Sandra Brown - Play Dirty

“I didn’t expect him to be glad to see me.”

“He is. He just can’t show it.”

Griff didn’t have the heart to disabuse her. “I’ve gotta go.”

She didn’t argue. At the door, she looked at him with concern. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I never got an opportunity to tell you this, but when all that happened five years ago, I hurt for you. What you did was wrong, Griff. Very wrong, and you have no excuse for doing it. But I couldn’t have hurt more for you if you’d been my own flesh and blood.”

“I know that.” His voice was dangerously rough.

“Don’t get discouraged.” She patted the back of his hand. “The best for you is yet to be. I’m certain of it.”

He didn’t disabuse her of that, either.

“Need help with that, ma’am?”

Laura turned, ready to accept the kind offer of assistance. But when she saw Griff Burkett, her smile froze in place as her eyes filled with alarm. “What are you doing here?”

He lifted the large box she was carrying out of her arms, which seemed to have gone boneless at the sight of him. “Where were you taking this?”

She continued to gape at him.

“You keep looking at me like that, you’re going to attract attention,” he said. “Where were you taking the box?”

“To my car.” She nodded in the direction of the reserved spaces in the executive parking lot, not too far from the employee entrance from which she had emerged. She glanced around nervously. Rows of cars baked beneath the blazing sun, but there was no one else around, which was why she’d been carrying the box in the first place.

The building that housed the corporate offices of SunSouth Airlines was one of Dallas ’s famed contemporary structures, built basically of glass held together by a framework of steel. So anyone looking out from this side of the building had an unrestricted view of the parking lot and could see her with him, possibly even recognize him.

However, if he hadn’t been this close, she probably couldn’t have identified him herself. He’d altered his appearance with a baseball cap and sunglasses. He had on a faded T-shirt that was nearly thread-bare, knee-length shorts with a ragged hem, and sneakers instead of cowboy boots. But his height and the width of his shoulders were impossible to disguise, although he attempted to by walking in a slouch.

“What are you doing here?” she repeated.

“I know it’s against the rules.”

“Foster would-”

“Go apeshit, I know. But it was important that I see you.”

“You could have called.”

“Would you have taken the call?”

Probably not, she thought. “Okay, you’re here. What’s so urgent? Are you backing out?”

He stopped, turned to her. “Do you want me to?”

“You left saying you didn’t need this shit, remember?”

“And you reminded me how much I do.”

They looked at each other for several seconds, then simultaneously remembered how vulnerable they were to being seen together and resumed walking in the direction of the reserved spaces.

“Which one’s yours?”

“The black BMW.”

“Hit the trunk button.”

She juggled her keys, depressed the button, and the lid of her trunk automatically opened. He lowered the cumbersome box and placed it inside. “What’s in here? For being so bulky, it’s light.”

“An airplane model. I’m taking it home.”

“To Speakman? I notice he didn’t come to work today.”

He was still bent at the waist, fiddling with the box. To a casual observer it would have looked as though he was situating it in the trunk to prevent damage during transport.

“How do you know that?”

“Because that first parking slot has his name stenciled on it, and it’s empty. I know he wasn’t here earlier because I’ve been staked out across the street-”

“Staked out?”

“At that pizza place. For hours. Watching this door, waiting for an opportunity to talk to you.”

“What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until the next time we meet?”

“Will there be a next time?” He straightened up and turned to face her.

She gave a small bob of her head.

“You, uh-”

“Yes. Day before yesterday.”

“Oh.”

He just stood there.

She examined her keys.

Forever.

Then he said, “You must’ve been disappointed.”

“Of course I was. We were. Foster and I.” Drawing a quick breath, she said, “So, you and I must meet again.” Having avoided looking at him except peripherally, she tilted her head back and looked directly into the opaque lenses of his sunglasses. “Unless you resign.”

“We’ve been over that.”

“Then what’s so important that you came here?”

“I came to warn you.”

She had expected a demand for more advance money. Maybe even an apology for what he’d said to her before he left last time. But a warning? “Warn me about what?”

“A couple weeks ago. When we were together. You saw the bruises on my face?”

“And your hip.”

He tilted his head, and she knew that if she could see into his eyes they would be looking at her curiously. There was only one way she would have known about the bruises on his butt, and she’d given herself away. But to try to maneuver herself out of the blunder would only make it more awkward.

“What about the bruises?” she asked impatiently.

“I wish I could say the other guys looked worse.”

“Guys? More than one?”

“Two. I was jumped in a restaurant parking lot and beaten up. A few weeks before that, a friend of mine got it even worse.” His lips formed a hard, thin line. “Much worse. And hasn’t recovered yet.”

Laura couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What are you into?”

“Nothing!”

“You and your friend got beaten up over nothing?”

“Listen to me,” he said, bending nearer, talking quickly and softly. “It goes back to five years ago, but it has nothing to do with me now. Except that there’s this asshole who’s made it his life’s mission to ruin my life. His name is Stanley Rodarte. He drives an ugly, olive green car. If you see him, stay out of his way. Under no circumstances let him get near you while you’re alone. Are you hearing me?”

“I’m rarely alone.”

“You were just now. Look how easy it was for me to get close to you.” As though to emphasize that, he looked down at the space between them, which was less than a foot.

“I appreciate the warning,” Laura said, distancing herself, and more than just physically. “But your extracurricular activities have nothing to do with Foster and me. This Stanley whatever poses no threat to us.”

“Rodarte, and the hell he doesn’t,” he said, pushing the words out. “Listen to me. He’s dangerous. Given a chance, he would hurt you, in ways you probably can’t even imagine. This is no bullshit. He-”

“Laura?”

They jumped guiltily at the sound of another voice. She turned and spotted Joe McDonald approaching them from the next row over. “Hi, Joe,” she called, trying to sound normal and glad to see him.

“Remember what I told you,” Griff said in an undertone, then he walked quickly away.

Forcing herself to move, Laura headed off the marketing head, who was looking curiously after Griff’s tall figure as he wove between the rows of cars. “Who was that?”

“Someone cutting across our parking lot. Lucky for me. He saw me lugging the box with the Select model in it and offered to carry it for me.”

“Where was the guard at the door?”

“He wasn’t there when I came through, and I didn’t want to wait.” Without it being obvious, she steered Joe toward the entrance. “I’m eager to get the model home and show Foster.”