by Dani Collins
“You boys in the kidnapping business?” he asked.
“Hell, no. I am a completely legitimate businessman.”
And the gold around Ty’s neck was probably genuine. It was only how it came to be there that might be shady.
Con didn’t think he was in danger, though, so he didn’t challenge Ty’s statement. He just tucked away Ty’s desire to appear legitimate as a weakness to be exploited. Besides, accepting Ty’s word formed a small alliance with his opponent’s opponent, something else that might be exploited.
Con checked the bottom cupboards, doing a more thorough investigation than he’d been able to do earlier, and glanced in the bathroom. The apartment looked as if Felix had done little between the times Con had left and Tyrone had arrived.
His cell phone rang. “Do you mind?” Con asked.
Tyrone shrugged and motioned Sergio closer.
“It’s me,” Susan said when Con answered the call. “I got some info on Ty’s Auto Parts. Allegedly, it’s a cover for a chop shop. He was charged a year ago, but evidence went missing. There was talk his sister, who worked in the court system, had something to do with it, but nothing could be proven.”
“Thanks. That’s very interesting.”
“Better than the projected sales report Mr. Excitement just handed me to analyze.”
“Is it that bad? Do you want the job I offered you?”
“Nah. This might be dull, but I like this low-pressure gig. There’s a lot of stress working for someone as unpredictable as you are. I hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings.”
It did. He let it go. “Call if you ever change your mind.”
“I will. Love to Mona.”
As he disconnected, Ty asked, “What sort of openings have you got? Two of my sisters are looking for work.”
“Two? How many do you have?”
“Six. I get these last two working or married and I’m free. So, you got any openings? Or would you be looking for a wife?”
Renny popped into his mind. A Freudian thing. Probably meant he was hungry.
“No,” he answered.
“These girls can cook,” Ty said, upping the ante.
“I’ll let you know.”
“How ’bout the job?”
“I’ll let you know on that, too.”
“Sure.” Ty shrugged.
Con had no doubt Tyrone was guilty as hell of stealing cars. He was a man unafraid of going after what he wanted. A man who took risks. A man with a giant of a brother-in-law who hadn’t apologized for the way he’d invited Con to take a seat.
The kind of players this game was attracting had changed. Pitting Renny against a thief was one thing. Pitting her against career criminals was another. As much as he hated to do it, she would have to be tagged out and sent off the field.
Con looked for something that would bring Felix back here and decided it was unlikely he would return, and even less likely he would bring Renny. Good. Because he was ready to move on. But first . . . .
“Do you think Felix is coming back here? The place looks pretty empty,” Con said.
“I wondered.” Tyrone flexed his shoulders. “But that’s his piss-yellow dinky toy out there.”
“Holds a lot, though. He’s packed it full,” Con said.
“That right? I didn’t notice. Go have a look,” he said to Sergio.
Con waited until the Incredible Bulk had left before speaking in a reflective tone. He wanted to plant the right seed, so Ty would treat Felix the way he deserved to be treated when he caught up to him. “I’m wondering if Renny was telling the truth when she said she had business with Felix. What’s he do?”
“He’s an investment broker. A good one.”
“Hmm. He doesn’t strike you as shady? I mean, that car is a rust bucket.”
Tyrone thought about it a minute, then said, “I wouldn’t be dealing with him if I thought he was full of shit. What do you know ab—What the hell?” Tyrone was peering through the vertical blinds, checking out the car again, but suddenly jerked them open. “That dipstick. He really isn’t the swiftest hand on the watch. He broke the frigging window. I oughta take that tire iron to his blunt head. I’ll be right back.” Ty walked out the sliding glass doors.
Con walked out the inside door.
3:18 p.m.
The only thing on Laila’s mind should have been searching the health mine for Felix Newman, but she kept thinking about Spencer saying Conroy Burke might be planning to square things with Felix. Why? How? Where? When? The reporter in her snarled for the freedom to pursue the answers.
The woman who had once let ambition cloud her judgment where Conroy Burke was concerned, however, cowered in the corner like a whipped pup.
Please don’t let this story be about Burke, she silently prayed, but suspected her prayers were futile. Spencer wouldn’t have clammed up so thoroughly if he hadn’t felt his loyalty to his employer was being challenged. She wanted to feel indignant that he might not trust her to handle whatever he told her with integrity, but mostly she was jealous that Con had Spencer on his side.
Her sigh had the same hollow echo as their footsteps as they shuffled through the rough-walled cavern, waiting while Murphy explored each crevice and alcove like a dog sniffing fire hydrants.
Her sigh drew a questioning look from Spencer. She didn’t hold his gaze, afraid he might see the mixture of longing and frustration whirlpooling inside her. The conflicting emotions she felt didn’t all revolve around the story. A good portion related to those few minutes when she’d stood nearly naked with him, feeling hot and silky and womanly, glimpsing a teaser for a different kind of story, one that wouldn’t be investigated further.
She swallowed and it hurt, just like reality. The attraction that had flared in the pool had blindsided her, a lot like the way it had way back when, but she and Spencer didn’t have any more chance of a relationship now than they had had when they were kids. Even if he had had nothing to do with this story or Burke, the timing was lousy. Having come this far, she wasn’t about to let lust for a man distract her from her goal.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t forget a certain afternoon in a hayloft, when rain had pattered on the roof and horses had shuffled their feet below and Spencer had told her she didn’t have to give away her virginity because he was never going to forget her as it was. So even though she was still angry with him for keeping his identity as Blackwing a secret, she also had this underlying fondness for him. He had set the standard for the men she later chose to let into her life and still epitomized the ideal. She wished . . . .
She wished her mind had been here instead of the hayloft, because they came around a bend and almost stumbled into a man and a woman, and she was completely unprepared.
The man was in profile. He turned his head to glance at them, his expression cautious, his features a dead ringer for the description of Felix Newman.
The woman, the same one she’d seen with Burke this morning, recognized her and stiffened.
Laila felt Spencer’s hand curl around her upper arm, while Murphy casually walked by the couple with a lift of his chin and a friendly, “Hey,” as he entered the Dreamers’ Lounge. Seriously, the man had ADHD.
“Hello,” Laila said.
Felix puckered like a politician under oath and looked past her, toward the exit.
Behind Felix, the brunette frowned at Spencer.
Laila shot a look at Spencer in time to see him give the woman an infinitesimal shake of his head that silently communicated familiarity. His gaze slid to Felix and the brunette’s eyes widened.
“What—” Laila began, but the woman interrupted.
“You’ll never believe it, Felix. She’s a reporter. But she’s wasting her time. I won’t talk to you about Con,” the woman added in a scathing tone to Laila. Taking Felix’s arm, the woman rushed him past her and Spencer. “Let’s finish our conversation outside.”
“I don’t want to talk about Con.” Laila would have stood her ground, but S
pence tightened his grip on her arm and tugged her out of the way to let them barrel past. He held tight enough to prevent her from following.
“Let go,” she said to Spencer, and called, “Wait. I want to talk—”
Spencer whirled her into an embrace and kissed her.
“I apologize,” the woman was saying, her voice bouncing down the cave walls as they disappeared toward the entrance. “I have a wealthy friend and she won’t leave him alone.”
Too startled by the kiss to close her eyes, she stared straight into Spencer’s unmoved gaze. His intense look willed her to be still. He wasn’t really kissing her, just covering her mouth with his own to shut her up. She struggled a moment, but those horse-breaking muscles of his held her without effort. Seething, she quit fighting, stood compliant.
His banding arms softened. He drew a long breath and settled his mouth more fully on hers, causing a tug in her midsection that urged her to part her lips and taste him.
She pulled away and gave his chest a two-handed shove.
He staggered back a step, then grabbed her arms when she would have done it again. She immediately struggled to free herself.
“And you made me leave my camera in the van,” Murphy said with disgust, coming out of the Dreamers’ Lounge. He added, in a lighter tone, “Know what this place needs? A Pink Floyd laser light show.”
She yanked herself out of Spencer’s grip. “Don’t do that again.”
“Do what?” Murphy asked. “Hey, where’s our guy? Oh, man, you didn’t start necking and let him slip away again?”
Laila sent Spencer a look that should have slayed him and started back along the twisting path toward the exit.
After the damp of the cave, the air outside smelled dry. Or maybe it was just the dust trailing the departure of the orange sports car as it peeled out with the woman in the driver’s seat and Felix beside her.
“Damn you, Spencer.” It had been a long time since she had cried, close to two years. It had happened privately, about three weeks post-Prince of Play. She had been interviewing a horse trainer who had built a side business selling stud muffins. She had been hit with the realization that she’d gone from national coverage to cookies for horses. It had been a blow and so was this.
Spencer came out behind her, a slip of pink paper in his hand. “Renny wants us to wait at the hotel.”
“Who’s Renny?”
“The woman you just saw with that guy.”
“Conroy Burke’s Flavor of the Week?” Laila asked.
“His what? Oh. Yeah. Rocky Road.” Spencer smirked.
His comment piqued her curiosity, but she was too angry to pursue it. “Felix left with her. Where do you think she’s taking him?”
“I have no idea. To see Con, maybe.”
It was exactly what she hadn’t wanted to hear. This story, the one that was going to make or break her career, involved Conroy Burke.
* * *
Spencer felt like the biggest dumb-ass walking. As far as making a pass at a woman went, his had been clumsy, ill-timed and borderline assault. But he’d panicked! They’d turned the corner and there Renny had stood, obviously horrified to see Laila. He had automatically slipped into keep-Renny-happy mode, because maybe then she’d get back with Con. When Con had Renny, he didn’t enlist anyone else in his wacko stunts.
Con was especially wacko without her. Why the guy couldn’t have just started drinking when his girl had left him, Spencer didn’t know, but Con had drafted Spencer into all kinds of insane behavior since Renny had walked out on him. They had shot at model airplanes from the roof of the Performance building, smuggled the prototypes for all Con’s games out of his office under the noses of the lawyers, and written dirty slogans about certain money-hungry executives on the washroom walls. Spencer had even allowed Con to vandalize the back of his head with a lightning bolt. None of it had settled Con down for long and Spencer had had enough of it. He was ready to go back to being the anonymous pilot and, besides, he liked Renny. If she was in town, with Con, and there was a chance they were getting together again while retrieving Mona’s money, Spence was all for helping.
Especially if it gave him an excuse to kiss Laila.
Except it had been a lousy kiss and, as Con would say, there was no take back on that move.
The fact that Laila seemed to be fighting tears as she stalked toward the van didn’t alleviate any of his guilt.
“Laila,” he began.
She climbed into the van without speaking.
“Get in and shut up. I’ve seen her like this before,” Murphy muttered.
Spencer pulled himself into the passenger seat and slammed the door, then felt the van rock as Murphy stepped in and pulled the sliding door shut behind him.
Laila cranked the key, gunned the engine and swung the van into a fast arc, accelerating onto the main road and back toward town.
Spencer looked down at the slip of paper in his hand, at Renny’s quickly scrawled I’ll book you into the Juniper. Keep L.W. away from Felix.
He looked at Laila. She was driving fast, apparently intent on catching up to Renny and Felix.
What a nightmare. He had been trying to help Mona and Laila at the same time and should have seen the two goals were destined to conflict. Laila wasn’t going to back down and Con had a hot button where she was concerned. Rightly so, and Con would never understand why Spencer had felt compelled to involve Laila in this.
Spencer wasn’t sure himself.
The first time around it had been easy, if not right, to side with Con. During the Prince of Play brouhaha, Laila had appeared to abandon her genuine journalistic ability in order to achieve some cheap recognition. She hadn’t seemed worthy of Spencer’s help when she had been slaughtering Con’s reputation while Con dealt with his grandmother’s sudden poor health.
It wasn’t until later that Spencer had seen how Laila’s confidence had been shaken, how the glow of ambition in her eyes had dimmed. It had dawned on him that she hadn’t sold out with the Prince of Play story; she had reported what she had perceived as the facts. She had made an honest mistake and was suffering the consequences. Week after week, as he had tuned in to what was left of her career, watching like someone unable to look away from a car wreck, he had grown more and more frustrated by the sight of a woman appearing to give up.
Spencer had felt guilty for letting his shyness hold him back from helping Con and Laila find common ground. It had been too late to pick up the telephone and straighten things out between them, but he had wanted to do something.
When Mona had mentioned a guy in Billings wanted to legalize prostitution, he had sent the tip to Laila. A few months later, one of Con’s staff had mentioned a boy from his hometown being honored for developing a tool for his handicapped sister. Spencer had passed it on. “Blackwing” duly sent Laila leads on black-market poachers, a striking union and a simulated space module to Mars that kids could explore.
She hadn’t picked up all of them, but she’d picked up some. Her ratings had improved. Her reporting had developed polish and depth. Spencer had watched her bloom and had known within the year that she was outgrowing her current gig.
She was ready for a story like this. She deserved it. She needed something like it to get her out of the rut she was in. And she would do a good job with it. If he hadn’t believed all that, he wouldn’t have emailed her with it. Laila could help Mona and others by exposing the swindler.
But Renny and Con had got involved and they wouldn’t want Laila in on it.
If he encouraged Laila, tried to deal her into whatever they were doing, it could cost him, and not just where his employment was concerned. He’d be forced to explain himself, to reveal pieces of himself he preferred to keep private. A six-inch incision across his chest wouldn’t expose his heart so clearly.
He shouldn’t have hung back during the Prince of Play thing. And he should have been upfront while he’d been sending all those emails.
He should have had coff
ee with Con’s housekeeper this morning, instead of visiting Mona, that’s what he should have done.
“Laila—”
She sent him the kind of look women inherited from their mothers, as effective as mace when it came to stalling a man in his tracks.
Spencer’s face overheated and his stomach began churning like the rotors on his helicopter. This was going to be impossible, especially in front of Murphy.
“If we could go somewhere to talk,” he began.
“I don’t think I’ll be talking to you ever again.”
“I’m sorry I, uh, kissed you—”
“I knew it,” Murphy said.
“That wasn’t a kiss. It was a gag order.”
“Renny was—” Spencer rubbed his jaw, looked at the message he still held. “Maybe if you talked to Renny.” Maybe if he could just keep Laila away from Felix until he talked to Renny and explained the situation . . . .
“Why?” Laila was curious about the woman, despite knowing she shouldn’t be. “I’m investigating Felix, not Burke, and I saw that woman with Con Burke this morning, so I don’t want to talk to her, OK? Because they’re an item or something, right?”
“Or something,” Spencer said.
“Be straight with me. If they’re not serious, maybe I could talk to her.”
“They’re pretty serious. He dated a lot of women before Renny, but not many since.”
“Really?” That was a new view of the Prince of Play. “He never sticks with one woman for any length of time. How did he keep the relationship quiet?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never heard of her. How did they keep such a low profile?” She would have loved to have caught up to the sports car but didn’t expect to. She’d have to hope to spot it when they got back to town.
“I don’t think they tried to keep it secret. He took her to the Games Convention when it was on.”
“He took a hooker to the Games Convention. That one I remember.” How could she forget, when her colleagues had accused her of writing the article that had been run by a competitor well after her debacle.
