Game of Love (39 page)

DCI Whitby rubbed his face. “I can’t even hazard a guess as to how many faces you’ll need to analyze.”

“Let’s not guess. Just bring up the files.”

Half an hour later, after they had filtered the faces for known physical attributes, Andre leaned close to the monitor and scrolled through the images, faster and faster, looking for key markers that differentiated each person.

“How do you do that?” DCI Whitby asked. “I’m getting dizzy just watching you.”

Andre didn’t respond. He blocked sounds, scents, and self-doubt. For a long stretch he studied the images, slowing down when he needed to blink. He would push through this until–

He stopped scrolling. His heart rate spiked momentarily.

“Did you see something?” Whitby asked.

Andre scrolled back slowly until he landed on the face that had given him pause.

“Is that him?”

“That’s my stalker.”

Whitby took over, pulling the man’s information.

Andre leaned back, rubbing his temple and eyes.

“This is unexpected,” Whitby said.

Andre studied the rap sheet. “Abe Munem. Who is he?”

“Not a terrorist, that’s for sure. He’s a hired gun, an investigator of sorts.”

“A private detective?”

“Not exactly that classy. Also, he’s talented at hiding.”

They spoke for a while. Andre considered the implications of their findings. Although some details were still speculation, the news was significant. Who had hired him? And why? Andre would have to deal with this development the best way he could: head on. More importantly, he had to protect Gemma. She could not get stuck in the crosshairs of his mess.

“People are where they are because that is exactly where they really want to be—whether they will admit that or not.”
~Earl Nightingale

emma was familiar with this feeling; emotional hangover. She was furious and depressed. She understood that eventually this would be a way of life. With his career and hers, physical proximity would be the exception, not the norm. Their relationship had grown with velocity, and with each passing day they had gotten closer. All her vulnerabilities and concerns had been exposed to him and he in return had been her anchor.

For the first time, she understood the meaning of bliss. But when she was not with him, the emptiness was there in abundance. She missed him, and the thought that she would not have him whenever she needed him bothered her.

He had once told her nature abhors a vacuum. Emptiness would eventually get replaced with something else. For Gemma, sadness filled her lonely heart.

She crawled out of bed, dragged her feet across the house, and sat for breakfast, newspaper at her side–her father’s tradition she had now adopted as her own. She unfolded the Sunday paper, pulled out the sports section, and raised the teacup to her lips. She froze, her cup tilted slightly and her mouth open. She blinked, and read the headline again.

“
Gemma’s Secret Lover Exposed
.”

She read quickly, picking up the key pieces of information.

“
Gemma and Dr. Andre Reyes met in Paris during the French Open… Their romance blossomed just as she dropped her semifinal match against Sonia Wilkins… They left the country together for a brief romantic getaway in Malibu, California
…
After her injury, during the Aegon games, she sent for him, and he came to her side… She is ready to quit.
”

She stopped reading.

Her mobile rang. Wesley. “Not now.” She pressed
Ignore
. Her home phone rang. “Don’t answer it,” she told her staff.

Newspaper in hand, she ran upstairs to her bedroom, slammed the door shut, and dialed Andre.

“Hi, Gem,” he said, clearing his throat. He sounded like he had just woken up.

“How did this shit get out?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The bloody newspapers. They know everything about us. What the hell is going on here?”

“I don’t have the slightest clue.”

“This is great, Andre. Just fantastic. The tournament begins today, and my first match is tomorrow. Do you know what this’ll mean?”

“No, I don’t. I haven’t read the article, but assuming they haven’t created vicious lies, the most it means is they know we’re together.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yes. It is simple. Calm down. There’s no reason to get excited over this. Don’t get thrown off track.”

She would have to talk to Wesley and plan a response. She would need to address the fears of her sponsors. Why did it have to happen now? Couldn’t this have been buried for a few more weeks?

“I need to go,” she said, and hung up.

Although Andre had advised Gemma to relax, he was furious. He would have to call the DCI and see if this article was related to his stalker. He hoped not, but maybe the DCI could pressure the newspaper to release the name of the source.

He got out of bed and checked his laptop. Gemma’s virus was completely attached now. He ran the analyzer tools and watched the results. His eyes froze, and his mouth opened slightly.

At that same instant, his cell phone chimed. He had a text message from his assistant. The message was simple and to the point:
911 - Rome
.

He stared at his phone, considering the implications. It was midnight in LA. This was bad. He was dialing his assistant when his cell rang. It was Roger.

“Hi Roger, I just got the notice about Rome.”

“That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve gotten word about you in the newspapers.”

“Okay.”

“And you need to distance yourself from the media and press ASAP. If the press and paparazzi begin to follow you, the Pentagon will cancel the project. They can’t have you in the spotlight. Your actions are compromising Project Sunrise.”

Gemma spent all day training, canceling interviews, and planning with Wesley. To her relief, Wesley was rolling with the developments; the smug bastard was finding ways to spin the news. Unfortunately, two days ago they had concocted the appearance that Andre was with Tish. And now the backlash was five-fold. It gave credibility to some of the more damaging lies. The questions surfaced again: was she about to quit tennis? Also, some of the raunchier papers questioned the type of friendship she really had with Tish. Bad taste had no limits.

Her phone chimed with a new text message from Tish. “
Just friends?
”

Gemma rubbed her temples. Now her best friend was calling her out on being less than honest about Andre.

It was late afternoon when she got around to returning Andre’s voicemail and text messages.

“Glad you called. I thought we wouldn’t connect before I left.”

“Left? What do you mean?”

“I have an urgent matter in Rome. One of my clients is on the verge of losing their license with the Italian government. They need me there for a Monday morning meeting.”

“Monday? You’ll miss my first match.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I tried to find an alternate solution, but no one else can represent their technical strategy.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“Gem, I’m sorry. I have to do this.”

“I wanted you at my match,” she whispered.

“It won’t be like this forever.”

She heard the sincerity in his voice. She’d have to at least try to understand.

The next morning, Gemma emerged from her world of dreams drenched in sweat. The first day of each tournament was always the worst. Her nerves dominated her dreams.

She shuffled into her kitchen, feeling profoundly sad and lonely. She picked up her phone and called Andre, but his mobile went to voicemail.

“You forgot to wish me luck,” she said.

She waited patiently for his call, but when she didn’t hear from him, the sadness evolved into passive aggression.

A few hours later, when she was in the locker room preparing for her match, her mobile rang. She leapt at her bag and snatched the phone.

“Hello,” she said.

“Good luck, Gem. I’ll have the match streaming on my cell. I’m there with you, thirty second delay, but still there.”

“Thanks for calling,” she whispered.

“Go. Win. I love you.”

She grinned like a kid. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”