“How does he look? Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s stable but started coughing up blood. He’s got internal bleeding. We’ve got an ambulance on the way. Salem Hospital can deal with this better than we can.” There was some shuffling in the background. “Hold on. He wants to talk to you. Make it quick.”
Oh God. How was this even real?
“Baby girl?” His voice was a barely audible, crackling whisper.
She immediately burst into sobs. “Daddy!”
“Don’t cry. Hara, stop. I have to tell you something.” He coughed, a painful, hacking sound.
She gulped and bit her tongue, trying to put the stopper back in the bottle. She managed to push back the sobs, but the tears would not stop.
When he started up again, his voice was even quieter. “Listen. You have to leave Boston. O’Donnell did this to me.”
“What?” She couldn’t find her voice. Her question came out below a whisper.
“He said if you don’t leave and stop investigating Butler, he’s going to kill me.”
It took her a second to understand what he said. “Daddy, they have got you on heavy meds. You’re talking crazy talk.”
“You know I’m not.” He coughed and then groaned. “I don’t care about me. But he’s going to hurt you if you pursue this.”
“Pursue what? This is nuts! We’re talking about a mom taking money for her kid to go to college. Yeah, O’Donnell knew about it, but there is no way he’s killing someone to keep that quiet. It’s not that big a deal. Besides, why in the hell would he be going after you?”
“He’s been rigging games. He was doing it years ago; I took his bets. But I didn’t turn him into the Feds when I was arrested. That was how I talked him into giving the contest interview to you, figured he owed me.”
Long, painful coughing.
My father. Protector of the predators. So proud.
Thomas took a second to catch his breath and then continued, “I didn’t know he’d started rigging games again, but he thought I knew, once you started asking more questions.”
“Daddy. I—”
“Stop. It’s not your fault. But I didn’t know about his gaming until I started getting roughed up in here, told I needed to keep my mouth shut. One of his hired goons let it slip.” He was struggling to talk but kept going. “Honey. It’s Charles. He’s throwing games. O’Donnell is afraid that’s the story you’re chasing.”
“I can’t—” Hara breathed heavily for a minute. Pieces clicked into place. How could she have been so wrong about a person? Even after it had become obvious that Charles was a jerk, she’d given him leeway, thought there was more to the story. Well, there had been, but not in the way she thought. “I understand. Daddy, do you have someone to watch out for you there?”
“I’ll be okay. If you get your ass on a plane. Leave now.”
“Okay, Daddy. I will.”
“The ambulance is here. I have to go.”
“Why are they moving you? What’s going on?”
“Come home.”
The phone clicked off.
CHAPTER 19
Angry people are not always wise.
—Pride and Prejudice
She called her boss. Carter got her on the next flight out, leaving in a few hours.
But the one person she really, really needed to get ahold of was not picking up the phone. She had to talk to Derek.
Derek had no idea how dangerous O’Donnell was. If he decided to defy the owner and go for the shots, he could get hurt, too. O’Donnell had a lot riding on these games and wasn’t afraid to use force to get his way. Picturing her father lying on a gurney in an ambulance, Hara had no doubt he’d have her father killed if he heard another peep from an Isari. But would he have the balls to go after someone high profile, like Derek? Hara had no way of knowing.
O’Donnell operated so far outside of her normal she had no idea what to expect.
Her calls and texts continued to go unanswered. Derek was either ignoring her or he was at the stadium, warming up. He wouldn’t get her messages until after the game.
She tried not to let fury at the situation overcome her common sense … but she could let it propel her into action, instead of just sitting around being a victim. There was no finding a positive spin this time. Hide out at the hotel, maybe lose herself in the comfort of one of her Jane Austen novels, maybe freak out, or she could try to find the ballplayer, warn him. Throwing the last of her stuff in a suitcase, she decided she had just enough time for a quick stop at the stadium. It should be easy enough to blend in with ten thousand fans. I can be in and out.
Hara shoved her phone into her pocket, made sure she had on a bra under her sweatshirt, and dug out her press pass. Then she headed for the door.
* * *
“Hara, are you all right? You look funny,” asked Eddie.
She was standing next to the Fishers’ tunnel into the arena, pressed to the wall by press row. TV reporters were setting up their cameras and players were warming up; there was a lot of activity to mask her presence.
“You look funny.” She’d bought a Fishers baseball lid on the way in. With her long hair pooled under the hat and her sweatshirt hood drawn high around her neck, she prayed she could get in and out without anyone noticing her.
Eddie had spotted her in a flat second.
She would never make it in the CIA. But this wasn’t good. She didn’t want to put her father in more danger.
“Uh. Okay.” The redheaded reporter frowned at her.
“Sorry. Yes. I’m fine. Just a lot of drama in the last few days.” Maybe Eddie could slip Derek a note?
“I was worried about you in the flood. Did you guys do okay?” He leaned into her. “How crazy is it that you had Darcy driving you around!” He could not mask the pout in his voice. “Are you dating him?”
Clearly, Eddie had the emotional maturity of a fifth grader. No way could she trust him with a message for Derek. Eddie would for sure read it and then he’d be dragged into the mess. Hara continued to scan the floor for Derek, making sure she didn’t miss him as he emerged from the tunnel, while also preparing to bolt if she saw O’Donnell.
Trying not to freak Eddie out, and ignoring the relationship question, she said, “The trip was a little sketchy.”
A little sketchy. She almost laughed. Her friend had almost drowned in an inch of water and Hara was nearly sliced in half by a stop sign.
“The wind was nuts. We saw cars being dragged by the current.” We barely made it to the hospital. “I was grateful to get back to a warm, dry bed.” With Derek Darcy curled up around me. “Yesterday was a lot calmer.” If you’re not bothered by the sight of your friend—the same friend who was knocked unconscious the day before—lying on a bathroom floor, bleeding out. Or if you’re not bothered by the fact that the man you abhorred three days ago has started to take up a hell of a lot of real estate in your heart, yet that same man won’t be involved with a reporter.
“I spent some time at my hotel, writing.” And researching the background of Boston’s favorite basketball player, trying to think of a way to talk about his mother’s bribery scandal without bringing him down, despite the fact that Charles got his young mistress preggo, and, oh yeah, he’s a cheating motherfuck … which I know because my daddy, coughing up blood, told me about it, and how O’Donnell is an even worse, shysty motherfucker, willing to hurt people. And he’s had Charles throwing games. Charles fucking Butler!
She shrugged, trying to shake the hamster in her head free from the spinning wheel of thoughts, and continued, “Eh, I just don’t know, Eddie. Boston is a crazy fucking town. It’s making me crazy. I’m ready to go home. How are you doing? Working on any exciting stories?”
The City Gazette reporter launched into a rant against Boston’s Zamboni drivers and how their strike was going to lead to the downfall of hockey, even though, he claimed, anybody who could drive a lawn mower could do their job. Eddie, yakking away, did not noti
ce when she deactivated her interaction mode and went totally inside her head, seeking to understand what motivates humans, while continuing to keep an eye out for Derek.
Neither of them was paying attention to the spectators behind them.
* * *
Derek was suiting up in front of his locker when Charles arrived. The room was filling with Fishers, voices bouncing off the walls.
“How you feelin’?” It was hard for Derek to keep the snipe out of his voice. He had left the apartment while Charles was in the shower. He hadn’t been in the mood to talk to him. He still wasn’t in the mood to talk to him. He was supposed to go out there and half-ass it, just to make Charles look good? Derek had finally made it off the bench, his playing was hot … this was fucked up.
Charles didn’t answer, just shook his head and threw a duffel bag on his chair. Pulling out his gear, he said, “Just tried to call Naomi. Her pops won’t let me talk to her. Like I’m nothing.”
“No kidding.”
“Whatever, dude.”
O’Donnell and a few owners walked into the room with the coach and the manager. As the administration filed through, heading toward the coach’s office, O’Donnell glared first at Charles and then Derek. The group left a stink of cologne in their wake.
Derek finished lacing up his sneakers and grabbed a ball. “You guys are really stealing the joy from this game.”
“Derek, this is a big deal. It’s my life. Please, be my wingman today.”
“I’m always your wingman. I thought you were mine. Turns out, you aren’t looking out for anybody but yourself.” Derek left before he threw the ball at his best friend’s head.
Emerging from the tunnel, his heart skittered. Hara was there, five feet from him, looking adorable in a sweatshirt and a hat. He’d hoped she wouldn’t come to the game, knowing O’Donnell wanted her gone. Yet, here she was, and he just wanted to put down the ball, go to her, and carry her out the door.
She saw him. Her blue eyes widened and she started to smile, but then it faltered. She offered a small half wave instead, which he returned with a nod. Then she beckoned to him.
He hesitated, knowing it was best if he stayed away. But he could also be an adult and politely say hello.
An image of her popped into his head, sitting on his counter, her robe open, her head thrown back. He could smell her. Oh, hell no. Not right now. Getting hard in the middle of the court, right in front of press row—that would play well in the papers. Besides, the sex scenario was done for. Hara was a reporter and she was going home and there would be no more touchy-touchy. Derek had to let this go.
He stood up, straight, alert. Madeline Bingley. One look at her hatchet face and the iron melted out of his pole. The blonde assistant was making a beeline for the reporter, a grim look on her face.
* * *
Hara turned to see what Derek was staring at over her shoulder.
“Hello,” said Madeline, more of a threat than a greeting. “Mr. O’Donnell would like to speak to you.”
Oh shit.
Next to her, Eddie ignored the tense subtext and said, “Hi, Ms. Bingley, would you mind giving me a minute of your time? Maybe give me your take on the team roster—”
“Hara?” Madeline didn’t even look at Eddie, only kept her gaze steady on Hara as she nodded toward the tunnel. “Let’s go.”
“Maybe Eddie should come with me. He’d love to meet an owner. Wouldn’t you, Eddie? Wouldn’t you love to meet Mr. O’Donnell?”
Before he could answer, the assistant said, “Some other time.” She put a hand on Hara’s shoulder and squeezed. Her nails dug in. “How’s your father, by the way?”
“Um. Good. Thanks.” The message was received. Hara could hear the blood thudding in her ears. “Eddie, could you save me a seat? I’ll be back.”
“Actually, Eddie, she won’t be.” Madeline, her nails still dug into Hara’s arm, pulled her toward the tunnel entrance. “Come on, little miss reporter. Can’t keep the big man waiting.”
Hara felt a rush of gratitude when Derek was suddenly between them and the tunnel. “What’s up, Madeline? You seem like you’re in a rush.”
“This is none of your concern, Mr. Darcy. Please, go practice like a good little boy. Mr. O’Donnell will be watching.”
“You know, I think I’m just gonna go ahead and tag along.” He towered over the assistant, the ball tucked casually under his arm.
His biceps were bulging, Hara noticed gratefully. She could physically take down the assistant herself, but she had no idea what O’Donnell would do to her father if she didn’t comply. She was going to have to do some sweet talking, real fast.
Madeline appraised the player coolly. “Fine.” To Hara, she said, “Come along,” maintaining her grip.
“You can let go of me,” Hara said calmly. “I’m coming.” She wouldn’t do anything to put her father at risk.
Derek followed without saying a word.
If I was a good human, I’d warn him off. She should tell him to run. Hara knew what O’Donnell was capable of and Derek had no idea. The sound of the growing crowd in the stadium above thrummed in the cement walls around them.
As they passed the locker room, the door opened. Charles stepped out. “What are you doing, Madeline?”
“You know what I’m doing, Charles.”
Hara’s eyebrows lifted. How could she have been so wrong about somebody? She would never again trust her instincts.
“Is this really necessary?” Charles asked.
“Is what necessary?” asked Derek, folding his arms.
Madeline ignored both of them. Hara allowed herself to be herded farther down the tunnel, toward the entrance to the private garage, and then through the doors. Her best hope was that O’Donnell would see she was being compliant.
* * *
Derek couldn’t understand why Hara was letting herself get pushed around, especially by that snotty little bitch. This is all too fucking weird. I don’t like it.
Charles stepped into the doorway, not letting Derek pass. “Let’s go out and warm up. You don’t want no part of this.”
“You’re right. From the beginning I’ve wanted no part of this, whatever this is. But you’re my friend and I figured I’d stick by you, no matter what. I’m changing my mind, though.” He stepped up to Charles, got in his face. Charles was taller, but Derek was more solid and ready to fight. “Why’d Madeline take Hara to the garage? I thought O’Donnell wanted to see her. What’s going on?”
“Just stay out of—”
Over the sound of the music and stomping feet just above them, Derek distinctly heard a scream come from the parking garage. He shoved Charles to the side, hard. While his teammate regained his balance, Derek barged through the door.
There was Hara, her baseball hat and glasses knocked to the ground, straining to get away from O’Donnell. The old man was behind her, gripping her arms behind her back.
And, oddly, Madeline stood in front of the girl, holding up a picture. The photo looked to be of a bloody, beaten man, but Derek didn’t take the time to look closely.
He strode over to O’Donnell and picked the old man up by his shirt, breaking his grip on Hara. “I’m going to fuck you up. Believe it, you wormy fucker.”
Just then, something crashed into the side of his temple and his world went gray, then solid black.
CHAPTER 20
I have not been used to submit to any person’s whims … I am not to be intimidated.
—Pride and Prejudice
Hara watched in horror as Derek’s long frame teetered and then crumpled to the ground. Charles towered over his friend, holding a short steel pipe. There was blood on the tip.
“What the hell, boy!” O’Donnell screamed. “He’s supposed to play tonight!”
Madeline was wide-eyed. “This is not supposed to happen.”
“How could you?” Hara said. No one was listening. Derek’s eyes were closed. Just like Naomi’s. “What is wrong with you people
?”
Why in the hell am I just standing here? She took a step, ready to break into a sprint, when her arms were pinned behind her back once more. She twisted and jerked, struggling against his grip. When O’Donnell had grabbed her the first time, she’d been surprised and frightened, but her mind still hadn’t believed what was happening, that she was being held against her will. She’d been too meek. Now, here was Derek, lying at her feet.
Her brain screeched into full alert, the fight-or-flight reflex pumping adrenaline into her veins. But, even so, she was unable to break free, the goddamn old man stronger than he looked, probably from hours of golfing and weird sex marathons.
For half a second, she wanted to burst into tears. Where were the garage attendants? Why didn’t Derek wake up? Then, the rage she’d felt sporadically in the past two days returned, took root and bloomed, and gave her clarity.
Madeline still stood in front of Hara, the photo of a bloody Thomas Isari crumpled in her hands. Hara kicked, as hard and fast as possible. She swung her foot up between the assistant’s legs, connecting with the tiny woman’s crotch. There was a satisfying thud. Stunned and in pain, Madeline cried out and fell back a step.
Before anyone had time to react further, Hara bent forward at the waist then whipped her head back, smashing O’Donnell in the face with the back of her head. He shrieked, high-pitched, and suddenly her arms were free.
Hara jumped away.
Charles was there, between her and the door, holding the pipe in his hands, but he was swaying and staring down at Derek.
She tried to leap past him, but he caught her. “Let me go!” she yelled, twisting and trying to find a bare patch of flesh to bite.
“You do not let that bitch go, Charles,” said O’Donnell, blotting the blood from his nose with a white lapel kerchief. “Hara, calm down. Madeline, stop whining.” His assistant was bent over and groaning, tears of pain running down her cheeks. A snot bubble hung from one dainty nostril. The owner handed her his handkerchief. “Wipe your nose. Jesus. And go get the car.”
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