but she knew it was because she was no longer beautiful enough to be on his arm. She didn’t mind that he never called again.
Bryce stuck his head in the door. “JT, can I talk to whoever does your tech support? Got a few questions.”
“Sure, her name’s Misha. Carole can run her down for you. You find anything yet?”
“Still doing the preliminaries. These things take time, so you two may as well go have dinner. I’m going to be a while.”
They nodded, and he left to talk to Carole about Misha.
Ten
They had dinner at a small seafood café down on the wharf, and Reese spent the whole time watching her and wanting to protect her from ever being harmed again. It was a man thing, he supposed. An armed and determined JT Blake had to be a formidable adversary, yet he still wanted to protect her, hold her, and somehow banish the memories of that ugly day. Trauma of that magnitude wasn’t something a person ever forgot. She’d live with the remnants the rest of her life, and he hated the man responsible.