Deadly Sexy

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Are you okay?” Melissa asked. They’d been married ten years. She was the only joy in his life. “You were in there quite a while.”

  He slid under the bedding. “I’m okay. Just stressing about the job.”

  She snuggled back against him, her hips warm against his thighs. He placed a protective arm around her and wished he could tell her the truth.

  She twisted around and looked up into his thin face. “Is it something you want to talk about?”

  He savored the familiar sight of her. “No.”

  She didn’t appear convinced but nodded and turned over. He reached back to turn off the lamp on the nightstand. In the dark, he resettled himself, kissed the top of her brown hair, and prayed he didn’t dream.

  After driving the rental car home, JT took a shower then slipped into a slinky black nightgown that brushed her toes. Seated now on the balcony of her waterfront condo and surrounded by the darkness and the sounds of the water, she sipped from a goblet of red wine. The memory of Reese Anthony hummed inside her like a song. She wondered where he was, what he was doing, where he’d be sleeping tonight. Would she ever see him again? Men who promised to call most times didn’t. Not that she hadn’t done the same thing over the years, but Reese the Fine had left a memorable impression. Although it hadn’t come up, she was sure a man as gorgeous and as smart as he was had a steady lady somewhere, probably one he took cross-country skiing and who didn’t mind the cold.

  Sighing, she took another sip and turned her thoughts to a less likable man. Bobby Garrett. She was going to have to do something about him eventually. Since there was no proof that he’d sabotaged her car, she’d have to cede him this round, but if he caused her any more grief, she would have to get him straight, otherwise this little war he was intent upon waging was going to escalate into something ugly.

  She put Garrett out of her mind and her thoughts slipped back to Reese. Raising her glass in a toast, she said against the breeze, “Sleep well.”

  Reese turned the rig over to the night crew at Anthony Trucking’s San Francisco facility and took a cab to the Le Meridien Hotel. After the long truck ride from Dallas to San Francisco, the glamour and glitz of the five-star establishment seemed over the top, but the amenities in the pricey suite were just what he needed. He had a bracing shower, ordered some dinner, and flopped tiredly onto the plush cream-colored sofa to await its arrival. JT filled his mind. He was certain there was not a woman like her anywhere on the planet. Smart. Sassy. Sexy. A perfect package. Would their next meeting be good, or would she blast him for not telling her the truth about himself? In truth, it didn’t matter. He’d never had a woman work her way into his psyche with so much impact before, and whether she was mad at him or not, he planned to pursue her and let the sparks lead where they would.

  To that end, he grabbed his phone and made a call. His old college friend Carl Carlyle grew the Traverse City cherries JT had loved so much. Carl answered the phone on the fifth ring and sounded groggy with sleep. “Hello.”

  “Hey Carl. Reese.”

  “Man, do you know what effing time it is? You better be needing bail money.”

  “No bail money. Cherries. Need you to ship a couple of pounds to Oakland, California, in the morning.”

  “What! You call me at three in the damn morning to order two pounds of cherries? What’s her name?”

  Reese laughed and told him.

  “Send me an e-mail with the address, and you will be getting the bill for whatever the same day shipping costs. Now, good-bye!”

  It was the second testy phone conversation of the evening, but he didn’t care. Grinning, he tossed the phone onto the sofa, picked up the remote and clicked on the TV.

  Three

  Big Bo Wenzel kissed his mistress good-bye, slid beneath the steering wheel of his gold Escalade, and drove toward his office at the Grizzlies Stadium. It was 6 A.M., and the sky was gray with the early morning smog that passed for sunrise in L.A. Better smog in L.A. than hogs in Mississippi where he grew up, he thought. Back then, he’d been expected to follow in his daddy’s shit-filled footsteps and take over the family’s hog farm, but in 1969 a football scholarship to Ole Miss saved him from a life of stink and slaughter, and he never looked back. He was fifty-five now. Over the years, he’d put on some weight and maybe his blond hair wasn’t as thick as it had been back at Ole Miss, but thanks to the wonders of modern pharmaceuticals, he was still a stud, or at least that’s what he told himself, and so did the women drawn to his bed by the scent of money and power. He liked them young, big breasted, and blond. It didn’t matter if they were dumb as artificial turf as long as they had IQ enough to spread their legs.

  He’d owned the L.A. Grizzlies for five years and had yet to see a profit. Owning a football team was every sports fan’s dream, but as his granny often said, be careful what you wish for. The first season, the combined costs of salaries, uniforms, equipment, and a thousand other expenses might have sent him to the poor house had he not had his fingers in other pies. A less confident man might have sold the team, but he stuck it out, convinced the fledgling league would be worth millions one day because they played good old-fashioned, back in the day, smash mouth football. Not that lethargic, rule-bound sorriness the older league passed off as sport. In the new league there were no half-assed rules like ”in the grasp” or spiking the ball by the quarterbacks. End zone celebrations were encouraged, and the fans loved it. The only things outlawed were chop blocks, leg whips, and helmet-to-helmet contact. There was also no instant replay—if the officials got it wrong, cry in your beer. The human element had been returned to the game, as had the weather, because the eight teams played outdoors.

  All in all, Big Bo Wenzel knew he should be happy. And he would have been if the league would hurry up and start paying off. The newly signed agreement between the league and one of the cable giants to televise the games helped his bottom line, but it wasn’t enough. With the losses he’d incurred, his other pies were no longer able to keep him afloat. The cash flow problems were keeping him awake at night. His four ex-wives were hounding him about their alimony, he’d gotten a foreclosure notice on the condo he kept in Vegas, and a few days ago he’d watched an old man get blown away not ten feet in front of him.

  The memory of that haunted a man even as jaded as himself. In hindsight, he should have known better than to get mixed up in what he had, but the broker had promised big profits in exchange for a small investment, and no businessman, no matter how ethical, would turn down a 150 percent return. With that in mind, he’d thrown in on the deal, thinking it would be easy, and it had been until the janitor Gus Pennington showed up. The pressure of being linked to this mess was even greater than having to face the grand jury in Texas twelve years ago. He’d beaten that rap thanks to friends in high places, but if he was brought up on murder charges now, he knew that friends were going to be as scarce as a hog with a condom.

  At the stadium, Big Bo parked the Escalade in the space reserved for the owner, then walked across the empty lot to the entrance. With any luck, he thought, the whole thing would disappear. The police seemed to think the janitor’s death was tied to a robbery gone bad. He hoped they stuck with that theory—he couldn’t afford the truth.

  JT felt good when she walked into work that morning. On the drive in from her condo in San Francisco, the rolling fog covering the bay had burned off to reveal a sunny, blue sky day. She felt light, buoyant and apparently it showed.

  “You look awful happy this morning,” Carole said from behind her desk.

  JT met the smile on her dark-skinned face. “And I am. Don’t know why, but the sun seems brighter, the air sweeter.”

  “Sound like an overdose of trucker to me.”

  JT grinned. “You could be right. I haven’t had that much fun with a man in my life. Lord, he was fine.” And the first thing on her mind when she opened her eyes in bed this morning: Was he still in California? Was he having breakfast with a woman?

  “Pla
nning on seeing him again?”

  JT shrugged her lean shoulders, encased in a fire engine red, Italian designer suit. “He said he’d call, but who knows?”

  “Well, while you’re waiting on yon knight to pick up the phone, one of your court jesters is in your office.”

  JT glanced over at the closed door. She’d been so dazzled by Reese last night, she’d forgotten about this morning’s appointment with basketball superstar Deuce Watson. His team, Charlotte, was in town to play the local club that evening, so they’d arranged to get together that day. “Coffee first,” she said. She liked Deuce. He was one of her oldest clients, but like most of her guys, he had issues. She poured a cup of the brew Carole kept hot and fresh, all day, every day, and strode into her office.

  While playing in Dallas, Deuce Watson had the distinction of being named the league’s Defensive Player of the Year, four of the last seven seasons. He’d also earned back-to-back championship rings and would probably be in line for a third had he not asked to be traded at the end of his contract last year.

  “Mornin’, Deuce.”

  “Hey, Lady B.”

  JT placed her briefcase on top of her desk, then took a seat. “How are you?” she asked, sipping from her coffee and studying him. He was a big old country boy from Alabama.

  “Miserable.”

  “I hear you and Coach Palmer aren’t getting along.”

  “You heard right. I want to go back to Dallas.”

  JT shook her head. She’d tried to tell him to stay put, but he’d been so dazzled by the extra thirty million Charlotte offered, he chose to take the cash and leave behind the team he’d taken to the championship and a city that loved him.

  “I’ll give Charlotte their money back,” he offered. “Hell, I’ll play for Dallas for free if they’ll have me.”

  “You know that isn’t possible. Trading deadline was back in February. Playoffs will be starting soon.”

  “And I’m going to be home watching it for the first time in seven years.”

  “Tried to warn you.”

  The sadness on his face was evident. He could have passed for a homesick fifth grader if it weren’t for his six-eleven height. “I miss my boys in Dallas, too.”

  The members of the Dallas team had been as close as brothers. JT allowed herself a sympathetic smile. “Let’s talk about this at the end of the season. Maybe Charlotte will be as sick of you as you are of them and want to do something about it. No guarantee, though.”

  He sighed with resignation.

  “What time is shoot-around?” she asked.

  “Four.”

  “You want to have lunch?”

  “No, Coach wants me on the court at one to work on my free throws.”

  JT thought that an excellent idea. His stats were terrible. The only players with worse free throw percentages were Shaq and Ben Wallace of the Bulls. “You know, you could make that team into a contender if you wanted to.”

  “You sound like my wife.”

  “Lisa is a very smart woman, so I’ll take that as a compliment. You’re just homesick, Deuce. You were with Dallas seven years. You’ve been with Charlotte one. Give yourself time to settle in before you talk about throwing in the towel. They paid a lot of money for you, my man.”

  “Will I make incentive money?”

  Incentive clauses were common in pro athletes’ contracts and were tied to productivity. In Deuce’s case, he got bonus money for pulling down ten or more rebounds in a game. “I’ll have Charlotte fax the stats over and let you know.”

  That seemed to satisfy him, but he still looked glum as he rose to his feet and filled the office with his girth. “Thanks, JT. Lisa said I was homesick, too, so maybe there’s something to it.”

  “Maybe.” Over the years, JT had learned that sometimes hand holding was the most important aspect of her job. “Have a good game tonight and think about what Lisa said. You could make that team fly.”

  He didn’t appear convinced, but JT didn’t press him. Sooner or later Deuce would realize that if he played his game instead of acting like a little boy wanting to come home from summer camp, he’d enjoy himself and his new team much more.

  She walked him out. “I’ll call you with your numbers as soon as Charlotte gets them to me.”

  “Thanks.”

  She watched him fit his big frame into his navy blue Maybach, and when he drove off, she stepped back inside.

  She spent the rest of the morning poring over paperwork and calling various team execs on behalf of her clients. It was a busy time for her. The 2006 NFL draft had been held a few weeks ago, and training camp would be opening soon, not to mention the NBA playoffs just getting under way. Every now and then her thoughts slipped back to last night, and Reese’s face would rise in her mind’s eye. She’d linger there for a few moments enjoying the memory of his smile, then, after reminding herself that she had work to do, return to the job at hand. By noon her eyes were blurring from all the clauses, contract addendums, and reports, so when Carole beeped her on the intercom, she was grateful for the break. “What’s up?” She’d hired Carole five years ago. It was the best personnel move she’d ever made.

  “You should probably come out here.”

  Puzzled, JT got up and walked out to see what was going on. The first thing she saw were the beautiful long-stemmed calla lilies standing so elegantly in a stylish glass vase on top of Carole’s desk. Some were gold and the rest a soft ivory. “These were just delivered,” Carole explained.

  “They’re gorgeous. Brad sent you flowers?”

  “No. They’re for you.”

  Confused, wondering why Carole’s husband Brad would be sending her flowers, JT took the florist card Carole handed her and read: Thank you. Reese. She couldn’t contain her grin, but before she could say anything, Carole told her, “And this box came by FedEx about an hour ago but I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

  JT wanted to marvel at the flowers but forced herself to scan the shipping label attached to the top of the box for a clue to the sender. “Carlyle Farms in Traverse City, Michigan?” Then as the memory rose of where she’d heard the city’s name before, excitement grabbed her. “Give me something to open this with. Quick.”

  Carole dug around in a desk drawer and handed her a box cutter. The blade split the tape. There was a smaller box inside. After opening it, JT grinned. Cherries. Big, fat, deep red berries that appeared to be just as succulent as those she’d eaten in the cab of Reese’s truck filled the cardboard interior. She couldn’t believe he’d managed to have the cherries shipped to her so quickly. First the callas, and now this. “Carol, I think I’m in love.”

  The secretary grinned. “Oh really?” But after JT washed up a handful in the office’s small kitchenette, Carole was in love as well. “Oh, these are good.”

  “Like butter. Oh, my.”

  “These are from Michigan?” Carole asked, eating a couple more. The handful JT had washed weren’t going to be enough.

  “Yeah.” They were just as sweet and delicious as the ones last night. “I didn’t know they grew cherries either.”

  “If you don’t want Reese the Fine, I will definitely take him. Callas and cherries like this?”

  “Back off. I saw him first. You already have a man, remember?”

  Carole and Brad were high school sweethearts. They’d been married seventeen years. “If Brad can get me cherries like this, I’ll stay with him another seventeen years.”

  Carole bit into more red flesh and declared, “Reese the Fine could be a keeper, Jess.”

  “Don’t start looking at bridesmaid dresses yet. I may never see him again.”

  “Any man sending you goodies like this—same day, overnight? He’ll show. Don’t worry.”

  JT wiped her hands on some toweling then picked up the vase of callas. “We’ll see. In the meantime, these babies are coming with me.” She carried the gold and ivory beauties into her office and set the vase on the small glass coffee table by the sof
a so she could enjoy them to her heart’s content. JT couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten flowers that weren’t from clients or that she hadn’t purchased for herself. Reese’s face floated into her mind again and she smiled. The truck driving man had definitely scored on this one. Big-time. Where was he? she wondered. She knew better than to read anything into his gift other than the thank-you he’d written on the card, but he was proving to be just as nice as he’d seemed last night, and what woman wouldn’t appreciate that? Feeling even more buoyant than she had at the start of her day, JT floated back to her desk to work.

  Reese’s flight from San Francisco touched down at Detroit Metro Airport at 9 A.M. local time. The long drive in the truck from Texas to California coupled with the predawn flight had left him dead on his feet. Seeing his Pops waiting for him in the baggage claim evoked a tired but affectionate smile. They hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, and so embraced like the close family they were.

  “How was the flight?” Pops asked while they walked over to the carousel. Tall dark-skinned Richard Anthony was glad to have all of his sons with him again.

  “Long. I had to be at LAX at 4 A.M. to make the six o’clock flight. I want to sleep for a week.”

  “Bryce told me about the call you two had last night.”

  The bags from Reese’s flight were just coming out of the chute and down onto the carousel when they walked up. “Except for that glitch, the engine performed pretty.”

  “Who was the lady?”

  He froze. Seeing the humor and curiosity in his father’s eyes, Reese shook his head. “You’re as nosy as Bryce.”

  “True. Answer the question.”

  Reese lifted the handle on his wheeled bag and pulled it behind him as they walked to the exits and outside to the parking structure. “She had car trouble. I gave her a ride to Oakland. That’s it.”