“I understand. I don’t want to get you into trouble, I really don’t. In fact, I understand what you’re going through, even better than you think. It’s hard wading through all the options of what to do in some situations. Like wading through a swamp, you know?” She winked at him, a quick, totally uncharacteristic gesture. Did he notice? She winked again, until finally she had his full attention. “It’s like you have to pull on hip waders just to make your way through the muck.”
Okay, had she said wade enough times? She felt a little ridiculous, as if she were playing secret agent. But maybe it would work. Again, she winked, then raised one eyebrow. “Know what I’m saying?”
Finally, after another darting glance at the guard, Bingo nodded. “That’s a good way of putting it, Sadie. Exactly right. The kind of swamp where a cloud of mosquitoes follows you around wherever you wade.”
There. He’d said the word back to her. That was confirmation, right? Did she need more? She sat back in her chair, laughing casually. “Someday we’ll laugh about all this, while we’re wading through a plate of fries and a bucket of margaritas.”
He shook his head sadly. “That might take a miracle. You’ll probably be dean of your law school before I get my life straightened out.”
Dean. Adrenaline shot through her. Bingo had understood her code, confirmed her suspicions of the Wade family, and even added a first name. Dean Wade.
“Oh, Bingo, don’t be so hard on yourself. I think we’ll get everything sorted out before you know it. Hang in there, okay?” She gave him a big, beaming smile, and for the first time since she’d walked in, he unleashed his version of the Hartwell grin. Almost as lethal as Caleb’s, but not quite, in her very biased opinion.
Her exhilaration faded as she stepped out the door of the county court building. Now that she knew Dean Wade was involved, what could she do with that information? Unless Bingo actually spoke—to the police, probably—all she had was a cryptic conversation about wading through mosquito-ridden swamps. Nope, she’d have to do better than that. She’d have to move on to the next unpleasant item on her How to Ruin Your Life checklist.
Hamilton Wade.
Dean was too smart; he’d never make a slip. But she knew Hamilton, knew his many, many weak spots. She shot him a quick text, asking him to meet her in the park. Cringing, she texted the ultimate lie: I miss you.
Only a vain idiot would believe that. Since he fit that description, she had no doubt that he’d show up.
A quick stop at Burwell Brown’s office, to borrow one of his little pocket recorders. Last step, a call to Donna.
“I’m going to see Hamilton.” She headed for the park, forcing her feet to carry her there. The few times she’d seen him since the breakup had been accidental. The idea of a deliberate, pre-planned encounter made her nauseous.
“Why? Don’t you dare, Sadie. Where are you right now? Is Caleb with you? Does he know?”
Sometimes Donna’s sharpness could be inconvenient. “Caleb? Why do you mention him?”
“Oh come on. Mike says you two are head over heels. And I know it’s true because I haven’t heard a peep out of you in days. You never answer my messages.”
“Sorry. I’ve been swamped.”
“Yes, swamped with hot baseball player sex. You’re blushing, aren’t you? I can see from here.”
Sadie instinctively put a hand to her cheek. Yep, definitely blushing. “That’s not the point now. I can’t get into the details right now, but I need . . . I’m on my way to meet Hamilton and I need some moral support.”
“I’m going with you. Can you wait three hours until I get the Shark to sleep?”
“No.”
“Damn this kid and his lack of narcolepsy. Listen, you’ll be fine. Hamilton’s an asshole and he’s not fit to lick the wart on your little toe. Just stay cool and make sure you’re in a crowded public place.”
“We’re meeting in the park downtown. Do me a favor. Call me in half an hour in case I need an out.”
“Done. Just like high school. Good luck, sweetie.”
She ended the call, butterflies running rampant in her belly. Her footsteps slowed as she approached the park. It was still afternoon, the lazy, hazy heat of midday draining everyone of their energy. Old men dozed on benches, mothers desultorily pushed baby strollers shaded by umbrellas, and a small crowd had gathered around the food cart selling snow cones.
Crowded public place. Check. Unpredictable, cruel ex-boyfriend. Check. New red dress guaranteed to grab his attention, check. Her iPhone safe in her pocket, the pocket recorder on. Check. Check.
Hamilton stood under the old elm tree, scrolling through texts on his phone, his sunglasses resting at the base of his thick neck. She forced herself to smile as she stepped into conversational range. It had been over a year since she had willingly done that.
He glanced up as she came closer, and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Hey babe.” He made to kiss her, but she tilted her head so his lips brushed against her cheek instead. Even that small contact gave her the shivers, but it was better than the alternative.
“Hi, Hamilton.” She let her shoulders droop in the most woebegone manner possible, so that even Hamilton, not known for his sensitivity, would notice.
“You look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet, Sadie. Things were a lot easier when you were with me, huh?”
“You’re so right, Hamilton.” The park had a lovely footpath that meandered around the edge, with one-half reserved for bicyclists, the other for pedestrians. “Can we walk a little?” She had a lot more confidence in her ability to deal with Hamilton when she wasn’t looking him straight in the face.
“Sure, babe. But I don’t have long. So get to the point. You want to beg me to get back with you? Maybe make another movie? The last one was such a monster hit. Sorry, I have a new girlfriend and she’s not too keen on the extracurricular fun.”
God, he was disgusting. “I’m glad you found someone, Ham. You deserve a good woman.” No he didn’t. He deserved a good whipping. But she wasn’t here for truth telling.
“She’ll do okay. The family likes her.”
Perfect opening. She jumped on it. “I actually wanted to see you because of your family.”
Hamilton frowned. “Oh yeah? What about them?”
“I . . . well, this might sound weird, but I wanted to thank them.”
“For what?”
She waited until two skateboarders, both with backpacks slung over their shoulders, had glided past, then leaned close to Hamilton and whispered conspiratorially, “For exposing the truth about Caleb Hart.”
Something greedy and ugly flared in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh.” She made herself look crestfallen. “Never mind. That was silly of me. I shouldn’t . . . I shouldn’t have come here.” With a fluttery wave of her hands to indicate complete embarrassment, she turned to go.
“Wait.” He snagged her with a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t say you were wrong. I just said what are you talking about?”
“Well . . . I was totally putting Caleb up on a pedestal. I mean, he’s a professional athlete, he’s so handsome, and he’s going to make millions of dollars as soon as he signs his next contract. He’s like every woman’s dream man. But now that I know the truth . . .” She shook her head, peering under her eyelashes at him. Had she made him sufficiently envious of Caleb’s attributes? Should she mention he was also incredible in bed and made her feel things she’d never imagined?
Better not.
“He’s got one flaw,” Hamilton sneered. “Bad choice in fathers.” Sadie wanted to smash his face in but ruthlessly suppressed the urge.
“Very true. I know it looks bad for Caleb. But I bet he’ll come out of this okay. When there’s that much talent at stake, I mean, people want to see him pitch. They say he’s guaranteed to make it to the Hall of Fame someday, that’s how good he is.”
Crimson flamed up Hamilton’s neck. “
Don’t count on it.”
“Hmm? Oh, I know it’s not really guaranteed. I mean, he still has to actually pitch, and hopefully not get injured, but everyone’s saying his natural talent is so incredible that—”
“As long as his father is Bingo Hartwell, he doesn’t stand a chance,” said Hamilton nastily. “Which means, pretty much forever.”
Sadie opened her eyes wide. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“My uncle owns Bingo now. Owns him. Like, deep. Like, Bingo stumbled right into his trap. And I was the key. As soon as I figured out who Caleb’s father was, my uncle roped him in. It was easy too.”
“Because he needed the money?”
“No. Because Uncle Dean threatened to expose him to the press, which would hurt Caleb. By the time Caleb gave his big interview, it was too late. Bingo had already done the legwork on the gambling setup. Smart guy, in some ways. Stupid, in a whole lot of other ways.”
Sadie nodded numbly. “But Hamilton, Bingo could just take all the blame and clear Caleb.”
“Nope. He can try, but my pops has the evidence room on speed dial. No sweat. We have lots of leverage. If that doesn’t work, Bingo has other children besides Caleb. We saw them at that last game, where he fucked it all up and got himself busted. Must have been distracted. Right now, Bingo has two choices. Keep his mouth shut and take the fall, or watch bad things happen to his family. You know the kind of things we can do. Too bad for your hotshot pitcher. The only time he’ll see the Hall of Fame is if he goes on a tour.”
Oh my God. They did “own” Bingo with their nasty threats. It was sickening, the lengths the Wades would go to manipulate people.
Time to get out of here. Exit plan, exit plan . . .
Just then her phone rang. Donna. Thank you, Lord. She answered. “Hey Donna . . . oh no, the Shark’s puking his guts out and you need a ride to the emergency room? Yeah yeah, I’ll be right there.” She hung up. “Sorry, Hamilton, I really have to go. Vomit emergency. You Wades have been such a help. I’ll stay far away from the Hartwell family from now on.”
She hurried off, feeling his gaze heavy on her retreating back. Quickly, she dialed Donna again. “I’m keeping you on the phone until I get out of the park, okay?”
“How did it go? What are you up to?”
“Oh, just doing a little story research for Burwell Brown. I think I got what I needed.”
Chapter 25
CALEB DIDN’T WANT his pitching motion to get rusty, so he found a deserted, dead-end alley near his apartment and stood a pitching target near the back wall. He carefully measured off the regulation sixty feet and six inches. Every evening, he drove to the alley, blocked its entrance with his Jeep, and threw for at least an hour.
After he’d cleared away the broken glass and gotten used to the urine smell, it made a pretty good bullpen. In fact, it was therapeutic. A ball, a glove, a target. All the ingredients for catharsis. As he pitched, his imagination erased the dingy stucco walls and filled in other images. Bingo’s face often appeared on his target, smiling with those false baby blues. Trevor Stark showed up now and then. The cocky bastard swung and missed over and over again. It was amazing how many times he struck Trevor out. How had the guy ever made it to Triple A, let alone the Friars? And Hamilton Wade got more than a brushback. He got a full-on fastball to the jaw.
Sometimes no one appeared at the plate, and his only opponent was himself. Explode faster off the mound. Hit that inside corner. Again. Again. In those moments, a sort of peace came over him and he knew that none of the bullshit mattered.
And in the audience, always, Sadie cheered him on, her bright smile lighting up the dreary alley.
So it was a shock when Sadie herself called to him from behind his Jeep while he was retrieving his balls after an especially satisfying curveball that brought Hamilton to his knees.
Sadie, in a sexy silver tank top, was waving at him from behind the Jeep. “Can you take a break?”
“Well, it is the bottom of the ninth and the bases are loaded,” he explained, dropping his balls in his gym bag. “I have no idea how they loaded the bases when no one’s been able to touch me.”
He reached the Jeep, put down his bag and leaned across the hood. Their lips met in the middle. Electricity sizzled between them, nearly frying his brain. He almost expected his Jeep to rise into the air from the reflected magnetic pull.
“Really? No one’s been able to touch you?” she whispered after he pulled away, heart racing.
“Just you. I have no defense against you.”
“Good thing the opposing batters don’t know that little secret,” she joked. “All they have to do is walk to the mound and kiss you on the lips.”
He eyed her suspiciously. Something was different; she practically glowed. “You look like you just won tickets to the World Series.”
“Duke wants to see you. You weren’t answering your phone so he called me.”
At the sound of his manager’s name, Caleb’s stomach clenched and reality came rushing back. He took a longing glance at his lonely alley, with the pitching target a dim outline against the back wall. “That can’t be good,” he muttered.
“It can be. Come on. Do you need help with your stuff?”
“No, I got it. Where’s your car? What are you doing out here at this time of night anyway? It’s not safe.”
“Would you relax? You’re acting like an old man,” she teased as he tossed his glove into his gym bag and flung it on the backseat.
“Is that right? That sounds like a challenge.”
“You can prove your virility later. We should go see Duke now. I’ll drive with you if you can take me back to my car later.”
“Is your car at my place? Does that mean you’ll come inside for some good old-fashioned virility-proving?”
“You have such a dirty mind.”
“Only with you, babe. Only with you. What were you thinking, wearing that sleeveless thing? I can see your beautiful nipples through it.”
“You can not.”
“Then lift your top so I can.”
They teased each other during the entire ride to the ballpark, which meant that by the time the stadium loomed into view, he wasn’t nearly as tense as he would have been otherwise, and Sadie was flushed and giggling. The stadium lights were off; the game must have already ended.
“I hope everyone’s gone,” Caleb muttered as he pulled into the parking lot. “Oh, hell.”
Plenty of cars still filled the lot. Not all the guys had cars; most minor leaguers scraped by on carpooling and walking. In the big leagues, a car service would take you to the game—some insurance issue. But here in the good old minor leagues, it was all do-it-yourself.
He’d been so close. So close.
Shoving the thought aside, he swung himself out of the Jeep. Sadie caught up with him, taking his hand in hers. It occurred to him that it was kind of odd that she was coming to a meeting with Duke.
“What exactly is this all about?”
“You’ll see.”
Despite the fact that her smile could have lit up the stadium by itself, a sense of foreboding filled him. He didn’t like surprises. In his life, they had almost always been bad experiences. The knock of a detective on a door. A sudden move to a new town. The news that he was being traded. Then sent down.
He gripped Sadie’s hand more tightly. On the other hand, being sent to Kilby might be the best surprise he’d ever gotten. She gave him a wide, sideways smile, and his heart expanded, like a sun bursting through the clouds.
And then things got very strange. When they walked through the door, Bieberman was waiting for them. “Duke’s in the clubhouse. Says you’re supposed to find him there.”
“What are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you be home watching Brainiacs by now?”
“I’m Tivoing it.”
“Of course you are.” The shortstop bobbed along beside them.
“So . . . did we win tonight?”
“Se
ven to four, Farrio with the win.”
Farrio. That was strange. He should have been called up by now, taking Sullivan’s spot. Maybe the Friars had traded for someone else. His heart sank. Maybe they’d traded for an already established lefty, meaning they’d given up on him, or anyone else from their farm system. It wouldn’t be surprising. It was early August and the Friars were still in contention, one spot behind the San Francisco Giants. They needed to solidify their lineup for the last third of the season.
Maybe he could ask to be traded. Maybe he could get a job teaching baseball to kids. Coaching Little League. Did those guys get paid or were they volunteers? He should find out as soon as possible. Well, as soon as formal charges were filed and he knew where he stood.
They’d reached the double doors at the entrance to the clubhouse. Sadie tugged at his hand, and he realized that during that crazy stream of thought, he’d started gripping it so tightly her hand probably stung. He looked down at her, apology on his lips, then realized they were standing in the exact same spot where he’d first seen her. Then, he’d thought she was cute but irritating. Now, he found her utterly beautiful and . . . essential.
Her eyes shone as she gestured to the door. “Go on.”
Shrugging—what was all the fuss about?—he pushed it open. A roar of applause slammed him like a wave breaking on a beach. He looked around, bewildered. The Catfish filled the locker room, clustered around a long catering table, standing on benches, all staring at him. He took an instinctive step back, and heard Bieberman yelp. Sadie let go of his hand and started applauding along with everyone else.
What the hell?
Duke stepped forward, holding a newspaper. “Early edition of tomorrow’s paper. Should I read it out loud, boys?”
“Woot,” a few of the guys hooted, clapping some more. “You got the stuff, Duke.” . . . “It ain’t the comics, can you handle it?” . . . “One word at a time, skipper.”
“How about some interpretive dance?” Bieberman added, earning a general mystified stare from the rest of the team.
Duke ignored them all and peered at the front page of the newspaper.
All of Me Page 26
