by Lori Foster
“Someone ran that man over. On purpose.”
So she’d come to the same conclusion. “You noticed that, huh?” He was hoping she’d come around the corner too late to see the actual act.
“He was killed.” She looked up at Drew, her face filled with worry. “Murdered.”
“Sure looked that way to me.” Drew could tell by her concentrated expression that she was still piecing things together.
“He has photos of me, here with you, on that camera. That last photo . . . I’m in your shirt, Drew. In my underwear .” Distraught and affronted, she stared up at him. “He was . . . spying on you. On me.”
There’d be no point trying to sugarcoat it. Gillian wasn’t a dummy. “Yeah, afraid so.”
Hands in her hair, she strode away from him. “This is just too awful.”
Drew watched her with growing cynicism.
She hadn’t turned to him for comfort. Instead, she’d set herself apart from him.
He wouldn’t kid himself: a ton of significance came with her telling reaction. From jump, Gillian had seen him primarily as trouble, and now she felt she’d been contaminated by her association with him.
Who had the cursed photographer worked for?
“You’ll get through it.” Drew picked up her jeans and held them out to her. Though he hated it, all he could do at this point was protect her from the danger, and the fallout, as much as possible. “Get dressed, and then stay here in the house. I’ll handle Sparks.”
“Oh, no.” She inhaled deeply and seemed to collect herself before stepping into her jeans. “Forewarned is fore-armed. I need to know what’s going on so that I’ll be better able to control things.”
Unbelievable. How the hell did she think to control things now? And how could he keep her safe if she wouldn’t stay out of it? “I thought we settled this in the kitchen.”
In the process of snapping her jeans, she froze and then slowly brought her gaze up to his. Her blue eyes burned like the center of a flame.
Fascinated, Drew watched her expression tighten into cold fury. Oddly enough, it kind of turned him on. Gillian Noode was a bundle of passion.
“That’s right!” As if only then recalling it, she stated, “I’m livid with you.”
“Really? Why?”
Her back went ramrod straight and in a near screech, she said, “Why? What do you mean, why?”
Drew almost smiled. Of course he knew. He’d deliberately antagonized her, almost as a self-preservation mechanism to keep her from getting too close.
But now . . . now everything had changed. Now he damn well intended to keep her under his very close radar.
For her sake.
“Come on, Gillian. Be reasonable.” Drew held up a hand to preempt the attack she looked ready to launch. “Whatever has you prickly now, let’s agree that it has to wait. I need to get back outside with Dickey.”
Trembling with fury, she resisted, and then finally snapped, “Fine.”
She slipped her pampered, painted toes into high-heel sandals and, still wearing his shirt with her jeans, headed for the door. “Let’s go.”
Yet again Drew noticed how she filled out his shirt. How could he not? With every step, she bounced and jiggled and just plain looked sexy as hell. He didn’t want Dickey seeing her like this, and he sure as hell didn’t want Sparks to see her this way again.
He blocked the bedroom door so she couldn’t leave. “A bra wouldn’t hurt anything, you know.”
“Wear one if it’ll make you feel better.” She all but pushed through him to take the lead. Following behind her, Drew made note of the defiant swish in her gait, and how that delectable ass of hers filled out her jeans. That preoccupation let her get through the front door ahead of him.
For a minute there, she’d been badly shaken by the invasion of their privacy and the residue of danger and death. Every protective instinct in him had taken over.
Now, she was back in control, and as take-charge as ever.
Damn, but he liked both sides of her: the soft, vulnerable lady and the balls-to-the-wall businesswoman.
One thing about Gillian, no matter what, she never bored him. That had to count for something, right?
As he trailed her out the door, Drew paused to grab a jacket. The evening air had chilled, so he could use that as an excuse to cover up Gillian’s impressive rack.
For one of the few times in his life, he felt possessive toward a woman. No matter the deadly conspiracy at hand, he wasn’t about to share her.
CHAPTER 12
OFFICER Sparks took statements from each of them separately. An ambulance crew removed the body, and the camera was taken for evidence.
Drew’s tolerance wore thin. Gillian held it together, but she looked exhausted. He wanted to pamper her, damn it. He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay—but he wouldn’t lie to her. Any assurance right now would be just that—a giant lie.
“So.” Sparks looked at Dickey. “What was the purpose of your visit tonight?”
Dickey surprised Drew with his tact. “Just business, to work out details on when I’ll fight next.”
Unconvinced, Sparks asked, “Is that routine, to visit the president of the company at his house?”
Dickey shook his head. “No.” And then, a little chagrined: “Maybe that’s why you won’t see me fighting anytime soon.”
Humility always got to Drew. And it didn’t hurt that Dickey was a damn good fighter, albeit with a lot to learn. “Dickey’s working through some roadblocks to success, but he’s getting there.” Drew slapped him on the shoulder, earning a funny look from Dickey.
“As to fighters visiting me at my house, this isn’t my only home. Usually I’m in L.A., and yeah, when I’m there I don’t mix business with home life. But the atmosphere here is more relaxed. Everyone knows everyone.” He gave Sparks a direct stare. “I’ve had a few of the fighters over. No big deal.”
Dickey almost swallowed his tongue over that one.
“Hmmm.” Sparks looked down at his notes. “Any idea why a photographer was running from you?”
“Probably because he knew I planned to beat his god-damned ass if I’d caught him.”
That irked Sparks. “You threatened him?”
“Didn’t get a chance. Like I told you, soon as the camera flashed, I went after him and he ran like a fucking coward who skulks in bushes to facilitate snooping into other people’s lives.”
Sparks exhibited strained patience.
“Look, I won’t lie to you. I was going to smash the fucking camera and his face. But he ran like hell around the corner and into the street, and bam, just like that, the car plowed him down.”
“On purpose.”
Exasperation raised Drew’s voice to a near shout. “How many drivers are going seventy, eighty miles an hour on these streets? I didn’t even notice the car until the headlights came on, and neither did the dumb-ass photographer.”
Sparks looked at Gillian with suspicion. “And you didn’t see any of that?”
Arms wrapped around herself, she shook her head. “Not the hit, no. I was a few yards behind Drew, and by the time I rounded the block, it was . . . all over.”
“Why were you following him?”
Apologetic, she looked askance at Drew. “I was going to stop him from hitting the guy.”
“She was going to try to stop me,” Drew corrected. “I was plenty pissed, so it’s doubtful she’d have succeeded.”
A news van pulled up and a reporter popped out with a damned mic already in her hand. A videographer followed right behind her. Two more vehicles pulled up.
Drew sucked in a lungful of cool night air, but it didn’t alleviate his rage. “The circus begins.”
Sparks ignored them. “And you?” he asked Dickey. “What were you doing?”
He shrugged. “I just followed to see what would happen. That’s all.”
“Are we done here?” Drew asked. He wanted to get Gillian inside before the inquisition st
arted. As it was, she’d be on some bozo’s film, and news cameras were already rolling. No need to add to that.
Gillian put a hand on Drew’s arm. “I’m not hiding from them.”
This was no time for gumption. “They’ll chew you up and spit you out.”
Sparks pinched the bridge of his nose and said with resignation, “He’s probably right.”
Gillian lifted that stubborn chin. “If I run from them, they’ll make up their own story anyway.”
“And you think that’ll be more incriminating than the truth?” Drew shook his head. “You’re the one who wants this kept private, if you’ll remember.”
“Might not matter.” Dickey nodded at something behind Drew. “The cavalry arrives.”
Puzzled by that, Drew spun around—and found a small contingent of fighters, and their significant others, approaching. They laughed and joked with each other as if they hadn’t just stepped into a media frenzy, with cameras already trained on them.
“What the hell is this?”
Dickey leaned in close to Drew. “Diffusion. If they have more to see and talk about, less is said about you and your lady.”
Few things in life ever left Drew floored, but this counted. “That’s brilliant, Dickey.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I know. I called Handleman right after I called Officer Sparks, and I told him what happened. He rounded up the rest of the guys.”
The fighters were deliberately rowdy, causing a stir—and a distraction. They provided confusion as to who had seen what by giving evasive answers and changing the subject.
It worked, to a point.
Then Millie Christian showed up. She didn’t have a cameraman or a mic but she had a damned tape recorder, and she made a beeline for . . . Gillian.
Drew tried stepping in front of her, but she couldn’t be sidetracked. Making sure the rest of the reporters would hear her, she called out, “Ms. Noode, is it true that you’re working to reinvent Drew Black’s image?”
A hush fell, quickly broken by excitement.
Someone aimed a camera at Gillian. She didn’t panic or shrink away.
Poised, professional even in Drew’s shirt and jacket, she said, “I was hired for promotional purposes, in a broad capacity, with many goals in mind.”
In that moment, Drew was so damned proud of her.
But Christian didn’t let up. Drew remembered only too well how tenacious that witch could be.
Holding out the recorder to catch every word, she asked, “Is it true that you’re sleeping with him?”
Drew saw red. But before he could even brace himself for a tirade that would have demolished the stupid woman, Gillian was there, pulling him back with no more than a look.
More attention came her way, but it still didn’t notably faze her. “My personal relationships are just that: personal.”
Had he ever really thought this WAVS meddler was timid? Right now, she looked like a damned junkyard dog eyeing a meaty bone. Why the hell had he ever felt remorse for ripping her apart online?
Ms. Christian didn’t smile, but Drew saw the glee in her eyes—and the fanaticism. Loony-ass broad.
Enjoying the spotlight, Millie Christian pressed her slant on things. “An intimate relationship would bias your task at hand, wouldn’t it? How can you coerce Mr. Black into more suitable behavior if you’re succumbing to his abuse?”
“No one can coerce Mr. Black, his behavior is suitable, and I assure you he has never abused me!”
“He might not strike you, but there are all types of abuse, Ms. Noode. I was referring to the way that he treats women as second-class citizens, how he calls them demeaning names and ridicules them in the business world.” Emotion added steam to her outburst. “He is known for using women like paper napkins, only to toss them out with the trash when he’s done. And you know he’ll be done with you soon enough.”
Drew rolled his eyes at her venom, but Gillian didn’t have the same reaction.
Her eyes narrowed. “Millie Christian, I presume?”
That took Millie back a step, but she quickly regrouped. “I see that you’ve heard of me.”
“Indeed.” Gillian looked her over with the same distaste she’d give to a bug.
“Because of him.” She pointed the recorder at Drew. “Because of his foul mouth and disrespectful attitude toward women.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Gillian said. “I believe any source, male or female, who shared so much erroneous information would have garnered the same reaction from him. It wasn’t sexist at all, just intolerance for lack of facts.”
Drew’s eyebrows went up. Score one for Gillian.
“You’re defending him?” The reporter’s red hair nearly stood on end. “But then, I shouldn’t be surprised. If you’re trashy enough to sleep with him, of course you’d see things his way.”
Gillian shook her head as if in pity. “What is wrong with you, Ms. Christian? You sound like a lover scorned, but surely that can’t be the case.” Her lip curled in a way that Drew had never before witnessed. “I know that for a fact, because Drew Black would never be interested in such a petty, mean-spirited, stupid woman.”
Millie’s face went red with rage. “You’re nothing more than a—”
With all cameras taking it in, Gillian cut her off and put her in her place.
“Oh, please, Ms. Christian, get a grip. Your vindictiveness and spiteful attitude are not appropriate to a professional interview. You’re not asking decisive, pertinent questions. You’re just a gossipmonger.” Gillian shooed her away. “I’m not talking with you. You’re not a professional in any sense of the word.”
Millie Christian turned reddened eyes on Drew. Through her teeth, she said, “Tell me, Mr. Black, were you glad when the photographer was killed?”
“Actually, no. His death denied me the satisfaction of beating him down.” Drew smiled at her. “And if he’d lived, I could have found out who he was working for.”
She sucked in a breath at his honesty. “Just what incriminating scenes will we find on that camera when the film’s developed?”
“That’s more than enough.” Belatedly taking charge again, Sparks stepped in front of her.
But the other reporters were just as keen on a bona fide scandal. They recorded what they could, and the questions were flying like crazy—all aimed at Gillian.
A mic was shoved under her nose. “Are you personally involved with Drew Black, the president of the SBC?”
A second reporter pushed the first aside. “What is the scope of your employed position?”
The first shoved back. “Is Drew Black trying to reform, and why?”
As Sparks herded Millie Christian away, she yelled over her shoulder, “Drew Black’s position in the SBC is at risk, isn’t it? Have even the owners tired of his crude behavior? Who will replace him?”
“For the love of . . .” Muscling aside the reporters, Drew took Gillian’s arm and started dragging her along. The fighters and their women closed ranks around them, making it impossible for the inquisition to continue. But still the flashbulbs lit the night.
“Jesus,” Dickey said. “It was like a damned feeding frenzy.”
“Won’t matter,” Simon said. “It’s not like someone from the NFL was caught. This is one time I’m glad we’re not more mainstream.”
“It’ll hit the smaller news venues, mostly online,” Dean said. “But I can’t see network news picking it up.”
Bullshit. Every sports show out there would sink their teeth into the story. Sure, as long as the SBC did great, most chose to ignore it. But something like this?
His fighters weren’t dumb; they realized the same thing. But Drew knew they were trying to reassure Gillian, and he appreciated their efforts.
For himself, he wasn’t worried. He, and everyone else, knew his value. He was synonymous with the sport, and that made him nearly irreplaceable.
But Gillian . . . this would damage her good name, defame her in the PR world, and affect the
jobs she got in the future.
Unless he could figure out a way to fix it.
As everyone packed through his front door to wait out the vultures, Drew’s thoughts scrambled. The only solution he could think of was one he didn’t want to contemplate.
He looked at Gillian’s stricken face, her shattered attempts at dignity, and he knew, for her, he would do it.
He’d quit the SBC.
TOUCHED by some strange emotion, Brett smoothed a hand down Audrey’s arm. She dozed against him, her head in the notch of his shoulder, her small hand resting on his abdomen. He wanted her again, of course. It was insane how she stirred him, kept him on the edge, and made him resent his dedication.
She looked so sweet and sexy, curled beside him, and last night . . . well, she’d taken him by surprise with her lack of inhibition. It wasn’t a wealth of experience that had made her bold; it was the same churning, irresistible attraction that he’d felt for her the second he laid eyes on her.
Feeling her breath on his skin, the way her long hair trailed over his arm, how trustingly she relaxed against him, filled him with an overwhelming need to claim her the best way known to man.
But he’d kept her up late and didn’t want to wake her so early.
Weak rays of sunshine cut through cold gray skies. It’d be a good morning for jogging. Quiet. Peaceful. Unlike some fighters, he didn’t mind conditioning. He didn’t have to force himself to do it. For him, it was as accepted, as much a part of his routine, as brushing his teeth and showering.
But today . . . today it took a little more effort to leave his bed, only because Audrey was in it.
She stirred but didn’t awaken. The room had cooled considerably, so Brett pulled the quilt up and over her shoulder. Curled at the foot of the bed, Spice lifted her head to look at him, blinked her bright eyes, and went back to sleep against Audrey’s feet.
Seeing his pet so accepting of Audrey put a funny little twinge in his chest. Other than Spice, he hadn’t openly cared for anyone or anything in a very long time. He hoped he was a nice guy, considerate and mannered. But those traits had always come with a purposeful distance.
