Game for Love: Game On

by Cat Johnson

  They’d discussed fees and payment already, so after one more assurance that she always got her man, Laurel finally had Becky out the door.

  In the peace and quiet of the modest office where she worked alone, Laurel settled in behind her computer, ready to get down to business.

  Becky had been correct in that Trent was all over the web.

  The internet could be a dumping ground of lies and inaccuracies, but a picture was worth a thousand words. Particularly the photo the paparazzi had snapped of Trent O’Shea trying to dodge the cameras while ducking into the Eastern Airlines domestic departures terminal at San Francisco International . . . early this morning.

  She’d already confirmed that the Outlaws’ season was over. Perfect time for the players to take a little vacation she would think.

  Excitement had her fingers trembling as they flew over the keys to bring up the airline’s website. Assuming he’d arrived between one and two hours early for his departure, Laurel had a fairly narrow window of flights he could be on.

  “Let’s see where you might be going, Mr. O’Shea.” She scanned the most likely destinations. One stopped her fingers on the mouse and halted her scrolling. Miami.

  “Gotcha!” God, she loved her job. She could always count on the bad guys to repeat their patterns. With any luck, Trent was doing just that.

  Another quick web search and Laurel had the number for the hotel Becky said her Lothario had used as his lair to woo her into his bed.

  With anticipation that only the thrill of the hunt can bring, Laurel dialed the number and listened as a woman’s voice said, “Travel Inn. How may I help you?”

  According to the airline’s flight tracker, the direct flight from San Francisco to Miami had landed a couple of hours ago. If Trent had been on that flight, he would have had plenty of time to check in.

  “Hi, Trent O’Shea’s room, please.” Laurel said it with an air of expectation and authority that she hoped wouldn’t put the hotel employee on alert.

  “One moment, please.”

  Oh my God. Was he really registered there? This was too easy. Laurel’s heart thundered as she waited to be connected to the bastard’s room phone.

  “I’m sorry, but we don’t have anyone registered by that name.”

  Crap.

  Scrambling to recover and salvage her investigation, Laurel switched gears. She used every bit of acting skills she possessed and hissed a breath in through her teeth.

  “Oh, no. I’m going to be in so much trouble. You see I was supposed to change the time of a very important meeting between Mr. O’Shea and my boss but he’s not answering his cell phone. I thought he was staying at the Travel Inn in Miami but if you say he’s not there then I’m totally screwed.”

  “I’m sorry. Let me check again.” After the sound of a few taps on the keyboard, the woman said, “I don’t see anyone by that name.”

  Laurel let out a sigh of frustration, which was only partly fake. “I bet he’s registered under another name. He’s a super famous athlete . . . and when he doesn’t show up for the photo shoot for Sports Magazine on time, I’ll be fired for sure.”

  She was laying it on thick but it seemed to be working as the hotel employee made all the appropriate sympathetic sounds on the other end of the line.

  “You know who Trent O’Shea is, right?” Laurel asked. “Linebacker for the San Francisco Outlaws.”

  After that lead in, the woman said, “Oh, yeah. I know him. My husband hates that team, which means we have to watch every game so he can root for the other guys.”

  “Any chance you’ve seen Trent around there?”

  “No, sorry. And I would have noticed too. He’s a hottie.”

  A hottie and a rotten bastard if he was ditching his responsibilities with Becky and her unborn child.

  “I know he stayed at your hotel last July.” Laurel hoped feeding the woman more information would jog her memory.

  “Oh, I wasn’t here then. I only got hired a few months ago.”

  “And you haven’t seen him in the time since you started working there?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

  Laurel let out another sigh. “I guess he’s staying somewhere else then.”

  “I guess. Sorry I couldn’t help you more.”

  “It’s okay. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” At least Laurel now knew one place that Trent wasn’t.

  “Good luck. I hope you find him.”

  “Thanks. Me too.” Laurel hung up the desk phone and slumped in her chair.

  This wasn’t going to be quite as easy as she’d assumed. Trent O’Shea was currently a moving target and that made him extra hard to hit.

  If Becky had come to her sooner—during the regular football season—Laurel would have known right where to find Trent. She could have gotten to him at his home, or the stadium, or any number of places in between. She had contacts. She could have wrangled a press pass and confronted him right there in the damn locker room.

  Now, he could be anywhere. There was no guarantee he was even in Miami. That had been a guess. More like a hope. How perfect it seemed to have him drop out of the air right into her own state and save her a trip and Becky the expense of Laurel flying to California.

  She had to try harder to locate him. She went back to the browser window displaying the airline’s flight schedule for today. There weren’t that many flights on that airline at that time coming out of San Francisco. Her gut told her the Miami flight was the one he was most likely on.

  Of course, he could have gotten a connection and flown elsewhere, but Becky had met this guy in Miami. That made it much more likely that he was there now.

  Following her instincts, which didn’t steer her wrong very often, Laurel punched a few more keys on the computer and brought up the list of every hotel in the Miami area. It was a long list, it would take her forever to get through, but she had a job to do.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she picked up the phone to begin what could be either a wild goose chase or the biggest case of her life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A man dressed in a crisp white uniform rushed forward the moment the town car pulled up to the building. He opened the back door and said, “Welcome to Little Palm, Mr. Warren. We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Thank you.” From the backseat, Trent handed his carry-on to the man.

  Unfolding his long legs, he hoisted himself out of the back passenger seat and stood. Once out of the car, he let his eyes drift closed as he took the time to draw in a deep breath of warm Florida air and freedom.

  When his flight had touched down at Key West International Airport and he’d stepped off that plane and into the waiting car, he’d ceased to be Trent O’Shea, football hero. He’d become Mr. T. Warren, nobody. It was a good feeling.

  Even the short layover in Miami had nearly killed him as he waited braced to be recognized, but the disguise of the baseball hat and glasses held. He was here now. That was all that mattered.

  Thanks to his very well compensated manager, Tom Warren, who’d lent Trent both his name and credit card number for the reservation at this resort, he was anonymous.

  The natural beauty of the Keys had hooked Hemingway all those years ago, and as he felt himself relax with every passing moment, Trent knew the magic had captured him as well. It was well worth dropping over a grand a night on the private bungalow. Besides, what else did Trent have to spend his money on?

  “Your complimentary bottle of champagne is chilled and in your bungalow and whenever you’re ready, the front desk can schedule the times for your daily massage.” The very efficient resort employee ran over the details as they waited for the driver to get Trent’s other bag out of the trunk. “My name is Calvin and I’ll be your personal concierge for the duration of your stay. If you need anything, just call the desk and ask for me by name.”

  “Thank you, Calvin.” God, he could feel the masseuse’s hands on his body already, working out the kinks from a long, hard
season. “I had Manuel massage me last year. Is he still working here?”

  “Yes, sir.” The concierge smiled. “You’ll find very few employees choose to leave Little Palm.”

  “I can imagine.” Through the lenses of his sunglasses, he looked at the sun-kissed beauty surrounding him. Who would willingly leave paradise? He certainly hated to go home the too few times he’d stayed here.

  Maybe next year Trent would consider extending the week to ten days.

  “Right this way, sir.” Calvin gestured to a path and led the way.

  Trent followed, eager to get to his private beachfront accommodations and out of the clothes he’d traveled in across the country.

  A nice drink and a dip in the pool, then he could work on finishing the paperback he’d started reading on the plane. Or maybe he’d take a nap in a lounge chair in the shade. His time was completely his own and he had every intention of taking every advantage of that, even if it was by doing absolutely nothing for the next seven glorious days.

  Trent wasn’t in his bungalow five minutes when his cell phone rang. He silently cursed at himself for not having turned it off. When he pulled it out of his pocket and saw Cole’s name on the display he cussed out loud this time.

  He hit to answer the call, not bothering with hello. “No, I’m not telling you where I am.”

  “Nice. Real nice, buddy.”

  “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Anna’s in labor. I thought you might want to know.”

  In spite of the amusement coloring Cole’s voice, Trent was torn which emotion to feel first. Concern. Guilt. Shame. “Dude, I’m so sorry. How is she? It’s going okay, right?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine. I mean she’s miserable. She’s been in labor for hours and it looks like there’s going to be hours more to go, but she and the baby are doing okay. She nearly broke my hand during the last contraction, but the doctor says everything is going as it should.”

  “Thank God for that. This is early, isn’t it?” Trent hadn’t been away from his regular schedule for long enough to lose track of time. He’d thought Anna wouldn’t be having this kid for a little while yet.

  “Yeah, it is, but the doc says it’s okay so I’m doing my best not to worry. I just wish it would be over already. I want my wife out of pain and my baby safe and sound next to her.”

  It sounded like the baby had the same impatient temperament as his or her daddy.

  “Anything I can do for you?” It was a pointless question considering Trent was on the other side of the country from his friend but he felt like he should at least make the offer.

  “Well, you could tell me the name of your secret paradise.”

  Trent laughed. Now he knew things really were okay with Anna and the baby if Cole was joking with him. “No. Anything else?”

  “Nah. We’re good. If I do need anything her family is here to help—and there’s like a dozen of them. Melissa and Dominic and Ty and Julie are all here too.

  It seemed like between family, friends and teammates, Cole and Anna were surrounded. Trent would have liked to be there too, but who knew Anna would go into labor so early? “A’ight, but keep me informed.”

  “You sure you want me bothering you? I wouldn’t want to disturb whatever you got going on there. I don’t want to interrupt your uh . . . gambling?”

  Trent shook his head as Cole tried to guess his location. It seemed Las Vegas was at the top of the list. “No, I’m not at a casino.”

  “Then your, uh, cattle drive?”

  Trent let out a snort at that suggestion. “Hell, no.”

  A cattle drive might seem like fun to a city boy like Cole, but speaking as someone who’d actually moved a thousand head of cattle from the summer pasture to the winter one and then back again months later, Trent knew it was no freaking vacation. Besides the fact January wasn’t when his granddaddy moved cattle anyway.

  “Your girl-watching?” Cole tried one more time.

  Trent smiled. “That activity I can only hope for and if you let me get off this doggone phone and outside to the pool, I can get started.”

  “Ah, ha! So this secret location has got a pool—”

  “Goodbye, Cole. Text me when there’s a baby.”

  “Will do. Call me when you’ve landed yourself a babe.”

  “Don’t hold your breath waiting for that call. Bye, dude.” Smiling, Trent hung up on his friend.

  Even if he was lucky enough to have some nice scenery to look at during this week, it wasn’t as if he could take advantage of it. What would he do? Sidestep every question about what he did for a living?

  Hell, even the name he’d have to give the girl would be a lie.

  No, this vacation wasn’t about getting laid. It was about not having to look over his shoulder or behind every bush for a camera and the asshole photographer attached to it. It was about pretending he was a normal everyday guy . . . who could afford a thousand dollar a night getaway for a week.

  Okay, so maybe he wasn’t so average after all, but Trent still needed the escape. The media even managed to find him on his granddaddy’s ranch in Texas.

  Trent did enjoy leading them on a chase though. The paparazzi had no chance of pursuing him when he took off on horseback across terrain that even off-road vehicles would have gotten stuck in.

  Not that he’d had anything to hide. He’d just been out for a ride, enjoying the landscape and checking the fence line while absorbing a few final moments of normalcy before the start of last year’s season when he’d spotted the guy trying to get a shot of him. He could have let the photographer have his pictures, but what fun would that have been?

  Leading the guy on a wild goose chase, letting him believe Trent had something to hide, made for so much more entertainment. Trent’s grandfather and the hired hands laughed about it for the rest of the week.

  Good times at the ranch, and he’d be back there again soon. He had a flight from Florida to Texas booked for the end of the week.

  Trent had a break until the organized team activities started in late May. Until then, he could stay at the ranch and help out his grandfather.

  Over the next couple of months there’d be calving, tagging, vaccinations and branding. If being covered in mud and muck and working around the clock until he was ready to drop didn’t finish his annual though temporary transition to normalcy, nothing would. Even with the occasional insane photographer trying to sneak up on him at the ranch.

  Strange dichotomy his life was. A week in the lap of luxury doing nothing, followed by a few months of cattle ranching, which had to be one of the hardest jobs on God’s green earth. But his plan to keep himself grounded and sane amidst the surreal life of fame and fortune that had broken more than a few good men had worked this long. Why change it now?

  Trent couldn’t think of a single reason. He also couldn’t figure why he was still inside when the great outdoors—or at least the pool and the bar with a spectacular view of the horizon—beckoned.

  A quick change out of his traveling clothes and into a swimsuit, tank top and flip-flops and Trent was ready to head out. After slipping on sunglasses and a non-descript baseball hat over his newly lightened hair, he strode out into the late afternoon sun.

  The flight across the country as well as the three-hour time change had eaten up a good bit of his first day, but that was fine. He had plenty more left to enjoy. Besides, he kind of liked the pool later in the evening when everyone else had gone inside to get showered and dressed for dinner. When the sun didn’t burn so hot and the air was still. The silence broken only by the sound of the crashing waves on the shore and the rustle of the breeze in the palm trees.

  Paradise . . . interrupted by the sound of a text coming through to the cell phone in his pocket. Trent drew in a breath and tried not to be annoyed. That kneejerk reaction fled the moment he opened the photo and saw a tiny red-faced bundle of joy wrapped in a pink hospital blanket. The newborn was so small she fit in Cole’s hands.

  Trent
smiled and hit reply, typing in a text to his friend.

  Beautiful! Good thing she looks like Anna. Congrats!

  He was going to have to send them something. Flowers, maybe. Though everyone and their brother would be sending those. Something more personal maybe. He’d call Calvin later and see if there were any shops nearby he could recommend. Hell, Trent never went to stores at home. He had everything from his clothes to his food delivered to his house in San Francisco. Baby gift shopping could be fun.

  Later.

  Now, the only thing he was looking to order was a nice fruity tropical drink. Extra rum. Hold the tiny umbrella.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Laurel knew she had to be patient.

  Not every case was going to be open and shut. She knew that tracking Trent O’Shea wasn’t anything like her usual assignments. Most times all she had to do was sit outside a cheating husband’s office and tail him to a rendezvous with his mistress. Then, she’d snap a few photos, write down a license plate number and report back to the client.

  Not this time. Yes, if all else failed—and God she hoped it didn’t—she could wait until he wasn’t traveling. Until he was back in San Francisco and on a regular schedule again, but that could be a while since the team was on a break between seasons. Waiting any longer than she already had was a luxury her client didn’t have with a baby on the way.

  The timing of this case and the professional football season couldn’t have been worse. It was working against her.

  Stupid football. Laurel had known next to nothing about the sport a few days ago. Now, she knew entirely too much and none of it seemed to be helping her in her case.

  An email pinged into her inbox. Not holding out much hope it would be anything useful after going on two days of dead ends in her investigation, she sighed and reached for the keyboard. She opened the alert she’d set up to automatically email her whenever the search engine’s web crawlers hit something new on the web about Trent O’Shea.

  This particular post looked to be on one of the social networks popular with the kids nowadays. Laurel could hardly keep up with the ever changing landscape of social media fads, but she could very well read this status update.