Reckless Love

by Alexis Anne

  I pulled out the stack of clothes, the toiletries kit, and the ball cap. I really didn’t want to put on the ball cap.

  “Do you have an entire closet in there?” Leo chuckled.

  “As I’m sure will completely surprise you, I occasionally overwork and end up sleeping here.” I left the sweater in the bag. That was too close to my professor wardrobe, but the rest turned out to be pretty perfect. Five minutes later the curls were gone and I was in jeans and a funny shirt about being Wonder Woman. I even had a simple pair of Keds in there.

  “Hat,” Leo held it out.

  I whimpered. “But my hair.”

  “Looks good no matter what.” He kissed the top of my head. “I love how girly you are at the strangest times.”

  “I love my hair.” I grumbled one more time, as if by making my disdain for the hat verbally it would somehow let my hair know I really regretted ruining it. “And I much prefer it when you’re the one sullying my hair.”

  “Well,” he growled, putting his arms around me and gripping a fistful of hair, “then allow me the honor of sullying your hair before the hat goes on.”

  I sighed as the tug on my hair sent tingles through my body. “Don’t make fun of my vocabulary choices.”

  “Sully, sully, sully, sully,” he whispered softer and softer as he kissed my cheek, behind my ear and then down my throat.

  His phone dinged. He pulled back. “You ready?”

  “For what?”

  “Our escape, of course.” Then pants and moans and the clear sounds of hard fucking came from his phone. He set it on my desk and moved toward the door.

  “I’m sorry . . . what is happening right now?”

  He stopped with his hand on the door and a glint in his eyes. “Those bastards and agents that follow us around already think all we do in this office is fuck. So I’m playing a porno while we walk out the back door. With any luck they’ll never notice.”

  And sure enough we did just that. We exited through the rear doors (the ones by the smelly dumpsters) walked across two more buildings and to an Uber waiting by the curb. We both checked ahead and behind us the entire drive but no one followed us, and since it was later at night it was much quieter on the roads. It was easy to pick out cars.

  “Do you really think they don’t know about this place?” Leo asked as the car pulled to a stop a block away from the bunker.

  I shrugged. “I don’t think so. I’ve never seen them creeping around and I have security cameras posted in all directions. But even if they knew they clearly haven’t been able to get a warrant to go inside.” The moment this was over I was destroying everything. There were copies of the most important evidence in security deposit boxes. Everything else was getting shredded, burned, or wiped.

  I couldn’t wait.

  We slipped in the side door. I disabled the security system and unlocked all the locks. Once we were inside I reengaged the security system and relocked all the locks. Someone would either need a teleporter or a superhero to get in here with us.

  I went straight to the wall and started stripping away the old ideas I’d unsuccessfully followed. “It’s not my father and I don’t think it’s anyone who works for him . . . ” I stopped with my hand over the photograph of my brother. I didn’t discard him. Instead I moved him to the top of the board.

  “How can I help?”

  “The computer. Over there. It has a virtual private network I configured myself. Can you look up Jonathan Eubank?”

  “On it.”

  I did a double take of Leo’s ass as he sauntered across the room, then refocused on what I was doing. “I need pictures. Of Jonathan first, then all the rest of the commissioners.” I had to see them. It was how my brain ordered everything. That’s why the wall had been so instrumental in helping me reconstruct what I did a decade ago and what was happening now.

  “And then after that can you analyze any odd plays from the last two weeks? Give me a list? Names and franchises would be helpful.”

  It was late but I buzzed with adrenaline and the excitement that comes from feeling your goal finally in your grasp. Just one more hour and I might figure it out. Just one more minute and the answer might emerge.

  I kept saying that for the next three hours as we covered my wall like a murder board. The commissioners on the left side, my brother in the middle, and all the strange, game changing plays we could identify on the right.

  I moved Jonathan’s picture over beside William’s. “They hated each other.”

  “Sometimes hate is really a mask for something else. Fear, hurt, desire. It can even be a defense mechanism.”

  “You’ve just described every student at Bellingers Prep.” Bellingers was the super exclusive school all of us heirs-to-fortunes attended. It was where Marie and Natalie’s father went, where I went, where William and Jonathan went. “You want to talk about toxic? We all hated each other. The bullying is insane. And then the really fun part: all these kids grow up and run their empires together.”

  “It’s like royalty,” Leo mused. “Some of you are married off to merge fortunes, some are at war, secret back room dealings, spies . . . ”

  “Spies,” I repeated. “You thought I was a spy.” That word niggled at me for some reason. “So William and Jonathan hated each other at prep school, but you’re saying that maybe it was a defense mechanism.” That might make sense. William was a pretty closed off kid except for me and a handful of friends. If anyone pushed, he pushed back. His walls were firm and impenetrable.

  “Hate also makes sense though. Jonathan’s family is as fucked up as ours. His dad is a real asshole. I only know this because I remember a screaming match between him and Edmund and afterward my father called him a selfish asshole. I obviously found that to be pretty ironic, all things considered. But for a selfish asshole to call that out so emphatically I got the impression old Mr. Eubank was extra wonderful.”

  And by wonderful I obviously meant a horrible, horrible human being.

  “So your father is the devil incarnate and you see another kid in your class with a crappy home life, but he’s happy and popular . . . you get angry. Marie said William trained Jonathan in college?”

  I nodded, trying to picture Jonathan as a kid. “All I remember is thinking he was scrawny. I don’t know enough about this time period to get anywhere today. Let’s skip to college. Something happened that changed everything. They became friends, they struck some sort of mutually beneficial deal.”

  “The middle finger to their fathers?”

  “Maybe? Edmund would shit a brick if he knew William played piano.” It was the stupidest thing and really said a lot about my father’s masculinity that it could be threatened by a musical instrument.

  “So this Jonathan kid never threw a ball with his dad and William looks like a linebacker. Maybe they decided to actually talk one day? Realized they didn’t really hate each other. Maybe they even realized they liked each other. It must be nice to have someone to vent to about your weird rich family.” Leo shrugged.

  I enjoyed having Marie to talk to these last few weeks. I hadn’t realized there was a hole in my life until she filled it. I had my work friends. They spoke my language and loved the same things I loved, but I could never relate to their lives outside of work. So yeah, maybe William and Jonathan found an unlikely but needed friendship in each other.

  “They go from pranking and hurting each other, to helping. Jonathan appears to be pretty fit these days.” Leo tapped the computer screen that had some pictures from an image search.

  The scrawny kid I remembered was definitely gone. Replaced by a very eligible bachelor. “How does a kid who never threw a ball wind up on the commission of the football league?”

  “And are they still friends?”

  Excellent question. “Maybe he just really loves football.”

  “Or,” Leo frowned, “maybe he really loves gambling.”

  I turned to look at Leo. “My motivation was revenge. That doesn’t necess
arily mean I share the same motivation with whoever is behind this. You think it might solely be financial?”

  I always felt—down to my bones—the connection was personal but I couldn’t ignore the reality. Fixing games meant millions of dollars every single week was being controlled by whoever was doing this. They decided who won and who lost, and, by association, who made millions and who lost them.

  “I think we’re missing another very big piece of the pie here.”

  “Vegas,” Leo said simply.

  “If this is about the money then we have to go to the source. There has to be a connection to the betting houses. Those odds are specifically calculated.”

  “Specific calculations that can be manipulated by certain players on the field.”

  We both turned back to the dozens of players we thought were involved. “We need one of them to talk.”

  Leo put his arm around me and tucked me against his chest as he kissed the top of my head. “We will. I’ll make sure of it.”

  CHAPTER 11

  It was Charley Culpepper’s big day so Leo wasn’t able to put any of his football players in an interrogation room. It was frustrating but expected. I tried to concentrate on my work but ended up spending most of my time in my office Googling ideas and scribbling in my notebook.

  Don’t worry, I write in code. If anyone found it they wouldn’t be able to decipher it unless they were a really talented code breaker. When I asked about Claudia sitting with us tonight I was informed that she had finally ended things with Seth Butler. I was happy for her but sad for me. I enjoyed going to games with her.

  And yeah, I liked the nice seats.

  But Leo said he’d make it up to me. That’s all he said. I wasn’t sure if that meant I was getting an orgasm, chocolate, or box seats. When I arrived at the Mantas stadium Leo met me at the players entrance and walked me in.

  “Here, put this around your neck.”

  It was a new badge for tonight’s game that gave me access to just about anywhere in the stadium. “Have I mentioned how much I enjoy the perks of being your girlfriend?”

  “I don’t think you have.” He grinned, waiting expectantly.

  “Well I do. Very much.” I kissed his cheek and gave his ass a nice squeeze.

  “Come on. Let’s see if we can distract Charley with your beauty.”

  “He’s still nervous?”

  “I’ve never seen anyone get it this bad.”

  We found Charley puking in the locker room with Seth watching him from a safe distance.

  “I’m not a puker. I don’t know what to do with this. Chris is a puker. You want me to get him?”

  I was pretty sure Seth was going to keep shrinking backward until we said yes. “That would be great if you could?”

  “Yep. Yep. I can do that.” And then he ran across the locker room.

  “Who’s Chris?” I was trying to keep everyone straight and learn as much as possible in the process.

  “Pitcher,” Leo said over his shoulder as he got Charley a fresh glass of water. “He pitched last night so we’re in luck.”

  “I’m sorry Mr. Hancock. I just . . . can’t get it under control.”

  Poor kid was white as a sheet and looked so very young still. He had one of those baby faces you knew was going to be drop dead gorgeous in about five to ten years, but for now you kind of wanted to pinch his cheeks and give him a lollipop for good behavior.

  “What have you tried so far?”

  Charley blinked a few times as he focused on me. “Wow.”

  Leo grimaced. “Charley this is Esme. My girlfriend. I told you about her, remember?”

  I rolled my eyes and shook Charley’s limp hand. “Ignore him. He’s just marking his territory. You’re not looking so good. How can I help?”

  “Stand there and smile until I have to go out there? You’re very distracting.”

  Leo looked like he wanted to strangle Charley but I glared at him. “This is what you wanted isn’t it?”

  “I changed my mind.”

  A very handsome man in a Mantas sweater and pants sauntered up with a smile. “I hear our new kid is having some nerves. Hi, I’m Chris.”

  Charley turned even whiter. “You pitched the World Series winning game,” he whispered.

  Talk about star struck.

  “I did. And did you know I threw up four times before that game? It’s not easy having all this pressure on with a packed stadium, but you can do this. Have you had any of my ginger candy stash yet?”

  Charley shook his head.

  “Well come on. Let me show you my special locker. It’s right in here. No one else on the team gets nerves quite like I do so it’s pretty much just whatever I put in here. You’re more than welcome to any of it. Just restock if you finish something out.”

  Between the showers and the training tables was a set of lockers. Chris opened one up and showed off his collection of ginger candy, ginger ale, soda water, crackers, and pretzels.

  “It’s not perfect but it helps. Do you have headphones? A playlist? You need that too.”

  Charley nodded at everything Chris said. “I do but I’m too far gone today, man. I can’t keep them on my head when I keep running to the restroom.”

  I watched the men talk and trade secrets for nerves. I sympathized but didn’t really have anything to add to the conversation. I’d never pitched a World Series winning game or stood in a packed stadium. I’d also never negotiated contracts for millions of dollars. Although I had written some amazing grant proposals that ultimately funded a self-sustaining multi-million dollar lab. So there was that.

  Charley nibbled crackers and sipped ginger ale but he didn’t seem to be getting any better. Chris excused himself because he wanted to get out to the bullpen and cheer on his fellow pitchers before the game started. The rest of the team was joking and seemed to be going about their usual pregame rituals of stretching, breathing exercises, and dirty jokes.

  Apparently someone’s momma was very fat, hungry, and loved sex. I never really understood Your Momma jokes. Maybe it was because my mother was paid to disappear before I started kindergarten.

  “Charley, it’s just a game. They need someone with your talent at first base while Brian gets better. What’s the worst that could happen?” Leo looked like he almost regretted asking that.

  “Uh, I could have five errors in the first inning and fly-out on the first pitch.”

  “That’s not going to happen. You might strike out. In fact you probably will. Pitchers love to make rookies miserable. You’re not here to hit home runs like Seth. You’re here to protect first base.”

  He nodded, appeared to turn a shade of green I didn’t think was possible. Then he ran back into the bathrooms.

  “Leo, that’s not normal.”

  He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, there’s something else going on here.”

  “You think he caught the stomach bug?” I quickly scanned the room for one of those hand sanitizer stations. Why did I shake his hand? Oh, that’s right. Because it was polite and I assumed he just had nerves. Now I was starting to think he had nerves and salmonella. Or rotavirus. Or what was that cruise ship one? Norovirus? Maybe he had that.

  “No. I don’t.” Leo scratched his jaw. “There’s fear in his eyes.”

  “He’s terrified of playing a game he’s played his whole life?”

  Leo shrugged and pulled me into his side. “Yes, but he’s also dreamt of running out onto that field his whole life. All the pressure is from himself. Yeah the team needs him but this isn’t the World Series. There isn’t a championship hanging on this game. I suspect he’s built the whole thing up in his head and it’s crushing him.”

  “He’s going to be his own nightmare if he doesn’t pull it together. Ugh, can you imagine getting a shot like this and melting down in front of a national audience?”

  “He won’t melt down. He might suck but once he runs up from the dugout to the crowd clapping for him, he’ll get his head on straight.
”

  I wasn’t so convinced but wouldn’t you know it? The kid played like the phenomenon everyone said he was. When he ran out on the field there was only an enormous smile on his face. When he took his base he was focused. He played . . . well, beautifully.

  “I can’t believe that’s the same kid we were coddling downstairs,” I murmured.

  We were in one of the fancy suites owned by one of the team executives. Greg and Marie were also there because they were good friends with the suite owner and her husband Jake, who was also with us.

  “That’s the puker?” Greg pointed at Charley with a pretzel still in his hand.

  “Yep. We didn’t think he would be able to stand the way he was going.” Leo shook his head. Even though he sounded so confident when he predicted Charley’s transformation, he was still shocked by how complete it was.

  “No kidding. He’s playing like he owns that base. Like he’s been a pro his whole damn life.” Greg shrugged.

  It was really pretty surreal. Charley wasn’t just doing well, he was thriving. Steady. Confident. Focused. He even drove in two runs.

  Jake stretched his long legs over one of the empty seats. “It’ll be interesting to see how they close out this season. Between Brian’s injury and Carson and Trevor retiring, the team’s going to look real different next year.”

  “New blood can be good,” Leo said. “Plus at least one of the guys they’re eyeballing as a replacement is one of mine. And you know I want to see him succeed.”

  “You want him to earn a big fat contract in a couple of years,” Greg laughed. “You too.” He kissed his wife.

  She shook her head and sighed. “I seem to remember you enjoying our week in Tuscany thanks to a few of those big fat contracts.”

  “Oh I do.” Greg grinned. “So keep the talent coming, boys. Keep it coming.”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t get used to him.” Jake shook his head and smiled at me. “He’s just . . . like this. All the time.”

  “And you love me.” Greg patted his leg.