The Trophy Hunter

by J. M. Zambrano

  Thwack! They played in silence, except for the sound of the ball striking the back wall. Still warming up, Diana felt outclassed after her weeks away from strenuous activity.

  The equally pressing problem of Rogart’s wife’s trust was eroding Diana’s powers of concentration both on the racquetball court and in the office. The papers sat untouched on her credenza, where she’d put them after returning from the fateful lunch. The tongue-in-cheek lunch. Jess would like that one. Hmm, maybe not. She missed the ball.

  Winston eyed her with a raised eyebrow. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Just a little rusty.”

  Rogart had called twice, but she’d instructed Tamara to say she was out of the office. Bottom line was Jess was right. It would be a conflict of interest for her to represent him. Then he’d sent flowers with a note: I hope Joe hasn’t scared you away from me. Darren.

  No love, no kisses. Thank goodness. Also, no reference to the work she’d half agreed to do for him. And best of all—no further sightings of Joe Flannigan or his truck.

  Thwack! She missed again.

  “Diana, what’s wrong with you? You’re somewhere else.” Winston stopped playing and walked over to her, hefting the ball, his racquet tucked under one arm.

  Now or never. “Winston, I’ve got a problem.”

  “Okay, let’s hear it.” His voice was friendly, but seemed to have an edge to it. “Do you want to stay in here or—”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Diana couldn’t help but notice how fit and trim he looked in navy shorts and white t-shirt. He hadn’t even broken a sweat during their several volleys. She felt a trickle of perspiration run down her cheek. “I have a conflict of interest thing I want to run by you.”

  “Rogart and Flannigan?” Winston’s brows knit together as his tone grew angry.

  “Jess told you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “You two … are back together?”

  “Not in this lifetime. I love Jessie, but I can’t live on her roller coaster. Doesn’t mean we can’t get together to help somebody we both care about.” He put a warm brown hand on Diana’s arm.

  She turned away so he couldn’t see the tears that were welling in her eyes. Damn. She never used to be such a crybaby. When were those hormones going to get adjusted? She swallowed a couple of times before she could be sure of her voice. “I returned Flannigan’s retainer. I didn’t do any real work for him.”

  “You listened to his story. You entered into a contract with him, went to his home and interviewed his wife.”

  “But at that point, I decided I couldn’t represent him.”

  “Fine. You can do that since you weren’t immersed in a court trial. But you can’t turn around and represent the man that Joe was going against. Diana, that’s basic stuff. Not hard to figure out.”

  To her shame, the clarity of his words brought forth a torrent of tears. Embarrassment like none she’d ever known cut her down to worm-level. She’d never cried in front of her mentor. Never even came close. How could a divorce and a … surgery turn her into a total incompetent?

  Winston wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders. “We all make mistakes. What counts is catching them before any shit happens.”

  She blinked at him, unable to speak.

  “You’ve done that. Move on.”

  She knew her tears were probably making Winston as uncomfortable as they were making her. Then she looked out the glass at the front of the court and saw a couple waiting, wondering no doubt why they didn’t leave if they weren’t playing.

  Winston followed her glance. “Shall we continue this conversation in the juice shop?”

  She nodded and followed him out the door, head down as she passed the people waiting for the court. They threaded through the maze of body-builders and exercise equipment to the juice shop, where Diana ordered a Chai tea, and Winston, a pineapple smoothie. Then they retreated to a quiet corner to wait for their drinks.

  “I know you’ve been through a hell of a lot lately. But, Diana, you’ve got to learn to recognize patterns,” began Winston.

  “Patterns?”

  “Greg and Rogart. Womanizers. Con-men. And, as you ladies say, hunks.”

  Diana’s flow of tears ceased abruptly. “They’re nothing alike. You don’t even know Darren Rogart and you hardly knew Greg.”

  “You don’t need to get that close to the leopard to see his spots.”

  “That was low, Winston. Greg deserves what you just said. But I don’t know about Darren Rogart. I’d like to think he’s a decent human being who’s made some bad choices.”

  Their drinks arrived and Winston took a long draw on his straw before answering. “I hope you’re right.”

  She took a sip of tea and closed her eyes for a second, trying to look inside herself for answers. “I think it’s the attention. And the fact that he’s good-looking doesn’t hurt.”

  Winston chuckled. “So, you admit it?”

  “And he already has children.” She surprised herself with the words. Looking up, she caught a puzzled look on Winston’s face.

  “Maybe Jess didn’t tell you. I lost more than the baby. I can’t have children.” She could hear the self-loathing in her own voice.

  “I know that.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I have no children. Does that make me less of a man?”

  “Yours is by choice.”

  “You don’t know that. Besides, it’s irrelevant.”

  She looked into her glass of tea, as if an answer could be hiding there. Diana, did you do something? She wondered if she hadn’t attacked Greg on that fateful day, and then gone running around the office like a madwoman … if … if … maybe …. No. She pulled herself away from the thought, focused on Winston. “I know what you’re saying makes perfect sense, but there’s this huge gap between what I know and what I feel.”

  He still held on to her hand. “Time will bridge the gap.” Then he let go and took another drink of smoothie. Diana watched a twinkle creep into his eyes. “Would you say the fair measure of a man is his penis?” he asked.

  Diana laughed. Talk about mood swings. “I don’t know, Winston. Maybe.”

  Now he scowled at her. “Seriously, Diana, for you, an educated, successful woman, to equate yourself with your reproductive attributes—”

  She cut him off. “Easy for you to say.”

  Winston’s eyes narrowed as his grin crept back. “How would you know?”

  “You know what a blabber-mouth Jess is. By the way, do you think she’ll ever speak to me again?”

  “Wouldn’t be surprised. Why don’t you call her?”

  * * *

  On her way home from the club, Diana stopped off to make a couple of purchases at the grocery store. When she got home, a message from Jess was on her machine. He must’ve called her on his cell as soon as we left.

  Jessie’s voice was a welcome sound. “My sources tell me you’ve been messin’ with another of my men. I challenge you to meet me at Body Works tomorrow night. May the best woman win!”

  Chapter 24

  Stars jutted from a black onyx sky above Diana as she exited her car in the nearly empty Body Works parking lot. The snow had moved eastward, scooping up the cloud cover and leaving a lung-searing cold in its wake. Too cold for all but the stout of heart.

  She instantly spotted Jess’s car as she walked briskly toward the entrance. A slip on the icy sidewalk toned down her pace as she observed Jess and Winston through the glass, waiting for her by the front door.

  “You’re both here. Now I know I’m in trouble,” said Diana as she flung open the door.

  “Do you want to do weights or treadmill or bike?” asked Jess as the three signed in.

  “What about aerobics? Don’t you teach tonight?” Diana wanted to know.

  “Not tonight,” said Jess. “We’re all yours. Or you’re ours. Let’s see how it goes.”

  “Do we talk first?” asked Diana as the three entered th
e gym, Winston keeping a cool distance behind the women.

  “No problem finding three machines together tonight,” said Winston as he looked around the gym. It was 8:00 p.m. on a Tuesday night. In better weather they’d have to wait for even one machine.

  “I think we can manage that,” said Jess. “Lots of choices.” She looked hard at Diana.

  “Let’s go change and hit the treadmills,” suggested Diana.

  “See you ladies in a couple minutes.” Winston headed for the men’s locker room.

  Inside the women’s locker room, Diana looked expectantly at Jess. “Are you going to tell me why Winston’s here?”

  “Do you mind? Shall we send him home?” Jess’s voice had a sarcastic edge to it.

  Wonder if they both came in the Camaro.

  They set to the business of changing into workout attire. Diana noted Jess’s outfit—a low-cut crimson and black leotard with black tights. “Pretty sexy. Is that for Winston?”

  “It’s sure as hell not for you.”

  Diana guessed she’d been right. Jess was probably reluctant to let him go. “So, are you going to tell me why he’s here? Of course I’m always glad to see him. But in your message, you referred him as one of your men. Are you back together?”

  Jess laced up her Adidas with a vengeance. Diana thought she’d break the laces. “No. I was making a joke. Okay? We are both worried about you. We care about you. Winston cares about you. That’s why he’s here.”

  “And I care about him.” As the words left her lips, Diana quickly added, “And you, too. Jessie, I’ve been miserable these last few weeks. I screwed up by even thinking I could represent Rogart.”

  Jess, who rarely touched other females, put an arm around Diana’s shoulders. “No. I screwed up by involving you in this mess,” she said softly as they walked toward the door to the gym.

  “What took you so long?” asked Winston as they walked toward the treadmills.

  Diana saw him eye Jess up and down. The spark lives, and she knows it.

  As Diana chose a machine, Jess and Winston positioned themselves on either side of her. Then they all set their speeds and timers.

  Diana began, as they trod their black rubber trails, “You will both be pleased to know that I’ve told Darren Rogart that I can’t be his lawyer.” There. And she wasn’t even breathing hard. She’d reserve the part about Darren’s inviting himself to dinner until after the fact. Maybe it wouldn’t even be a tale worth telling.

  “How did he take it?” asked Jess.

  “Like a man,” Diana smirked.

  She heard a disgusted snort from Winston.

  “No, seriously, Winston. It wasn’t as hard as I thought.” Oh, jeez, that didn’t come out right. “I mean, he took it well, didn’t argue the point.”

  She glanced from side to side at her friends. Eye-rolls from both. “We heard you the first time,” said Jess. “Point is my night as a Colfax whore may have exposed a whole new side to Darren Rogart.”

  Diana missed her stride and nearly tripped.

  “No sweat. Winston knows the whole, sordid story. You’re the one who doesn’t.”

  “You were supposed to tell me about it on the plane to L.A. Something about a witness who saw the missing girl. And a dead guy’s truck.”

  “I was putting it all together, hoping Darren would fill in the blanks,” said Jess, her stride never wavering. “That didn’t happen, so here goes. I’m not on the street five minutes when some Hispanic chick comes up to lecture me about my clothes.”

  “You looked vintage Halloween.”

  “Shut up and listen.” Jess punched the console to increase her speed. “I showed her Patty’s picture and almost immediately she claimed to have seen her with a man. Like in a bad movie, the man just happens to drive by and the chick tries to get me to follow her into his truck.” Jess shook her head, but kept on trekking. “Bad scene. In a rare flash of insight, I see myself on a morgue slab. The cops cruise by—well, one cop—and the dude in the Silver Ram takes off—”

  “Silver Ram?” Diana stopped treading. Her feet flew out from her as the treadmill continued. Winston reached over, shut off the machine and then helped her up. She clung to him a moment, trying to gather her equilibrium, before turning to Jess. “Joe Flannigan’s been stalking me in a silver Ram. Was the license HUNTER 1?”

  “No. HUNTER 2, as in the numeral two,” said Jess as she shut off her treadmill. “And that’s what really takes it beyond strange—”

  “No. HUNTER 1,” Diana interrupted. “I saw it in his driveway the day I went to his house.”

  “Well, it may not have been a two on that license, but it sure as hell wasn’t a numeral one.”

  “Ladies,” said Winston, “there are obviously two trucks.”

  “Yeah, there are,” said Jess. “And mine’s registered to a dead man. No doubt about who died. I saw his morgue shot. His face wasn’t disfigured or anything. The wife identified him.” A frown then creased Jess’s brow. “If it wasn’t for the difference in the license numbers, it could’ve been Flannigan behind the wheel. Whoever he was, he was a big, bulky son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Don’t you see? If Joe had tracked down the girl, that corroborates Darren’s story,” said Diana.

  “But it wasn’t Joe’s truck,” said Jess. “It was Strickland’s. And the chick said she saw Patty in the truck. Why would he come back if he had her?”

  “She got away again?”

  “Not likely. You’re the lawyer. You know what Joe’d be facing if she talked. He’d probably finish her off.”

  Winston moved beside her, and Diana saw anger in his body language. “Joe Flannigan is not capable of something like that.”

  Jess threw her hands up in frustration. “We don’t know that.” She grabbed Diana and shook her. “Just cool it with Rogart until we can come up with some hard facts.”

  “I second that,” said Winston. “I’ll ask Joe about the trucks. Funny thing, he hasn’t been to a meeting in weeks.” From the look on his face, Diana surmised he might be having second thoughts about his endorsement of the man. “Don’t put yourself in a compromising position with Rogart until we know more,” said Winston in an ominously quiet voice.

  “Compromising? As in don’t sleep with him?” Diana rubbed her arm where Jess had grabbed her. “I hadn’t exactly planned on that anyway.”

  “Have you been seeing him?” asked Jess.

  Again with the strident tone. “No. I told him on the phone about not taking his case.”

  “You’re sweating,” observed Jess. “I don’t think it’s from this puny workout.”

  “My HRT must need adjusting,” blurted Diana. She glanced self-consciously at Winston. His brows were knit together in that puzzled look of his that sometimes made her want to laugh This wasn’t one of those times.

  “Girl talk,” said Jess to Winston.

  “Oh,” he said, then cleared his throat before adding, “I think we’re done here.”

  “Let’s at least finish our workout,” said Jess. “You don’t get off so easy.” She patted Winston’s mid-section, which looked pretty flat to Diana. “Putting on a few pounds?”

  “Not me,” he replied. “But let’s work off some of this frustration. Back to the treadmills, ladies.”

  It made no sense that Flannigan would brazenly drive Larry Strickland’s truck, thought Diana. Or even keep it in his driveway. If he’d bought the truck, wouldn’t he have changed the registration by now? But she was sure about the license plate on the one she saw. Jess must be mistaken.

  “Did your truck have a ram hood ornament?” asked Diana.

  “Sure did.”

  Another coincidence? I don’t think so.

  They trod in silence for the balance of the hour.

  “Anybody want to grab a bite?” asked Jess when all three had worked up a respectable sweat.

  “I think I’ll pass, if I can have a rain check,” said Diana.

  Winston took her arm, more gently tha
n Jess had. “We care about you. Be careful.”

  His touch was warm and strong. She still felt it after he’d let go. Better get that H.R.T. adjustment soon. “I care about you guys, too.” She was about to blubber again, but stopped it.

  After they showered, changed and went their separate ways, Diana remembered. She hadn’t really looked at the license plate when Flannigan was in front of her house. She’d just remembered it from his house, because it was so appropriate. HUNTER 1.

  And the truck in the Buckhorn parking lot? She’d never even seen that plate.

  Chapter 25

  Diana’s mood soured as she drove home from the gym. On reflection, her friends attempting to take charge of her decisions left her feeling defensive. She convinced herself that in all probability it had been Joe Flannigan’s truck at the Buckhorn and probably on Colfax, too.

  Back on that night in December, he’d also have had time to drive down Colfax and scare Jess after she’d shaken him off her tail. He probably hadn’t followed her for as long as she’d thought. She knew for a fact that he’d been in front of her house. Probably on his way home by then. Damn. She wished Cherry Hills and Greenwood Village weren’t so close together.

  Of course Winston was going to take Joe’s part. And Jess had every reason to malign Darren’s character ….

  As she approached the entrance to Cherry Hills Farm, Diana waited while a Yellow Cab that was exiting the subdivision turned left in front of her. Not an event of consequence. Until she reached her house.

  Oh, jeez, no. Tell me this is not happening.

  On her porch stood a tall woman in a full-length fur coat—the real thing, not the faux stuff.

  Diana turned into the driveway, then hit the garage door opener. As she pulled into the garage, the woman waved to her. She parked the car, tempted to just go directly into the house from the garage. But that would only delay the inevitable.

  Stepping outside, she closed the garage door with her remote, and then braced herself against more than the cold.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “Will you please stop dawdling and open the front door.” A command, not a request.