Play to Win (21 page)

“And what's five percent going to do?” I asked. “Unless there's a majority percentage, Shea will still buy the remainder and control your company.”

“The employees' forty-nine plus our five will be the controlling interest,” Charlie interrupted. “With that, we'll be able to incorporate the company as a Muccino holding.”

“A merger,” I said.

“Exactly,” Shelton said. “And since he'll then be a shareholder, Shea won't be able to bring charges of collusion up against his own parent company. You'll be in the clear.”

It sounded like an excellent plan to me, almost too good to be true, but the part of me that no longer relied on the kindness of human nature was suspicious. “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“I want to retire, go take my wife and sit on the beach somewhere,” he said. “But I built this and don't want it to fall into Shea's hands. Plus, I owe your dad one. This is my way of paying him back.”

“Okay, so what do we need to do?”

He reached into his briefcase and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “The paperwork's already been drawn up,” he said. “You just need to sign it.” He handed it to me.

“Who prepared all this?” I asked, flipping through the pages.

“Parker Anderson.”

I paused in my signing, glancing over at Charlie, who maintained a poker face. I hurriedly finished signing and handed the papers back.

“I'll have these filed and the agreement faxed over by tonight,” Shelton said, sliding them back in his briefcase. He stood and I followed suit. “It was good doing business with you.”

“Likewise,” I said, shaking his hand again.

“I'll see you out,” Charlie said, holding open the door.

I sat back down with a thump. Obviously, this was what Parker hadn't told me about. I wondered what else he had up his sleeve because once Shea found out his plan to monopolize the business was gone, he was going to be pissed. And considering he was a psycho, I wasn't sure what form his temper would take; I just knew it wouldn't be pleasant.

Would he find out about Parker's involvement?

Apprehension still filled my gut. Yes, Parker may have saved my company and my father, but who was going to save him?

I needed to find something on Steven. If I did, then I could maybe turn the tables and get him to leave my company—my father's company—alone. Which meant I was still going to see Ashley. But in the meantime…

I picked up my cell and dialed.

“Parker Anderson,” he answered.

“Shouldn't it be ‘knight in shining armor'?”

There was a low chuckle on the line. “I take it Sikes came by.”

“Yes, he just left. So why didn't you tell me this last night?”

“We were kind of busy last night.” The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine.

“Yes, we certainly were,” I replied, my voice dropping into what I hoped was a sexier register. Phone-sex operator, I was not.

“Been thinking about you all day,” he said. “I kept smelling you on my fingers when I drove home last night. Gave me another hard-on.”

Hooboy.
That sent my blood in a southerly direction. Okay, maybe I could channel my inner phone-sex operator. “Then it's too bad you left or I could've taken care of that for you.” Hmm. Surely I could do better…

Another low laugh. “I'd ask you to tell me, in detail, how you would've done that, but I'm afraid I need to go.”

“Yeah, about that,” I hesitated. “While I appreciate what you did, Steven's not going to be happy about it.”

“I'm not worried.”

I rolled my eyes. Alpha males. “I didn't think you would be, but
I
am. He's certifiable. What if he does something crazy? He could hurt you.”

“I can take care of myself, Sage,” Parker said.

“That's what you keep telling me,” I said. “Pardon me if I'm not convinced of that.”

He sighed. “This isn't my ideal, no. But you're safe and so is the company. If Steven gets out of hand, I'll take care of it.”

I let my silence speak for me.

“I've gotta go, sweetheart. I'll call you later, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Bye.”

“Bye.” He ended the call.

I know he meant to be reassuring, but I still didn't feel any better.

I caved and asked Schultz to leave one of the family cars at my apartment—it was just so much easier than calling a cab—then I drove myself to Ashley's house.

I decided to go for badass and wore black jeans, a fitted black long-sleeved shirt, and slicked my hair back in a ponytail. I didn't trust myself with a gun, so I brought a knife. I intended to leave with information, and Ashley was going to give it to me, even if I had to scare ten years off her life.

It was dark and I parked half a block away but near enough to where I could see her house. There were no lights on and there was no car in the driveway. She wasn't home yet.

Hmm.

Breaking and entering wasn't high on my list of Things I Excelled At, but her house was old and so were the locks. I used my knife to jimmy the dead bolt at the back door and eased inside. I stood still for a moment, waiting to see if a dog might be waiting for me or if I'd triggered an alarm. Neither happened.

I released my breath and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. I'd entered the kitchen, so I walked through to the hallway. Waiting in the bedroom would probably be the best location and give me the most bang for my buck.

Sure enough, her bedroom was the master at the end of the hallway. It was girly enough not to be anyone else's. She had a slipper chair in the corner opposite the door and I sat there.

I'd been sitting in the dark for several minutes when something touched my leg. I squeaked in alarm—some threat I was—and looked down to see a white Persian cat rubbing against my leg. He glanced up at me, then hopped onto my lap. After kneading my legs for a moment with clawless paws, he settled down.

After I started hesitantly petting his head, he began to purr. Oh, this was too good. I felt like Dr. Evil, sitting here with a cat on my lap while I waited for my victim. I nearly snorted.

Time passed slowly and I was bored. Glancing at my watch for the umpteenth time, I wondered why they never showed
this
in the movies. Bond wouldn't be so glamorous if people saw him nodding off as he awaited the bad guy, who was late getting home.

Bookshelves on the wall drew my eye. I stood, the cat leaping down to floor and giving me a kitty glare of disdain. I used the flashlight on my phone to peruse the titles of the books. Typical fiction and a few photo albums lined the shelves. I was about to sit down again when a line of yearbooks caught my attention. They were for a high school not far from mine. It appeared Ashley and I had practically been neighbors.

Curious, I slid one off the shelf and opened it. Typical class photos lined the pages. I searched out her name under the Ws.
Hmm.
A cheerleader. Why was I not surprised?

Idly, I scanned the rest of the page, then stopped short.

No. It couldn't be. But it was. Jessie was pictured in the same class. Ashley knew Jessie?

I heard the front door open and hurriedly replaced the book on the shelf before going back to my chair. It was showtime.

I took a deep breath, my nerves strung tight and my heart racing. I had to look the part if I wanted answers.

Steps advanced down the hall and a light was flicked on. My eyes adjusted just as Ashley appeared in the doorway. To my surprise, she didn't notice me but walked right in and slipped off her shoes. She released a heavy sigh.

“Hard day?”

She spun around and yelped at the sound of my voice, her eyes widening when she spotted me.

“Remember me?” I smiled as maliciously as I was able, and she went pale.

She took off running, but I'd been expecting this and wasted no time chasing after her. I remembered some of my short lesson with Parker in moves and I grabbed a handful of her hair as well as the waistband of her slacks. Planting my foot, I leveraged her suddenly off-balance body and she was flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her.

“Nice try,” I puffed, more out of breath than I should've been for that short of a sprint. “I take it you were expecting me to be dead. That's what was supposed to happen last night, right? When you locked me in that room?”

I thought about the knife in my pocket, but I just couldn't pull it out. I'd heard somewhere that you shouldn't show a weapon unless you were prepared to use it. And I knew there was no way I'd be using a knife on Ashley, not unless I was suddenly fighting for my life.

“I swear, I didn't know that was going to happen,” she said. “I was just supposed to let him know if anyone came snooping.”

“Let who know?” I asked, wanting confirmation.

“Steven Shea.”

“And he paid you off?”

She nodded.

“Did he also pay you to scrub the files?”

She hesitated, her eyes glancing past me toward the door, but I resisted the instant urge to turn and look.

“He almost killed me last night,” I said. “That makes you an accessory. You should tell me now or I'm going to the cops.”

“Please don't,” she said. “Yes, he paid me to delete the electronic file and destroy the paper one. Then I just had to call if anyone came looking.”

“But you didn't destroy the paper,” I said. “Why?”

“Because I didn't ask to get involved in this mess!” She was near tears. “It was bad enough deleting the electronic file. I couldn't bring myself to destroy the paper one. Someone should know he's trying to hide it, and if I destroyed everything, no one would have.”

“But you still went through with calling him?”

“I thought you were a test,” she said. “And he'd already threatened me. If I hadn't called…” She swallowed hard. “So I did and a man showed up. He told me to lock the door when I left. That's what I did. I swear, I didn't know he was going to try and kill you.”

“What exactly did you think was going to happen?” I retorted. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out she'd put me in imminent danger. I felt kind of bad for threatening her like this, but her pretending she hadn't taken an active role in nearly getting me—a total stranger—killed, wasn't helping her either.

“I'm so sorry,” she said.

I sighed. She sounded sincere, and I could relate to being threatened and scared. I reached down and took her hand, helping her to her feet. “Steven Shea is bad news,” I said. “Tell me the name you marked out of the file. Who'd he get married to?”

The sound of a gunshot and crashing glass exploded in my ears. Ashley's body jerked, then red began leaking from her chest. She crumpled to the floor.

I stood for a second, stunned, then dropped to my knees. Ashley was limp. I pulled at her arm.

“Ashley! Ashley!”

She didn't respond. Her head lolled to the side and I saw her eyes, glassy and empty. She was dead. Shot by someone outside.

Fear was a bitter taste in the back of my throat as I crawled toward the door. There was no further gunfire, but I didn't know if it was because the shooter had left or was waiting for me to present a good target.

The thought that someone was watching you, had a gun pointed at you, was enough to turn anyone's knees to jelly. I got to the hallway and stood, my breath a sharp intake that caught in my chest. Should I run outside? What if he was waiting? Was it the same guy who'd been after me before?

Sirens screamed in the distance as I stood in indecision. Oh, thank God. The cops were coming.

Please be coming here
, I prayed.

Apparently someone was listening tonight because sure enough, the sirens pulled up outside and I heard a pounding on the front door.

“CPD! Open up!”

I went into the living room just as the front door burst open. I threw up my hands in the universal gesture of surrender as men in uniform streamed inside, weapons at the ready.

“Please don't shoot me!” That would really suck.

The swarm of police moved around me and before I even knew what was happening, I was facedown on the floor, my hands behind my back.

“I'm so glad you're here,” I babbled. “He killed Ashley. He's still outside—”

“Woman down in the back! Paramedics!”

I knew it was too late to help Ashley, even as two men rushed by carrying equipment. Tears leaked from my eyes and it felt like I couldn't breathe. I was numb as I was handcuffed, watching as they rolled a gurney with Ashley's body on it out the door. They put me in the back of a police car and we drove away.

I
t wasn't until they were fingerprinting me and taking my mug shot that I realized I'd been arrested. I'd broken into Ashley's house and had a knife on me, not to mention that my outfit, which I'd thought was so “badass,” was also a red flag proclaiming
I'm Up To No Good
.

I'd never been arrested in my life and while I was trying to keep calm, on the inside I was quaking. The cop processing me took me into a tiny room with a table and two chairs. He handcuffed me to the chair, then left me alone. The heavy metal door swung shut behind him.

Time inched by, my own panic not helping matters any. I was supposed to get a phone call, right? But so far, no one had offered. They'd fired questions at me about my name and address, but that was all.

Oh yeah, and that Miranda Rights question about whether I'd understood.

I shuddered. Hearing that had made this all turn more surreal. Ashley had died right there in front of me. Why? She'd done what he'd told her to do. Had Steven just been tying up loose ends? She'd been about to tell me the name of his bride.

The door opened, cutting off my thoughts. Ryker walked in.

“Oh, thank you, God,” I breathed. “I'm so glad you're here.” My throat thickened with relieved tears.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, unlocking my handcuffs. I rubbed my sore wrists. “I told you not to do anything stupid.”

“I didn't! I was just talking to her, and she told me Steven paid her off to scrub his files. Then someone shot her.”

“Jesus, Sage! What were you thinking? You could've been killed!”

My face crumpled. “P-please don't yell at m-me,” I blubbered through my tears.

Ryker cursed, then pulled me into his arms, hugging me tightly as I sobbed against his shoulder. His T-shirt grew wet as I cried. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ashley's slack face and the livid red wound in her chest. I'd been strong for a while now, and I couldn't take any more. The hits just kept coming, no matter which way I turned.

He let me get it out for a while, until my sobs had degenerated into the kind of hiccupping you do after a bad crying jag. My nose was clogged, my eyes were swollen, and my head pounded.

“Come on,” he said. “You could use a drink, I think.”

“Are they g-gonna let me go?” I stammered, using my sleeve to wipe my face.

“The shot came from outside,” he said. “They know you didn't kill her. And Flanagan owes me one anyway.”

I kept my gaze lowered as Ryker took my hand and led me outside. Although I hadn't killed Ashley, I'd been arrested, and that humiliation was still fresh.

Ryker had his bike there and he climbed on first, then helped me. I wrapped my arms around his torso, glad to be able to lean on someone else for a while, even if it was just for a motorcycle ride.

Ten minutes later, we were pulling up outside the cop bar where we'd had our first dinner together. Ryker ushered me inside and we slid onto two stools at the bar.

“Hey, Ryker,” the bartender said. “Your usual?”

“Better make it the hard stuff this time, Sammy. One for my friend, too.”

Sammy nodded. Adding ice to two glasses, he poured an inch of Irish whiskey on top of each, then slid them in front of us.

Ryker lifted one. “To Ashley,” he said in a somber toast. I lifted my glass and we both drank to a girl we didn't know, but who had gotten caught up with the wrong kind of people.

The whiskey went down smooth, its cool fire spreading warmth in my belly.

“So what did she tell you before she was killed?” he asked.

I recounted what she'd said, right up until she'd been about to tell me the name of Steven's wife.

“…and that's when she—” My throat closed up and I hurriedly took another sip of the whiskey.

“And you thought if you found out who Steven was married to, you'd be able to find her and she'd give you dirt you could use to blackmail him?” Ryker asked. I nodded, and he looked pissed. “You do realize that blackmail is illegal, no matter how justified you might think your motives, not to mention that Steven is batshit crazy enough to just kill you rather than cave meekly to your demands.”

I nodded, disconsolate.

Ryker sighed heavily. “I'm sorry, babe. I'm just trying to look out for you. Parker's got this handled. Let him take care of it.”

“He doesn't have this
handled
,” I retorted. “Going to work for that scumbag is not
handling
it. And I have this nasty suspicion that this wife Steven doesn't want us to find is none other than Natalie.” I waited, wondering what Ryker would say to that particular bombshell.

His brows rose. “You think Steven Shea is Natalie's husband?”

I nodded. “It makes sense, doesn't it? Why else come back so suddenly just at the same time Steven returns to take over his dad's business? He wants Parker and guess who has a relationship with Parker already? Natalie. Think about it.”

Ryker frowned. “I understand it looks plausible, but why would she say Jessie was kidnapped? And why make up the whole story about the dead abusive husband?”

“To get your attention, gain your sympathy, and have a way in,” I said. “Plus gets her ten thousand dollars. Don't forget the supposed ransom money Parker gave her.”

Ryker downed the rest of his drink. Sammy looked his way and Ryker tapped the edge of the glass for a refill.

“Okay,” he said. “Now, don't take this the wrong way…”

That never, ever boded well.

“…but are you sure that maybe you're not grasping a little bit at straws here? Maybe because you don't like Natalie?”

I gritted my teeth. Men. Always thinking it had to be personal. “You're absolutely right,” I said calmly. “I don't like Natalie. However, perhaps you're so blinded by your feelings for her that you refuse to see that there's just a few too many coincidences here.”

“Natalie has her faults,” he said, “but I'm not ready to say she's gone that far down the rabbit hole.”

I took another drink, thinking. “At least think about it,” I said. “Don't write off the possibility.”

“I'm a cop,” he said. “I don't rule out anything.”

“Fair enough.”

We lapsed into silence, drinking the whiskey and lost in our own thoughts. I could hear the strains of John Cougar Mellencamp singing about Jack and Diane on the jukebox in the corner. My stomach growled loud enough for Ryker to hear it.

“Shit, Sage,” he said. “When was the last time you ate?”

I scrunched up my face, thinking. “Breakfast, maybe?” Hadn't Carrie made sure I ate this morning? It seemed so long ago…

“You know you gotta be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat,” Ryker said, signaling Sammy for a menu.

“Shut up,” I groused.

“Order something. And it better only have vegetables as a topping.”

Got it.

I ordered a bacon cheeseburger with cheese fries. Ryker ordered the same.

“You didn't eat dinner either?” I asked.

“Of course I did. No reason to turn down a cheeseburger.” Ryker glanced at me. “There's that smile. Knew it was there somewhere.”

He was right. I hadn't had much reason to smile lately. “Sorry,” I said. “It's been a little rough. My dad, the company, nearly getting killed a few too many times, plus—” I stopped. I'd been about to say
Parker
, but realized Ryker probably wouldn't want to discuss my love life troubles.

“Plus Parker, you mean,” he said.

I needed another drink for this.

“He's with Natalie…kind of,” I said with a shrug. “I miss him and I want this whole thing over and done with.”

“Give it time. Things have a way of working themselves out.”

I just looked at him.

He snorted a laugh at my expression. “I know, it sounds like a fucking bumper sticker, but I'm serious. It'll be okay.”

“Whatever.” I shrugged, taking another swig of my refilled whiskey. I was starting to feel the effects, which were wholly welcome.

Our burgers came and it was the best burger I'd had in a really long time. I ate every bite, washing it down with more whiskey. Although the grease soaked up some of the booze, I was feeling full and pretty carefree by the time I'd chomped the last of my fries.

“Do you have a dollar?” I asked, eyeing the jukebox. Ryker handed over a bill and I eased off the stool. The room tilted for just a moment, but then I steadied myself.

“You got it?” he asked.

“
Pfffft
, yeah.”
Duh.
I could walk to the jukebox, no problem.

A dollar bought four songs. Turned out, Ryker'd given me a five. “That's…” I did the math in my head. “…twenty songs. Cool.”

I scrolled through the list and picked as many favorites as I could find. Happily I headed back to Ryker, now nursing a beer, as No Doubt began to play.

“Gwen Stefani? Really?”

I stuck my tongue out at Ryker as I hopped back on my stool. “So this is weird, right?” I blurted.

He took another swig of his beer. “What's weird?”

“Me. You. So we're like friends now.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Why's that weird?”

“Because.” I shrugged. “We used to…you know…”
Have sex
, I thought but didn't say. Here's hoping he could fill in the blanks.

“Doesn't mean we have to never see each other again,” he said. “I care about you. I think you care about me, too, right?”

“You know I do.”

“Then don't think so much.”

Excellent advice. Really, really excellent.

“Let's dance.” Ryker grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the tiny parquet floor that could be called a dance floor if you were really loose in your requirements. He spun me around until I was laughing and nearly falling on my ass. Then we did two shots of tequila and decided we were experts at doing the Thriller dance, even if Thriller wasn't playing.

I wanted to play pool, but couldn't remember if I was stripes or solids. Ryker kept making fun of me for hitting his balls in, then the conversation degenerated into bad sexual puns about balls.

At some point, Sammy called us a cab and we tumbled into the backseat. I had no idea what time it was and for once, I didn't care.

“I'm so tired,” I mumbled, leaning on Ryker's shoulder. My eyes slipped closed.

“You should be. It's been a long fucking week.”

“Thanks for taking care of me tonight.”

“No problem.” He put his arm around me and squeezed.

I had vague impressions of my building, the elevator, and Ryker taking the keys from me to unlock my door.

“I need a bath,” I said, stumbling toward my bathroom.

“You're not serious?” Ryker called after me.

“I need to relax.”

“Relax any more and you'll be comatose.”

Hardy har har.

A steaming tub of water later, and I felt much better. A knock on the bathroom door made my eyes pop open.

“You alive in there?” Ryker said through the door.

“Yep.”

“All right. Don't drown. I'm going to bed. I'll go home in the morning.”

“'kay.”

I stayed in the water a little while longer, until my fingers began to prune. Finally, I pulled the plug and got out. I knew there were a lot of things I should be upset about, but I just couldn't remember what. And it was a blessed relief not to be upset.

Dragging a T-shirt over my head and pulling on some underwear, I smothered a yawn as I headed for my bed. There was already a lump there proclaiming Ryker wasn't going to sleep on the couch, but I didn't care. He was snoring and all I wanted was to do the same (except ladies don't snore, of course).

Slipping under the covers, I sighed, snuggling into my pillow. The room spun when I closed my eyes, making me think I might lose that bacon cheeseburger after all, but I was out before my stomach had the chance to revolt.

The pounding in my head made me groan. Damn. Should've taken ibuprofen before I'd gone to bed. Or better yet, not had that second shot of tequila. Or had it been the third whiskey on rocks that had done me in?

I realized a second longer than it should have taken that the pounding was on my front door, not just inside my head.

“Shit,” I muttered, rolling out of bed. Ryker still snored on his side. It figured. So much for those fabled
cop instincts
they made movies about. Real life was so much more mundane.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” I called out as I navigated my hallway and kitchen. Then I winced as my voice echoed with malicious intent through my head. The pounding stopped, thank God. I peered through the peephole.

Parker.

That was enough to put a smile on my face and I fumbled with the lock in my haste to open the door.

“Hey!” I said, once I had it open. He looked good. Really good. A deep charcoal suit so dark it was nearly black, with a stark white shirt and silk tie in swirling jeweled shades of emerald, topaz, and amethyst. He was in a
fantastic
mood this morning. “You look incredible.”

Parker smiled, that sweet slow spread of his lips that made his eyes soften and my insides turn to melted caramel.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice a teasing lilt. “Rough night?”

Oh yeah. I probably looked like a disaster. Had I remembered to take my makeup off? Raccoon eyes only looked sexy on models.

“A little bit,” I said, rubbing my face and combing my fingers through my tangled hair.

“Sage, who are you talking to?”

I turned to see Ryker stepping out of the hallway. He was pulling on his shirt, but his jeans were still unfastened. I opened my mouth to tell him Parker was there when Parker suddenly flew past me. Faster than I could take a breath, he'd landed a solid fist into Ryker's jaw.