Lucky Score

by Deborah Coonts

  “Rome.”

  He spluttered a bit. “What?”

  “Someone told me I needed a new fantasy. I’m trying a few on for size.” I hazarded a sideways glance.

  “Your fantasy life would be an annuity for some shrink.”

  As would the rest of my life, but I wasn’t about to agree. To deflect uncomfortable questions, I segued back to the topic we both were working hard to avoid. “Mrs. Ponder?”

  He sighed and shrugged, shifting a weight. “I can’t say a whole lot, okay? But since it’s you and we’re partners and all.”

  I shooed the bartender out of earshot. With empty stools on either side of us, we were insulated. “Won’t go any further.”

  “I know.” He grabbed the sides of his stool as if to move it closer, but the thing was bolted to the floor. Not sure whether having the drunks falling off was better than having them fall over, but the lawyers wanted it that way.

  “It’s Reynolds.”

  That almost knocked me off my stool.

  Before I’d been unofficially promoted to Romeo’s sidekick, Detective Reynolds had been the kid’s partner. Of course, Reynolds had had official partner status with Metro. Me? I was a freelancer; something Metro wouldn’t approve of. I didn’t approve of Reynolds, so I figured we were even. “The man is a scandal begging for an above-the-fold headline in one-and-a-half-inch type. What’s he doing?”

  “Dealing.”

  “Like drugs?”

  Romeo nodded.

  “And you ratted him out.”

  “No. I wasn’t that smart.”

  “You confronted him.” Romeo was a good detective, bordering on great, but he lacked the bad-guy gene—didn’t think like one, couldn’t be one. That made him easy fodder for those who did, especially if they were donning sheep’s clothing and hiding behind a badge.

  “Yeah.” His mouth turned down with defeat. “I figured I could save him, you know?” He finally looked at me.

  “My middle name is Pollyanna.”

  “Maybe I learned it from you.”

  “It’s not a bad thing, kid. You just gotta be a tad more cynical. You can’t save everyone if you don’t save yourself first.”

  “When are you going to take your own advice?”

  “This isn’t about me.”

  “You don’t watch your step, it will be.”

  I probably should heed his warning, but I knew I wouldn’t. Saving my own ass wasn’t part of my skill set. That fell to Jerry and Romeo, but now, with each of them compromised, I was feeling a bit exposed. “So what’d he do to you?”

  “The usual.”

  “Made it look like you waded through the mud, not him.” Partners, by definition, knew too much; they had to. And you had to trust them with it. But when that trust was misplaced…that must’ve been something else I’d inadvertently taught Romeo.

  “Yeah, but he’s holding it over me. Got me on a short leash.”

  “Extortion.”

  “But if I report him, then I gotta fight for my own job, my reputation. Right now, he’s got the goods on me or made it look that way, and I don’t have squat. I’m such a fool.”

  I laid a hand on his arm. “No. You were being a good guy. I’m assuming you didn’t have him cold?”

  “Enough to ruin his career maybe, but not to send him up. Your buddy the D.A. would’ve laughed my case out of his office. Reynolds is two years from retirement.”

  “I get it.”

  That perked him up a bit. “You do?”

  “Of course. Don’t stop being you.” I took a sip of my drink as I tried to process Romeo’s pickle. And how to wise him up when this was over but not turn him into a hardened cynic, which I’d already seen signs of. “So, where did you step on toes, Reynolds’s and Mrs. Ponder’s?”

  “I was just chasing it. The drugs weren’t your normal street drugs. That’s not what this is about—well, some of them were painkillers, but that only started showing up recently. Before, the drugs were performance enhancers, stuff banned by professional sports. Packaged with other stuff used to mask the usage, of course.”

  “And Mrs. Ponder?”

  “She’s got an interesting past. Even did some time.”

  “Let me guess, for dealing.”

  Romeo didn’t insult me with the answer I already knew.

  “Where’d she get nailed?”

  “Ely.”

  “Wow, it’s like that tiny town is the Epicenter of Darkness.”

  “Convenient and coincidental. We need more.”

  The young detective was reading from my playbook. Reaching out to Daisy Bell surged to the top of my list. “I’ll get more. I can’t help thinking that it’s quite a step from being a dealer to being Mrs. Nolan Ponder. A lofty perch someone would do almost anything to protect.”

  “It smells to high heaven, but I haven’t been able to nail her, not yet anyway.”

  “Mr. Ponder and the Fentanyl. Any connection there?”

  “The M.E. is testing the stuff. It’s street-made, so maybe we’ll get lucky and the formula will be like a signature or something.”

  “And that will lead us back to her. I’m willing to bet a large wad on it.”

  “I’ve bet my career on it,” Romeo whispered.

  With my thinking already fuzzy and my attitude so low even a connection, a theory, a bit of hope in the darkness, couldn’t elicit a sign of life, I pushed my drink away. “Buck up, kid. We’re making progress.” Bourbon—it was also the lover who did a lot of talking for you. “Is there a football connection?”

  “Yeah, I had a chance to talk with Mr. Ponder about it on the QT.”

  “And he mentioned it to his wife.”

  “He said he didn’t, but I got the feeling he was covering his ass as I’d made it clear we were off the record and he was to tell no one.”

  “After that is when your life imploded. Mrs. Ponder protecting her piggy bank. And Mr. Ponder doing I’m not sure what.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “That’s actually a good thing. Narrows our scope. All we have to do is find the toes you stepped on, and Ponder is a starting place.”

  “He’s in my custody.”

  I slumped under the weight of that. “Awkward.”

  “Looks bad, doesn’t it?” Romeo threw back his drink. A bit of the amber elixir escaped and dribbled down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. “I can hardly wait for their demand.”

  “That’ll be a pretty tough one to expect you to maneuver.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s one of their concerns.”

  “Yes, but what exactly they ask for could be enlightening.”

  “If you say so.” Defeat took the starch out of his posture and the fight out of his words. “There’s another twist.” Romeo glanced around to see if anyone was paying any attention to us. They weren’t.

  “Fire away.” I lowered my voice out of respect to his paranoia.

  “Most of the guys didn’t want the risk of a direct payment in cash or that sort of thing.”

  “Darn, not the episode of Stupid Criminals I was hoping for.”

  That didn’t get even the wisp of a smile. “How’d the deal go down?”

  “They paid with memorabilia.”

  “A black market for memorabilia. This is sounding way too O.J. Isn’t he in prison for trying to steal some of his back, or so he said?”

  “Not sure about O.J.; his wasn’t one of my cases. But I do know that these players with all their contract provisions and money riding on playing time and all of that, and the risk of being medically discharged from the sport if you have multiple concussions and all of that, they’ll do almost anything to mask symptoms and keep playing. Especially the ones who blow everything they make.”

  “And then there are the ones who can’t imagine either being out of the spotlight or they have nothing to fall back on if football is taken away.”

  We sat cocooned in our own thoughts for a moment.

&n
bsp; “That probably covers a very large percentage of the current players.”

  “And then there are the former players who need to blunt the pain and all to just to make it through the days.”

  “So, down-on-their-luck icons of Super Bowls Past can mortgage their history to fund their future.” Even though I got it, it still made me sad.

  “Or their habit.” Romeo piled it on. Blowing your life was worse than blowing your fortune by many magnitudes. “Hey, it’s tough to go from King to nobody. Some turn to substances to dull the pain. Or they got a lavish lifestyle way outside of their retirement income.”

  “Or women used to designer clothes and important jewelry.”

  Romeo winced. “Back to Mrs. Ponder, what a peach. She doesn’t really fit the mold—she’s married to the money. Man, he owns the friggin’ team. But somehow, she’s involved. He might be, too, for all I know and she’s just a screech owl protecting her turf. I sniffed around. Found some evidence that folks were stealing or blackmailing or something. I didn’t get that far. But somehow stuff appeared on the market that had no business being there.” He threw back the last of his drink then motioned for another.

  I put my hand over his glass and shook my head at the bartender.

  “Mother, you’re pissing me off.” Romeo tried for mad but ended up sounding sad.

  “It’s my job. I’m your partner.”

  He didn’t argue.

  “What does Reynolds have on you?”

  “A tape, some eyewitness accounts.”

  I could write the next chapter. “The video showed you in a compromising situation. Easy to prove it had been tampered with.”

  “It hadn’t.”

  “What were you doing?”

  He clamped his lips tight for a moment, pursing them, then shook his head. “I can’t say any more other than they saw what they saw; they just interpreted it wrong.” He reached over and squeezed my hand. “I didn’t do anything against the law—well, I might’ve skirted it just a bit. And remember, just like a snippet of a conversation taken out of context, innocent video clips can look damning.”

  “And Mrs. Ponder?”

  “Time served for dealing. A long time ago, but you taught me zebras never lose their stripes. And once I started pulling that string the parachute closed and I started hurtling toward oblivion. But this is my problem.” Romeo lifted his glass to drink, then realized it was empty. Regardless, he tilted his head back to drain the last remaining drop, sticking his tongue out to catch it like a drop of poison.

  I’d been there. I knew how it felt. And I’d kill the person who did that to Romeo. Okay, kill was overstating…but a payback from the Seventh Circle of Hell sounded like just the thing.

  “And I’m your partner, by your own admission, so no arguing.”

  He backed off his stool. “Well, I have a murder to solve.”

  “Mrs. Ponder isn’t going to be any happier with you now that you’ve arrested her husband.”

  When Romeo didn’t answer, I turned to look at him.

  “I don’t know. There’s something going on there. The Ponders aren’t exactly the epitome of the loving couple.”

  “Money, the great divider.” I’d felt it, too. “Listen, if you need anything from Security, you need to go through a young lady named Vivienne. She’s my contact with Jerry out. Go through her for everything, okay? And keep a guy named Fox totally in the dark.”

  “Same Fox?”

  “Yep.”

  “You have problems in Security?”

  “None proven, but my gut is trying to tell me something.”

  “You listen to it. Far as I know, it hasn’t let you down yet.”

  I watched Romeo as he walked away. All the jaunty was gone and my gut was screaming.

  I missed life as it used to be. Where had this train left the rails?

  I turned back to my empty glass and motioned for a refill. Romeo couldn’t drown his sorrows, but nothing stood in my way. “Fill it again,” I said to the bartender, “and keep it coming until I don’t feel anything.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  O H.” PAIN seared through my head. “Turn off the light; it’s so bright.”

  “Sorry. The sun doesn’t have a dimmer switch.” A male voice that sounded a lot like Teddie.

  But it couldn’t be Teddie. Please, don’t let it be Teddie. An epic hangover was problem enough. Teddie being here would be cataclysmic.

  A rustling. The light dimmed.

  “Better?”

  Teddie!

  Why did life take delight in hitting you while you were down, presenting your worst fear at your worst hour? A huge cosmic joke that was cruel—and, no matter how you spun it, cruel was never funny.

  I bolted upright and instantly regretted it. A spear of pain stabbed me through the left temple. Everything ached. The world was fuzzy, my memory even fuzzier.

  A weight settled next to me. A familiar fragrance—Old Spice—triggered emotions on a level I didn’t know existed. The comfort of the familiar, the warmth of connection, the hurt of deep loss. Amazing that a simple smell could conjure all of that in an instant. His touch would take me the rest of the way, back to depths of feeling I didn’t want to feel again. Not with him. Not now. I shifted away from him—an act of self-preservation.

  After stuffing pillows behind me, which I felt rather than saw, he said, “Lean back.” He didn’t touch me—perhaps he was protecting his heart, or maybe mine—with Teddie, it was always hard to tell. Extraordinarily perceptive, achingly self-absorbed, he always left me to guess his motives. Not the foundation of a lifetime. “Here. Drink this.”

  I eased my eyes open, blinking rapidly against the dim light and the pain.

  This wasn’t a bad dream. Damn.

  Teddie sat next to me—I hadn’t imagined him, not that I would have. Well, not without copious amounts of alcohol. If memory served, I had that part covered.

  At least this was my bedroom, my apartment at Cielo, my boutique hotel on the south end of the Strip. But I’d started at the Babylon…at least, I was almost sure I had.

  That whole piece between then and now was missing.

  Wait. My home? My bedroom? “What the hell are you doing here?” A verbal spear to keep him at a safe distance.

  “Helping a friend.”

  I angled a glance at him as I pushed at the hair hanging in my face. “We didn’t…”

  A flash of wistful softened the blue of his eyes. Yeah, I could see that even in this light. That sort of nuance was imprinted on my heart. Spiked blond hair, chiseled features, lush lips, and kind blue eyes, he would always have a piece of my heart. He wore the tattered blue jeans that were just tight enough—my favorite pair. Thankfully, he’d traded the Harvard MBA sweatshirt with the cutout neck that I’d been so fond of wearing for a light flannel shirt in a royal blue, which set off his eyes nicely. Yeah, I could see all that, too.

  “No,” he said, his voice carrying only a hint of his smooth tenor. “To quote a very, very dear friend, low as they are, I still have my standards.”

  “I think I’m thankful for that.” Drunkenness and inhibitions rarely lived in the same human. Inordinately human, I doubted I was an exception.

  “Morals are a bit of a bother, aren’t they? Something else you taught me in spades.”

  “What happened to us? For a moment in time, it was so great.” I’d never articulated that, not to Teddie anyway, even though I knew he knew it. “I really hate you for ruining that.”

  “I know.”

  “Why?” Unsure as to whether I wanted an answer, I whispered the word. “She wasn’t worthy.”

  “No, she wasn’t you. Not even close.”

  That much I knew. I waited for more—something I needed, whatever that might be.

  “I had lessons to learn. I never fully appreciated you or what we had. Life wised me up.”

  I got it, but logic pales in the blinding light of an emotional fire. “I know. But I’m not sure I can forgive you.�
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  “I’ll wait.” He pushed a glass at me. “This will help.”

  The world spun a bit. Cotton lined my mouth. And my head…any sudden movement would split my skull at the very least.

  Catching a hint of apple, I eyed the glass. For some reason, I trusted him.

  “Jordan’s famous hangover cure,” he said, anticipating the question. “He made it, if that lowers your resistance any.” That did it. Jordan would never rip my heart out and leave me for dead—or poison me in the morning.

  Suddenly greedy with hunger, I grabbed the glass and drank the concoction down, not stopping until it was gone. “Even better than remembered.” Jordan had made it for me before. That I’d needed it before probably should bother me. And it did…but not enough.

  A long road back.

  He handed me a napkin, and I dabbed at my mouth. “Apples, ice, sugar, lemon juice, and a healthy dose of the hair of the dog, in this case, brandy. What’s not to like?”

  I thrust the glass at him. “More.”

  “Okay, but when I tell you to, put your hands over your ears. The blender on the ice-crushing setting will turn what’s left of your brain to liquid.”

  There wasn’t anything left of my brain, but I didn’t mention it. Instead, I watched him amble toward the kitchen. Still had a nice ass. A sparkle on my left ring finger stopped my heart.

  Jean-Charles!

  The ice-cold slither of total panic raced through me, freezing everything. “I’ve got to go.” Brittle as ice, I moved carefully, peeling back the covers and shifting my legs toward the edge of the bed.

  Teddie peeked through the doorway to the kitchen, the blender in one hand. “He knows.”

  “What?”

  Teddie disappeared. Knowing him, he figured retreat was the better part of valor here. “He knows,” Teddie shouted.

  “All of it?” I shouted back, then held my head in a vise between the heels of both hands to keep it from exploding. I sucked in air between my teeth against the pain. “Don’t ever let me have another drink.”

  “What was that?” Teddie again poked his head through the doorway.

  “Shut up and stop grinning at me like a rabid hamster.”