Deadly Sexy

  JT sensed Marquise tighten beside her, so she placed a warning hand on his arm. “Just hold up. How many games?”

  “Ten,” Reese stated, entering the conversation for the first time.

  Marquise exploded to his feet. “That’s bullshit!”

  JT snapped, “Sit down!” Her flashing eyes dared him to keep standing.

  For a moment they battled silently, then he sat. “I’m not doing ten games. Y’all can kiss my ass.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” Reese replied tightly. “The new commissioner has zero tolerance for violence. First-time offenders, ten games. Second time, twenty.”

  “This is my livelihood!” Quise yelled angrily.

  “You should have thought about that before you laid hands on your coach,” Reese tossed out, then sat back and folded his arms.

  Quise shot him a look of fury.

  JT offered, “How about we cut it to seven and call it a deal?”

  Reese shook his head. “No deal on this one, Ms. Blake. Ten games or your client can take his chances with Walker’s lawyers and a jury.”

  “You’re really going to play hardball?” she asked, meeting the eyes of the man who a couple of nights ago had been someone else, or so she thought.

  “On instances like this, always.”

  She knew she didn’t have a leg to stand on. Were this Quise’s first run-in, she might have some wiggle room, but because of his past sins, there was no getting around the suspension. Finally turning away from Reese, she said to Quise. “Take the deal.”

  “But—”

  “Take it.” Marquise wouldn’t fare well if this went to trial. Trouble-causing highly paid athletes weren’t well liked by Mr. and Mrs. Middle America. For choking his coach, a jury would send a man like Marquise Chambers to the Bastille given half a chance.

  Quise wasn’t happy. “You’re my agent, Lady B. Fix this.”

  She gave him a look but didn’t respond verbally because she’d told him last night there’d be consequences to pay, and that more than likely his past behavior would earn him way more than a quick slap on the wrist. There’d be no fixing this. “Commissioner McNair, do you have something drawn up that we can sign, or will you be faxing it to me later?”

  Reese took a document out of the folder lying in front of him and held it out for her. When she took it, their hands accidentally brushed and the spark affected them both, though neither gave any indication that it had.

  He and the others waited silently while she read. Reese’s assumption that he’d have some explaining to do when they met again was more accurate than he could have imagined. Meeting her this way was going to make it extremely difficult to reconnect.

  Purposefully ignoring Reese, JT looked up into the commissioner’s face. “This is fine.” She turned to Quise and handed him a pen. His eyes battled hers for a long moment, then he took the pen. Snarling, he signed in the places the lawyers indicated, then angrily pushed the agreement back across the table. “Bet Bobby G3 woulda done something to fix this.”

  She held onto her temper. She’d never called out a client in front of the enemy, but Quise was tap dancing on her last nerve by bringing Bobby Garrett’s name into this mess. “Are we done here, gentlemen?”

  They nodded.

  Still avoiding Reese’s eyes, JT gathered up her personal effects and rose to her feet. She nodded at her opponents. “Thank you.”

  McNair said, “Nice meeting you, Ms. Blake.”

  “Same here.” Only then did she face Reese. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Anthony.”

  “You too.”

  “Let’s go, Quise.” Handing him the prepared statement he was to read to the press, she led him from the room without a look back.

  Once she left, Tay McNair let out an awed, “Wow!”

  “No kidding,” Reese agreed. His eyes still on the closed door and his previous memory of that familiar feline walk.

  “I’d heard a lot about her,” Tay said, “but she was way more than I expected. Damn!”

  “The Lady Blake is all that.” And would probably never speak to him again, given the choice, Reese guessed by her iciness. “I’ll touch base with her in a couple days and make sure Marquise is signed up for the classes.” The call would be a legitimate way to approach her again, and serve to get her to talk to him, whether she wanted to or not.

  “Sounds good,” Tay replied. “Now, let’s talk about the Pennington killing.”

  Reese cleared his mind of the tall sultry JT Blake to concentrate on the job at hand. “Police find anything new?”

  “A little. They’re pretty sure he was shot in the executive wing of the team’s offices. Forensics turned up traces of blood and cocaine on the floor and a tabletop in one of the conference rooms.”

  “Cocaine?”

  Tay nodded.

  Reese’s instincts told him there was more to this than a simple robbery. “Was there coke in Pennington’s system?”

  “No. Autopsy said he was clean. So my question is, how’d the coke get in the offices and how was Pennington connected, if at all?”

  “If the autopsy said he was clean, then he wasn’t using. Maybe he was with some folks who were. Nephew, grandson, maybe? A fight started over something or other?”

  Tay shrugged.

  “I take it there were no answers on the surveillance tapes?”

  “System had been down all week for maintenance,” one of the lawyers explained.

  “Sounds pretty convenient.”

  “According to the GM, they take it off line twice a year for service.”

  “How many people knew that?”

  “No idea,” Tay replied, “but I told the LAPD captain handling the case that you’d make contact tomorrow. I had the secretaries book you into a hotel near the airport and arrange for a car rental. Your flight’s at five this evening.”

  Reese could feel the cop inside himself coming to life. It had been a long time since he’d done an investigation, but in truth he was looking forward to getting back into the saddle. “Okay. I’ll touch base with my Detroit office, let them know I’m going on to L.A., and I’ll call you as soon as I get in.”

  Tay nodded. The meeting wrapped up an hour later, and at five o’clock Reese was on a nonstop flight bound for LAX.

  JT stayed in Philly just long enough to tell Marquise Chambers to find another agent and for her to make it to the airport. An hour later she was on a plane back to the West Coast. Sitting in first class, she gazed out of the window beside her at the fluffy white clouds and the gorgeous blue sky and tried to let go of what had been a piss poor day.

  Marquise Chamber’s dumb behind was no longer her problem, and she was glad of that. Mr. Reese Anthony was another matter. The word shocked failed to describe how she felt seeing him at the meeting, of all places. Since the two of them were together only a few days ago, she assumed he’d been a member of the commissioner’s team then. He hadn’t volunteered that information, even after learning her identity. She was still trying to decide if she was mad, and if so, how mad? Truthfully, one part of her didn’t care about the inner debate and was glad just to see him again, to hell with the circumstances; but on another level she felt like a fool for having fallen for the whole blue collar, let me buy you some gas, truck driver persona. She was mad about that for sure.

  The smiling stewardess interrupted her reverie to hand her a small bag of peanuts. This being first class, the peanuts came with a bonus, an even smaller bag of pretzels. JT took them both, thanked the woman, then resumed her vigil at the window.

  Upon landing, she grabbed her baggage, retrieved her rental car from the lot, and headed to the office. It was late afternoon, plenty of time left to pull out Quise’s files and get them ready to fax over to his new agent. Once that was done, she’d be free of him at last.

  The look on her tightly set face as she entered the office prompted Carole to ask, “Bad flight?”

  “No, bad day.” Only then did JT see the flowers on the counter b
ehind Carole’s desk. Tulips. Purple. Beautiful.

  Carole grinned, “Guess who these are from?”

  “Who?” JT asked suspiciously.” And you’d better not say Reese.”

  “Okay I won’t, but I’d be lying.” Carole scanned her boss and friend. “Arrived about an hour ago.”

  “I’m going to smack him,” JT gritted out. Pointedly attempting to ignore the gorgeous tulips and failing badly, she walked over to the vase and snatched free the small florist card. She read: Sincerely, Reese. She didn’t know whether to melt or curse.

  A confused Carole watched her closely. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “How about Reese the Fine works for the World League commissioner.”

  “What?”

  JT told her the tale, and when she finished, Carole’s brown eyes were sparkling with mirth. “When do tickets go on sale? I want a front row seat, you hear me?”

  “Shut up,” JT tossed back, smiling.

  “I’m not joking. He’s with the commissioner’s office? Doesn’t he know you can’t hang with the enemy?”

  JT was sniffing the flowers, then caught herself. “Apparently not.”

  “They are beautiful. Think he knows you garden?”

  She shrugged. “The man could be a florist too, for all we know.”

  “Feel like he played you, huh?”

  “I do,” JT replied emotionally. “And there I was offering him money for gas. Was he laughing at me the whole time?”

  “My gut says no. Me, I want more cherries.”

  “You would,” she accused with a laugh, and picked up the vase of tulips. “Gather up all Quise’s stuff so we can forward it. I’m assuming he’ll be represented by my archenemy from now on, but let’s wait for a call.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Enjoy the tulips.”

  Seated at her desk, JT took in the sight of the two vases standing proudly on her glass coffee table. The lilies were still beautiful. The thick fragrant scent filled the office air. The purple tulips stood as a color counterpoint to the gold and ivory callas. But she was still undecided on where she stood. She reread the card from the tulips. The wording hadn’t changed: Sincerely, Reese. Was she to assume he was apologizing? She’d assumed he was a truck driver, and look how that turned out. Sighing, she set the card aside and booted up her computer. She had work to do.

  Reese tossed his suit bag over the arm of the sand-colored sofa then glanced around at the hotel suite that would be home for a while. It was spacious enough to keep him from feeling claustrophobic, offering a separate bedroom complete with a king-size bed. There was also an expansive bathroom with a six head shower. The sleek furniture and other fancy appointments were indicative of a pricey hotel. A walk over to the large door-sized windows showed he was facing one of the runways at LAX. As a big 767 rolled in, the noise was minimal because of the soundproof glass, another hotel amenity. He’d have to tell Tay to raise the pay of the administrative assistant responsible for booking the room. The view was perfect for a man who’d loved planes since childhood.

  Taking out his phone, he placed a call to the LAPD captain heading the investigation into Gus Pennington’s death. Voice mail answered, so he left a message and went to unpack.

  Later, Reese had just finished his room service dinner and was going over the reports the detectives had shared with the commissioner’s office when the call back came in. The captain’s name was Luis Mendes. “Welcome to L.A., Mr. Anthony.”

  “Thanks, Captain, and thanks for returning my call.”

  “No problem. Commissioner McNair told me you’re ex-Vice, Detroit?”

  “Yeah. Left the force about ten years ago. Lawyer now.”

  “Pays a lot better, I bet?”

  “You got that right.”

  They began discussing the case. Mendes said, “For the record, my detectives are still calling this a robbery, but the gun being found on the wrong side of the body and the coke moves it into another realm.”

  “McNair said the autopsy on the victim came back clean?”

  “As a germaphobe’s bathroom. The old man wasn’t using. We’re assuming he was there to clean the place because his company had the contract.”

  “Could the death and the coke be unrelated? Say, Pennington was shot in a robbery but the coke is tied to something else going on in that office? How fresh was the coke residue?”

  “Forensics is still running tests. Something to do with the way the molecules dissipate when exposed to air. You know how techie the techies can get on you.”

  Reese did.

  “But what you’re suggesting is a possibility too. We’re going to keep digging.”

  “Report says the detectives interviewed the GM?”

  “Yeah. GM Wenzel was nervous, but no more than the average citizen would be. They took his statement and the info on the security cameras service records and left. They didn’t say anything to him about the coke. We’ll play that close to the vest for now. See what else turns up.”

  “The cameras being down seems a little too coincidental for my tastes.”

  “Ours too. It might not be related but it’s another piece of the puzzle that’s got my gut churning.”

  “And you don’t mind me asking around on the league’s behalf?”

  “No. Budget cuts have us so low on manpower we’re having problems handling our case loads. We could use the help. Maybe you’ll see something we might have overlooked. When the commissioner called me and gave me your name, I reached out to your old captain. He said you were a good clean cop, so I’m taking him at his word.”

  Reese respected his old captain too. “Thanks.”

  “Commissioner told you the parameters?”

  “Yep. I can’t represent myself as law enforcement.”

  “Fine. Gotta go. Other line’s flashing. Call me if something churns your gut.”

  “And you’ll keep me in the loop?”

  “As long and as legally as I can.”

  “Looking forward to working with you Captain Mendes.”

  “You too, Lieutenant Anthony. Watch your back.”

  And he was gone.

  Reese was pleased to know that the locals weren’t going to deal with him as an interloper. He turned his mind to the victim. Who shot Pennington and why? Cocaine didn’t just magically appear in offices. Someone was either dealing or using or both, and from the autopsy report, it hadn’t been Pennington. Reese made a mental note to talk to the man’s family members. The police had already interviewed them, but as Mendes said, maybe he’d see something they’d missed.

  He watched some TV, hoping to put off making his next call for as long as he could, but the draw of hearing her voice again was making it hard to hold off. God, she’d looked good at the meeting today in her lawyer suit with her long brown legs and her snakeskin heels. Her hair had been lustrous and light, framing that gorgeous face like a painting; the makeup stellar. The memories of their road trip together resonated so hard he was sure everyone in the room could hear his heart beating. Unable to stand it any longer, he picked up his phone, spoke her name into the speaker, and waited for her number to dial through.

  JT was in the kitchen at the stove throwing together some shrimp stir fry when her earpiece buzzed. “This is JT.”

  “Hey.”

  She fought off the melting feeling and said coolly while stirring the stuff in the skillet, “Hello, Mr. Anthony. How may I help you?”

  “How mad are you?”

  She allowed herself a small smile, but kept her voice distant. “Mad enough to hang up unless this is official business.”

  “That mad, huh? Then consider this an official request to have dinner with me.”

  She shook her head. “This has to be league official business, Mr. Anthony. For the record, Marquise Chambers is no longer my client, so all subsequent issues pertaining to him should be directed to whomever his new agent turns out to be.”

  “Duly noted. Now, back to dinner.”

  “The
re isn’t going to be a dinner.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re with the commissioner’s office, Mr. Anthony, and that makes you the enemy.”

  “Suppose I send over more cherries?”

  “Now you’re offering me bribes?”

  “Baby, I’ll offer you the Great Wall of China if that’s what it’ll take to see you again.”

  Her heart skipped and her knees wobbled. “You saw me in Philly.”

  “And it wasn’t long enough.”

  Another skip. “You’re good.”

  “Hoped you’d like it. Besides, I want to apologize in person.”

  JT was having trouble maintaining her distance from him on the phone; seeing him in person would be infinitely harder. “Okay. Next time you’re in California, maybe we can work something out.”

  “I’m in L.A. now.”

  She blinked and her blood rushed madly.

  “Working on something for Commissioner McNair.”

  She toyed with the idea of lying to him about leaving town in the morning for a month-long mythical meeting somewhere on the other side of the world, but the woman inside her who wanted to see him again, damn the torpedoes, wouldn’t allow it. “I can’t have a relationship with a man tied to the league office.”

  “Is that what we’re starting here—a relationship?”

  “No!” she countered quickly. Appalled by her choice of words, she grabbed hold of herself. “All we’re doing is dinner and your apology.”

  He chuckled softly. “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Okay, then how about I come up Friday afternoon? I’ll meet you at your office and we can take it from there.”

  Having never been so flustered by a man before, she tried for nonchalance. “Fine. See you then.” And hung up.

  She stood with her back against the edge of her brown granite counter thinking about the conversation for such a long time the smoke alarm went off. Her dinner was burning! Cursing, she snatched up a pot holder and grabbed the handle of the skillet with its blackened veggies and shrimp. Stepping quickly to the sink, she doused the mess. Fanning the smoke, she opened up the patio door, blaming Reese Anthony for making her so mindless she couldn’t even cook dinner.