Game of Love (38 page)

“It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
~J. K. Rowling

emma woke to the shrill sound of her mobile phone. She stumbled from bed and glanced out the window. The sun was not supposed to be there. What time was it? She grabbed her phone, forcing her eyes to focus. First she noticed the name:
Bedric
. Then she noticed the time:
9:00 a.m
.

“Holy shit!” she yelled. She was an hour late.

Andre sat up with a jolt. “What? What happened?”

She answered the phone. “Sorry, I lost track of time.”

“Are you well?” Bedric asked.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry. I just, you know, lost track of time.”

“Gemma, you must learn to choose. You said you wanted to win. You called it a new chapter. What are your priorities?”

She glanced at Andre, who stumbled past her to the bathroom. “There is no confusion. Give me an hour.” She hung up.

“Crap! Bugger! Shit! I am so late!”

Andre popped his head out, studying her.

“What?” she asked.

“There’s my drunken sailor.”

Gemma waited for her team to arrive and escort her from the private exit of the hotel.

“What are your plans for today?” she asked Andre.

She noticed his hesitation. “I’m taking care of some urgent business.”

“Will you be free tonight?”

“I’m expecting a call by noon. I’ll know the exact plans then, but should be free at night. Why do you ask?” He slid his hand through her hair.

“As fun as it was to have the hotel’s general manager sneak me in, my place is infinitely safer. Come over tonight. We’ll have dinner.”

“Is it wise? The tournament starts tomorrow and your first match is on Monday. You should focus.”

She grinned. “It’s settled then. I’ll have Glen pick you up at 8:00 p.m.” She gave him a peck on his lips.

He pulled back slightly. “Gem, is this wise?” he asked again. “I don’t want to be a source of distraction.”

“You don’t distract me. You center me. At the Aegon championship, it was your voice in my head that carried me through. You’re good for me.”

He beamed. “Okay, then. 8:00 p.m. it is.” He brought her face to his.

Just as they kissed, his mobile rang. She glanced at the number. “That’s Tish.”

He answered it. “Good morning, Tish… yes, I’m free in the morning… sure, sounds fun… I’ll meet you there in an hour.” He hung up.

“She wants to give me a tour of Wimbledon.” He smirked. “Are you jealous?”

“Nice try. I asked her to call you.”

“So you weren’t jealous? Not even a bit?”

“Maybe a bit.” She draped her arms around his neck and gave him a long, loving kiss. And in the privacy of her mind, she thought,
I love you
.

Andre recalled her face, her words, her smile, her scent. He was utterly happy, which concerned him. He had never enjoyed the luxury known as happiness.

He’d have to manage the situation with M&T. How could he stay away from her for three, four, maybe five months? If he worked around the clock, maybe he could wrap it up in two or three. But that was wishful thinking. Once Sunrise started, he would be buried, flying from one military base to another. How much harder could he work?

He wanted to be a source of support, not distraction. She had to focus on Wimbledon. If he brought it up now, it would probably cause more problems. But he couldn’t wait until after Wimbledon either, because that’s when he had to start his project. The upside of an early loss was that he could tell her sooner.

He didn’t even want to think about that scenario. She had to win, for her own sake. Although her fans loved her, the press wanted to see her fail–gloriously if possible. They would write one segment after another. A celebrity who hit rock bottom was infinitely more entertaining than one who stood above the fray.

He’d have to tell her soon. He just had to wait for the right opportunity.

Tish greeted Andre with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go into the inner sanctum of tennis’s greatest destination.” She held his hand and led him into the park.

They spent the next two hours talking to officials, touring the grounds, watching the crews tend to the grass, and talking to the broadcast crews. They eventually settled and ate the famed strawberries and cream.

“So what do you think of her world, her lifestyle?”

“It’s a crazy world, where little makes sense.”

“Maybe to you. But it’s the way the world of the gifted and celebrity works.”

A headache cut through his left eye. “Really? Running from one group of salivating paparazzi to another? That’s the world of the gifted?”

“We may not like it, but when you’re as big a celebrity as she is, you need to be willing to play the game.”

“Until it breaks her.”

“She’s much stronger than you give her credit for.”

Like a saw, the headache ate away at his brain. “We’re all more fragile than we want to believe.”

“We’re made stronger by those who surround us. She needs people she can trust. People who have her well-being at the forefront of every decision.”

“And how well do you think she’s doing there?”

She hesitated.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

“It’s not that. Look, everyone is doing the best they can.”

“Do you really believe that?”

He studied her eyes, saw her sincerity. “I do. This stuff is so confusing sometimes. Everyone is running one way, then the other, then we’re told to do more of one thing, then less of another. It’s with the best of intentions, but sometimes things go wrong. No one wants that to happen, but it does.”

“Chaos will always produce unexpected results. That’s the goal of chaos. You guys have to eliminate the things that create the spirals. Not feed into them.”

Gemma glanced at the clock every few minutes, her nerves on full alert. It was 8:22 in the evening. She was estimating how long it would take Glen to pick up Andre and drive back. Fifteen minutes? Maybe twenty? She kept checking her hair and lightly applied makeup. She studied her reflection, happy with what she wore. A strapless one-piece dress, a handful of inches above the knees, with heels to accentuate her legs. Her smile froze.
You’re behaving like a little schoolgirl waiting for her prom date
. Not that she had ever been to a prom.

Her mobile rang. It was Glen.

“Ma’am, Mr. Reyes is not back at the hotel yet. I’ve checked with the front desk, and it appears he has not returned since morning.”

Her heart sank. “I’ll call him on his mobile.”

Three rings and he picked up.

“Gem, I am so sorry. I should’ve called.”

“Where are you?”

Noise in the background. “I’m still stuck on the business I told you about. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it after all.”

“I see.” Her jaw clenched. “That’s it then. I guess we’ll speak tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry. I promise to make it up to you–”

“No need,” she said. “Cheers.” She hung up and was tempted to throw the phone against the wall. Instead, she leaned against her mirror and closed her eyes.

Andre wanted to bash his head against his cell phone. He had known two hours earlier he would not be able to pull away. He should have called her then and there, but he got distracted, and now he felt like the prize idiot.

He glanced at Detective Chief Inspector Whitby, who studied him.

“All’s well, Doctor?”

“No, I’m an idiot.”

“Aren’t we all?”

The video surveillance images from the hotel had been close to useless. The stalker had successfully blocked enough of his face when passing the cameras that the image matching applications couldn’t find a hit. It would have to be up to Andre.

He had already gone through the images of suspected and known perpetrators who belonged to various terrorist organizations and their sympathizers. One by one, he had scrolled through the images, relying on his photographic memory to find the right person. But the exercise had been a bust. No hits.

A new approach would be needed.

“What if we expand the search to include anyone who fits the stalker’s physical description?” Andre asked.

“Not just terrorists or friends of?”

“Let’s not limit the search. Let’s see everyone.”