A light drizzle gave the world a fresh and clean look–a new beginning–and the ever-present London traffic confirmed some things would never change. Double-decker buses, most half-full, filled the streets. Bicycles raced through the tight paths, snaking between cars, through traffic, cutting off buses, and endangering pedestrians. Thousands walked, going somewhere, getting nowhere.
Nothing had changed.
When he checked in at the Kensington Hilton, he found a sealed envelope in his suite.
Andre,
If you’re up to it, text me and we can meet.
Cheers,
Gem
He grabbed his cell phone and wrote, “Give me thirty to shower and change. Send me your coordinates. I’ll meet you wherever.”
After the shower, he read the new message:
“Wrapping up interviews. I’ll send my car to get you.”
Andre stepped off the elevator and approached the front desk. He automatically ingested the scene in the hotel lobby. He did a double take on a man who whirled and walked away. Andre tried to see the man’s face, but an older man in a suit walked up to him.
“Mr. Reyes?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“I am Glen Aldridge. Miss Lennon asked me to collect you. Are you ready, sir?”
Andre glanced once again, but the man was gone. Coffee shop, Malibu, now here. I’m officially losing it, he thought.
They went to the mecca of tennis and entered the All England Lawn Tennis Club through the special access entrance. When they parked, Andre grabbed the door handle, ready to step out.
“Sir,” Glen said, “Miss Lennon asked us to wait for her in the car. They will join us momentarily.”
“They?”
“Yes, Miss Lennon and her assistant, Miss Nigist.”
Too bad. He would have preferred some alone time. Andre considered the light drizzle for an instant before he opened the door. “I’ll be outside.”
“Sir, shall I get you an umbrella?”
“No, thanks.” He stepped out.
He faced the sky, welcoming the mist. He took a deep breath and exhaled, arms hanging at his sides. Fresh air always released the tension. Tension meant headaches.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He opened his eyes and saw Gemma walking toward him, Tish next to her.
“I’m enjoying the fresh air.”
“It’s raining.” Her smile brightened her eyes.
He opened his arms wide. She hesitantly stepped into his embrace, which covered her completely. Her body language communicated the unstated: be careful when we’re in public.
“It’s great to see you,” he whispered. His heartbeat picked up, playing a rhythm he had been looking forward to.
She pulled back a little and gazed up at him. “Thank you for coming. Now get in before you get pneumonia.”
“Hello, Mr. Andre,” Tish said, squinting through the light drizzle, “I hope the details of your trip were handled to your satisfaction?”
“Thanks for arranging everything. It’s been perfect.”
“Come on you two,” Gemma said.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the world famous Gemma Lennon.” A voice with a Germanic accent came from behind them.
They all spun. A tall man in his mid-to-late twenties stood with arms crossed, his sweat pants and jacket practically spray-painted on his hard body. He smiled, but his eyes betrayed him. He was not a friend.
“Oh no,” Tish whispered. “Georg.”
The guy took a step toward Gemma; Andre immediately moved to intercept.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?” Georg asked.
“No,” Gemma said, her voice steady, but tension strained the corners of her eyes.
Andre stepped between them. He and Georg were the same height. “Do you know him?” Andre asked, his eyes trained on the man.
“Of course she knows me, pal. We go way back.” He smirked. Two feet separated them.
Andre studied Georg, awaiting any movement he perceived as threatening. Instead, Georg’s eyes widened. At that instant, Andre sensed motion from his left side.
Gemma delivered an unforgiving uppercut directly to Georg’s chin. The animal strength behind the punch lifted Georg off his feet. He stumbled back, then slipped on the wet floor and fell.
Andre first grinned with absolute excitement. Then he stepped in front of Gemma, stopping her from going after Georg for more. She struggled behind Andre’s extended arms, while he tried to keep an eye on Georg.
“You bitch!” Georg yelled.
“Gemma, get over here,” Tish demanded as she and Glen grabbed Gemma’s flailing arms and pulled her toward the car.
Andre moved toward Georg, who spat blood, then charged forward.
In one motion, Andre crouched and struck Georg’s solar plexus with an open palm. The wind whooshed from Georg’s lungs. Andre grabbed Georg’s hand and spun him around. Now behind Georg, he locked his arm at an impossible angle and squeezed the man’s neck. Georg’s knees buckled. He dropped to the floor.
Georg knelt on the floor, his head bowing down to Gemma.
Andre stooped and spoke in Georg’s ear. “Keep your distance. Next time, you’ll eat cement.”
Georg remained on the wet floor, unmoving.
Andre stepped up to Gemma, who pulled her arms free of Glen and Tish.
“You okay?”
Venomous anger poured from her bloodshot eyes. Her breathing labored. She nodded.
“Nice upper cut.”
“I kicked his ass, didn’t I?” A tear slid down her cheek.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Andre said, holding her tight as they walked back to the car.
Tish was not smiling. “I hope no one got this on film. Wesley will croak over this one.”
Glen opened her door. “Can I get you anything, ma’am?” He seemed shaken up.
“Ice,” Andre said as he studied her reddening knuckles. “She’ll need ice for her hand.”
Within seconds Glen prepared an ice pack, then they drove off.
Gemma shifted toward Andre and grabbed his hand. “Did you break him?”
“No, just made him wet his pants.”
“Good,” she said. A small shiver shook her. “I don’t know what it was you did, but that was some serious crap.”
“Who was that guy?” he asked.
“An asshole,” she said.
“Anything you want to tell me?”
“No, not now.” Gemma dropped her eyes, adjusting the ice pack on her knuckles.
“Let me look at that,” he said and took her hand, lightly touching the swollen areas. “You’ll survive, but I’d recommend a cooler head. Does she always get into fights?” he asked Tish.
“No, absolutely not. I don’t know what the hell came over her.” She spun to Gemma, glaring. “Do you know the media mess this could cause? The press will have a field day. You don’t need this, G.”
“No one saw anything,” Gemma said.
“She’s right, Gem. You don’t need this.”
Gemma rolled her eyes.
Glen opened the privacy window. “Where to, ma’am?”
“I’m famished,” she said, turning to Andre. “Do you want to eat?”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Sure, why not.”
“Take us to Maurice’s,” she said.
“Again?” Tish said.
“Bad food?” Andre asked.
“It’s best we pretend Tish isn’t here. Maurice has the best pizza in London. More importantly, he lets me in from the back entrance and has a private room.”
“Yes,” Tish said, “like criminals on the run.”
Andre studied Gemma. “That bad?”
“It’s almost comical now. Particularly with my injury. There’s apparently a large bounty for any photographer who can get a picture of me in a wheelchair. And if I had been in one, someone would have been wealthy by now because those bastards seem to know where I
’m going even before I’ve decided.”
“How’s that possible?”
“She’s exaggerating,” Tish said.
Gemma glared at Tish.
“Okay… how’s your therapy coming along?” Andre asked.
“Fantastic, thankfully. The injury was significantly less traumatic than originally diagnosed. I’ll be able to play a few practice rounds tomorrow to test my strength.”
“That is excellent news.”
“She’s a machine,” Tish said. “She’ll fight through anything. Stubborn as a mule, this one.”
Gemma turned to Andre. “If you’re looking for a smartass assistant, please tell me. This one,” she said, pointing to Tish, “will be available very soon. Although I must warn you, she is more ass than smart.”
Gemma had been right, the food was divine. An exquisite blend of French dough mastery, Italian sauces, and Asian spices. This restaurant had it all. They even had fresh Lahmajoun, or what his grandmother, who was of Armenian descent, called Armenian Pizza.
“Small world, isn’t it?” Tish said, glancing at Andre. “You two bumping into each other at the airport and then on the same flight to Los Angeles?”
“I still think she’s stalking me. On the other hand, maybe it was predestined. Depends on what you choose to believe,” Andre said.
“What do you believe?” Gemma asked.
“I believe all the planning, preparation, and dreaming sometimes makes no difference. In other words, anything can happen at any time. Does that mean everything in life is random? Is coincidence a way of life? Maybe. Then again, in chess, the masters know how the game will end after the first few moves are played.”
“I’ve heard that before. Why’s that?” Tish asked.
“In chess, each move has a finite number of counter moves, and most are predictable. The great ones can practically fast-forward the game through its various permutations and predict what will happen next. In life, as in chess, we can also guess what our actions may cause down the line.”
“But chess has rules,” Gemma said.
“You’re right. And typically, unlike in the game of life, no one makes unreasonable moves. The challenge is everything we do sets off countless events, building on trillions of events that happened in the past, unnoticed or forgotten. For argument’s sake, imagine if we could calculate and track every little detail, then maybe we could fast-forward to see what would happen next. Of course, we don’t have the intellect, or the technology, so we can’t predict it. Yet. But just because we can’t do it today, doesn’t mean it’s not predictable. So, having said all that, who knows what this little dinner may cause?” Andre speared a forkful of sun-dried tomatoes and goat cheese. He glanced up. “Any guesses?”
“The way you’re putting away that cheese,” Tish said, “I predict heartburn and gas.”
They had polished off the pizza and waited for their desserts. Tish typed away on her phone.
“How long have you known each other?” Andre asked.
“We met at tennis camp when we were ten,” Tish said.
“You play also?”
“Played. I got tired of getting embarrassed by the great one. Would it have killed you to throw one lousy match?”
“I took pity on her and now I don’t know how to get rid of her,” Gemma said.
“Bollocks!” Tish said, grinning ear to ear, still looking down at her phone. “You’re lost without me.”
Andre eyed Tish. “Were you born in Ethiopia or North Wales?”
Tish’s jaw dropped slightly, and her eyes rolled up to meet his. “Ethiopian parents, born in Wales. How’d you manage to figure that out?”
The waiter brought the coffee and tiramisu. Andre took a large serving. “Shot in the dark, lucky guess.”
“Bullshit. Explain.”
“Your last name is a dead giveaway: Nigist means ‘queen’ in Ethiopian. Also, your long, narrow facial features are regal. High cheekbones, long neck. Classic Ethiopian. Then there’s your accent. The Welsh have a melodic way of speaking. When you speak, you’re practically singing. The Southern Welsh accent is barely English.”
Tish considered him for a moment then brightened. “So you think I’m regal and sound melodic? I’ll take that compliment.”
“Now she’ll think she’s the queen incarnate,” Gemma said, shaking her head. “But don’t hesitate to ask Her Majesty for anything you may need. Tomorrow’s a bit of a mess for me. I’m booked with therapy, training, and interviews.”
“It’s not a problem; I know people in London. I wasn’t expecting you to take me sightseeing. I’m here to watch you win the whole thing.”
Gemma blushed. “Don’t hesitate to call Tish. She can arrange anything for you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. In fact, there’s a couple I have to visit while I’m here, otherwise they’ll disown me. I’ll see if they’re free tomorrow night.” He would visit Jeffrey and also apologize to Emily in person. Just because he couldn’t make it to her engagement didn’t mean he couldn’t take advantage of the situation and visit them.
“Oh,” Gemma said, a ring of disappointment in her tone.
“Which of course can be changed instantly if you had something else in mind.”
“There’s a little celebration tomorrow night. I thought maybe you’d like to join me.”
“She’s being elusive,” Tish said. “The Prime Minister has invited her and a few others to celebrate her Aegon championship. It’s a big deal.”
“The Prime Minister? Well, that’s perfect. I’d be honored.”
“Okay,” Tish said, “I’ll call the PM’s office and let them know you’ll be joining. Any instructions?” she asked Gemma.
“Tell them Andre is a friend from the States. No need to give more details.” She studied Andre. “You don’t have a criminal record, do you?”
He shook his head. “Not a record.”
“So Mr. Andre,” Tish said, “do Yanks travel with suits, or do I need to make arrangements?”
“Some do. And some even travel with clean underwear.”
A large crowd had already gathered outside the restaurant. They had found her. Gemma’s security had also been contacted. As soon as they stepped out of the building, her security enveloped their group and moved them quickly to her car. Andre scanned the faces of the people. He paused, staring at one guy in particular who held a cell phone outstretched. Andre recognized the face. He was sure of it now. He had seen him at both the airport and again in the hotel lobby.
“In the car, sir,” the security said.
From inside the car, Andre tried to find the man, but the stalker was no longer there. If his suspicions were right, then he’d have to alert both M&T and local authorities.
They drove off, and as soon as Glen lost the tail, he immediately took Andre to his hotel. Andre and Gemma stared at each other for a few moments, but it was clear Tish didn’t know everything. They hugged when he left. Nothing more.
Later, from his hotel room, Andre called an old friend.
“This is Frank Maloff.”
“Mr. Maloff, it’s Andre Reyes.”
“Dr. Andre? What a great surprise. How the hell have you been, kid? When will we have you back at the NSA?”
A good question. Something he would consider in the coming months. The National Security Agency was responsible for collecting and analyzing communications from foreign entities. They secured the U.S. government’s communications and related systems. Frank was the deputy director of the agency, and Andre had worked with Frank for years.
“You know my situation. I’m married to M&T with a solid prenup.”
“I know. But I want you to know mine is a standing offer. We could use you here.”
“Thank you. I’ll call you on that someday. For now I need to ask you for a favor.”
“We don’t do favors. We repay debts. What do you need?”
“I need the source code of the utility we wrote for monitoring the sleeper cel
ls in Madrid.”
“Whoa! Are you tracking terrorists?”
“Close.”
Thirty minutes later, Andre had the source code and was developing a new tool.
“Success is a journey, not a destination. The doing is often more important than the outcome.”
~Arthur Ashe
emma’s car arrived at Andre’s hotel at 7:30 p.m. She had hoped they would have spent more time together the night before, but when the paparazzi found her, the only choice was to first lose them and then covertly drop off Andre. Today was a new day, with new possibilities.
All night yesterday, she had hoped they’d be able to pick up where they had left off in LA, but with Tish there, her hopes had been thwarted. She had not been transparent with Tish when she had asked her to arrange Andre’s flight. She had not admitted she had already fallen for Andre. She had only said she wanted a chance to know him better as friends. A lot better, to be accurate.
She was attracted to him, no doubt. And she thought he felt the same. Not wanting to leave things to chance, she had taken some matters into her own hands. For one, her new dress was perfect. A silky black number that hugged her body with a hint of subdued seduction, while it still tipped on the side of classy. Also, this dress brought enough shape to her chest, feminizing her boyish figure. Additionally, now that her thigh was stronger, she wore two-inch heels, making her as tall as Andre. But she also knew heels made her calves pop. She didn’t see anything wrong with showing a little bit of the goods.
She watched Andre step through the hotel doors, her security flanking him on either side. They were focused and alert, while he floated with ease. Thankfully, no paparazzi were in sight. As always, Glen had done a superb job of losing his tails.
Andre wore a three-button tuxedo and a white scarf. She struggled with how a twenty-something carried himself like a thirty-something. He walked with long strides, while the tips of his shoes kicked out slightly. He seemed comfortable with everything he did.
Game of Love Page 16
