He was eating dinner when Bryce called. “Hey, baby brother. What’s up?”
“You, man. How’s your lady?”
“Good.”
They talked about what was happening at home. Jamal and Pops were back from their world travels and were getting Pops’s garden ready for spring.
“I called to tell you that somebody put a hit on JT.”
Reese froze. “A hit! When? Give me a name!”
Bryce went silent for a moment, as if hearing himself, then said, “Wait. Back up. Not a gun hit. I’m talking about a virus hit on her computer.”
Reese let out a long sigh of relief. “You’re killing me here, Brain.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay, start over.”
“I found the info in the Underworld.”
“Where?”
“Underworld. It’s what we call the underbelly of the Internet.”
“The Internet has an underbelly?”
“Yeah, deep down the rabbit hole. Lots of action down there too. Boards full of messages for hacking bounties on unreleased software, patches, corporate data bases. Somebody aboveground contacted one of the trolls and he took the job.”
“What the hell is a troll?”
“An underbelly dweller.”
Reese shook his head. “I feel like I’m in Middle Earth, but go ahead.”
“Trolls make their living hacking, and some of their brains make mine look like yours.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just joking,” he laughed.
Reese wasn’t. “Go on.”
“Anyway to make a long story short—”
“Thank God.”
“Somebody put out a call for a hit, and a kid in Seattle answered. I talked to him. He said the hit was posted on one of the boards. The customer sent him two hundred dollars up front and another two hundred when the job was done.”
“Does he know the person’s name?”
“Of course not. Nobody has a real name down there.”
“Silly me. So how do we find this customer?”
“We don’t. The kid never asked for a name, and the payments were cash. Snail mail. Unmarked envelope.”
“You think he’s telling the truth about not knowing more?”
“I do. Freaked him out that I found him. I could tell he was scared.”
“So JT lost all of her data for a lousy four hundred dollars? How old is this kid?”
“Fifteen, and that’s a fortune when you’re that age.”
Reese sighed his frustration. “Okay. You did good, Brain.”
“Thanks. You’re not going to tell the FBI about him, are you? My boys and I are trying to seduce this kid over to the light.”
“No, Skywalker. He’s safe from the emperor’s Death Star. At least for now.”
“Good.”
After they ended the call, Reese went back to his now cold dinner, but his mind was on the threats hanging over JT.
JT loved the perks of her job, and being able to sit in the owner’s box with its plush seats, perfectly chilled champagne, and fancy appetizers was one of the best. Better still was the car Kyle Miller had sent to bring her to the stadium. Not having to deal with the traffic had been a blessing. This was the first game of the World League Football preseason. The regular season ran from mid-spring to late summer. During the first two years of the new league’s existence, it tried to compete with the old league by playing in the fall, but it took such a financial beating that four of the original ten teams folded. To save the rest of the fledgling franchises, the games were switched to the spring, with good results for both the owners and players because the upstart WLF teams played old school football, and fans like JT loved it.
“More champagne, JT?”
She looked up at her host and smiled. “No, Kyle, I’m fine.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
As he walked back up the stair to the top of the suite where the sumptuous buffet was spread out, she had to admit that he wasn’t a bad looking fifty-year-old man. He had polish, a dry sense of humor, and dressed very well, but he wore a rug on his head that looked like it had been purchased in a back alley at night. How on earth he could believe anyone would think it real never ceased to amaze her because he wore it every time she saw him. He’d even worn it in a photo that ran on the cover of Forbes last winter. She smiled to herself and sipped.
“Ah, here comes the commissioner now.”
JT slowly set down her flute, took a deep breath and turned around. Reese was standing next to the commissioner but his eyes were on her. Hers were on his too, and then, as if they both remembered where they were and who they couldn’t be, at least here, they caught themselves. Kyle led the commissioner’s party down to the seats. “Have you met JT Blake, Commissioner?”
She stood and Taylor McNair gave her a kind smile. “I have,” he said.
They shook hands. “How are you?” he asked.
“Just fine.” She turned to Reese. “Mr. Anthony. Nice to see you again.”
“Same here.”
Kyle said, “Game’s going to start in about five minutes, help yourselves to the buffet.”
Tay looked out over the stadium, “Think I’ll just stand here a minute and take it all in. First time I’ve seen your digs. Looks good.”
“We’re still working on getting it ready. In fact, Bo and his people will be in the box with us for the game because the visiting owner’s box isn’t finished yet.”
Glad to hear he’d get an up-close and personal look at Big Bo Wenzel, Reese left them all talking and went up to check out the food. He grabbed a plate but found himself checking out JT instead. She was wearing a white sleeveless dress that flowed to her ankles. The expensive-looking jeweled sandals on her feet showed off her freshly painted toes. She had her hair up, a style he’d never seen her wear before, and there was a pair of sunglasses pushed into the hair above her eyes. The makeup was perfect, as was the jewelry riding her ears and neck.
“Gorgeous, isn’t she?’
Kyle Miller was beside him. Reese had been so busy staring he hadn’t noticed the owner walk up. Some cop I am, he noted inwardly. “Yes, she is,” he replied, pretending to concentrate on which shrimp he wanted to put on his plate as opposed to the terrible rug on the man’s head.
“I keep asking her to marry me but she keeps saying no.”
Reese tensed but didn’t look up. “You never know with women.”
“I mean, it’s not like I can wow her with my money. She’s rich as Cleopatra herself.”
“That’s something.” Reese picked up a can of iced cola.
“You know what my greatest fear is?”
Reese’s greatest fear was that the rug on Miller’s head would suddenly start to move and scare everybody half to death, but he didn’t say that. Instead he looked his host in the eyes and asked, “What?”
“That all that beauty is going to wind up married to some bumpkin from the Midwest who’ll never understand what a priceless piece of art she is.”
“That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” he responded earnestly. “Ah, there’s the whistle. Game’s started.”
He moved back down with the others. The commissioner was seated right behind JT, so he took the open seat by Tay’s side and sat down with a smile.
The first quarter was almost over when Kyle Miller’s second group of visitors arrived. Big Bo Wenzel, wearing the hat, boots, and string tie of a Texan, was accompanied by a perky breasted young blonde with big green eyes. The low-cut, short, white tank dress showed off her tan and her long legs. Bo greeted the commissioner with a smile and a shake and introduced his companion as Brandi.
McNair in turn introduced Wenzel and Brandi to Reese.
Wenzel said to Reese, “Heard you been trying to get on my calendar.”
“I have, but it’s nothing that can’t wait.”
“You going to be around L.A. next week?”
Reese nodded.
?
??Come see me Tuesday morning.”
“Will do.”
Then it was JT’s turn, and Reese was surprised to see a fond look come over her face when the grinning Wenzel said, “Well it if ain’t Lady B.”
“Hey, Bo.”
They shared a light hug.
“How are ya, girlfriend?”
“I’m doing fine.”
Bo then announced to everyone within earshot, “Don’t ever play poker or Madden with this lady, men. She’ll whup ya.”
JT dropped her head.
“Whup ya and leave ya naked and cold.”
They all laughed, then settled in to watch the second quarter.
There was six minutes left in the first half when JT got up to make a trip to the buffet. Bo was there, piling up his plate when she approached. He gave her a concerned look. “What is this about some bastard threatening you?” he asked quietly.
JT placed some shrimp on her plate. “You heard.”
He nodded. “Heard you called the FBI.”
“I did.”
“Anybody putting their hands on you is going to answer to me.”
“Thanks, Bo.”
“Damnedest thing I ever heard. That and you going into rehab. What the hell was that all about?”
So she told him, and about the computer virus.
He stopped. “Sounds like somebody’s gunning for you.”
“Sounds like it.”
“You packing?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Good girl.” His plate was now as full as it could stand. His eyes serious, he said to her, “If you need anything, call. Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
Misha Wells rolled over in bed and reached blindly for the clock on the nightstand: 1:00 P.M. She turned to go back to sleep but saw him standing in the middle of the bedroom, dressed in a crisp gray suit and making last-minute adjustments to his tie in the mirror on the wall.
She sat up, dragging the scarlet sheets up over her nakedness, and asked sleepily, “Where are you going?”
“Out to take care of some business.”
“What kind of business?”
“Not your concern, Mish.” He turned to her and asked, “How do I look?”
Propped against the headboard, she surveyed him. “Fine as always.”
“Good.”
Misha looked at the man she loved and said, “I want to get married, Bobby.”
“Let’s not talk about this now.”
“I mean it, Bobby. We’ve been together five years. I know you’re mad at JT, but let’s just leave and go someplace else and start over. You have your degree. I have mine. We can live anywhere in the world.”
“No,” he said emphatically. “Maybe after I bring her down we can talk about that, but right now? That bitch’s ass is mine.”
She shook head. “You’re going to get caught.”
“No, I’m not. Too smart for that.”
“She gave the letter to the FBI.”
“You told me that,” he told her, putting his wallet into his inside pocket and picking up his keys. Ready to leave now, he walked over and stood beside the bed. He looked down at her. “When this is over we can live in Tibet if you want, but I have to do this first.” He stroked her cheek softly. “Just a little longer baby, okay? Don’t start getting the shakes on me now.”
“I’m not getting the shakes, I just…” Her words trailed off.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We’ll be man and wife real soon. I promise.”
He ran a finger over her dark lips. Lips he never would have kissed had he not needed her complicity and her tech skills. “After this is over, it’ll be just you and me.”
Misha didn’t believe him but gave him a reluctant smile.
“One more thing. I need you to find me a weapons expert. Someone who can build a small bomb.” He traced his finger down her cheek again.
She stared. “Why?”
“I want to scare her again, that’s all. Make her close her shop. Make her leave town.”
Misha knew this had to stop, and thought that maybe if she did this one last thing for him, he would. “What are you willing to pay?”
“Whatever it takes. Do this for me, and I will love you forever.”
She no longer believed that either. “I’ll see what I can find.”
“Good girl. I’ll be back late tonight.”
He gave her a wink and left the room.
After his departure, she sat propped up in the bed alone with her thoughts. They’d met as summer interns at JT’s agency five years ago. Bobby Garrett had been a fascinating mix of street and sophistication. She, the sheltered, twenty-year-old, nerd daughter of a British family with roots in Jamaica, had been immediately drawn to him, but his escalating obsession with JT was beginning to scare her. She’d been okay with the virus and with the letter, but now he was talking bombs, and she wanted out, but she wanted his love too.
Bobby drove away from her apartment with no intention of marrying Misha now or in the future. She was a pawn, and pawns were meant to be discarded. During their five-year hookup, she’d proven very valuable not only between his legs, but in keeping tabs on Blake, who according to Misha was bumping Reese Anthony, the man from the commissioner’s office. Sleeping with the enemy. He wondered if her players knew. Misha also told him that Blake wanted to finger him as the source of the virus but had no solid evidence. Yes, Misha had been valuable, but as soon as he had a clear shot at the queen, the pawn would be sacrificed.
At the stadium, he parked, and after flashing his league-issued VIP credentials, made his way to the sidelines where the visiting Grizzlies had set up camp. He threaded his way through the chaos of players, coaches, trainers, and camera people while the crowd in the stands roared in response to a late second quarter touchdown by the hometown Quake. He was looking for Matt Wenzel. He found him on the far end of the sidelines standing with other members of the team’s front office. Behind them a high school band in red uniforms lined up in preparation for the halftime show. Wenzel didn’t look happy to see him, but he didn’t care—they didn’t have to be lovers in order to move two hundred pounds of coke.
Keeping his eyes on the game, Matt asked, “What do you want, Garrett?”
“Just came by to say hello.”
“Bullshit.”
They watched linebackers D’Angelo Nelson and Jason Grant sack the Grizzlies quarterback Brian Jacobson behind the line of scrimmage, negating any chance for a Grizzlies field goal to tie up the score. “And don’t send any more of your friends to my home,” he added, turning cold eyes his way.
Bobby gave him a shark’s smile. “He just happened to be in the neighborhood. Thought you might like to meet the man watching over your wife. To keep her safe, of course.”
Hate flashed in Matt Wenzel’s eyes.
The ref whistled the end of the half, and the players on both sides headed to the locker rooms.
Bobby said, “We’re all set on my end. Where’s your old man?”
“Owner’s box with the commissioner.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Go to hell, Garrett,” Matt said, and followed his team to the tunnel.
Twelve
When the band marched onto the field, JT and the others in Kyle Miller’s box stood to stretch their legs. She kept her manner casual as she met Reese’s eyes, when in reality her mind was filled with all the ways she wanted him to make love to her, preferably soon. Having him seated behind her during the first half of the game had made her so aware of his presence, she felt as if his fingers had been softly stroking the back of her neck the entire time. She couldn’t wait to get him alone. “Great first half,” she said.
Commissioner McNair nodded. “Your linebackers are killing Jacobson.”
She tossed back proudly, “They don’t call them Shock and Awe for nothing. Am I right, Kyle?”
Grinning, he toasted her with his half-filled champagne flute. “You’re always r
ight, my lady, but let’s ask our distinguished guest what he thinks of our defense?”
Bo Wenzel smiled. “Just wait. We’ll get you in the second half. Jacobson may be young, but he’s good.”
On the heels of his boast, the blond Brandi looked up, confused. “You mean the game’s not over?”
Bo chuckled, “No, darlin’. There’s another two quarters to play.”
“What?” she asked in a stricken voice. “You didn’t say we were going to be here all afternoon.”
The others discreetly excused themselves to replenish their plates while Bo dealt with his pouting date.
Everyone had retaken their seats in anticipation of the beginning of the second half when Bobby Garrett strolled into the owner’s box. His history with JT was well known to Kyle Miller, so Kyle’s voice was frosty. “This is a private party, Garrett. What can I do for you?”
Bobby took a moment to glance at everyone, noting in particular Anthony, Wenzel, and JT, then said, “Heard the commissioner was here. Stopped by to pay my respects.”
McNair stood and shook his hand. “You’re Chambers’s new agent.”
“Yes. Hoping I can talk to you about his suspension. As men, I’m sure we can work out something less punitive.”
JT knew a dig when she heard one, and so did everyone else in attendance, and as if to reinforce the verbal put-down, he turned her way and asked, “How are you, Ms. Blake?”
She didn’t bother hiding her arctic reaction. “I’m fine, Bobby. You?”
“Can’t complain.” He then went back to the commissioner. “So, when can we meet? I can come to New York if that’s necessary.”
“We’ve nothing to discuss, Mr. Garrett.”
“I beg to differ, sir. I—”
“Are you a lawyer?” McNair asked plainly.