Sandra Brown - Play Dirty

Coach frowned. “Over what you did to get Laura away from Rodarte?”

“She told you about that?”

“Yeah, and it’s all over the news today. But I don’t think the assault charges will stick. Not when it comes out what a threat Rodarte posed, and she’ll make sure everyone knows.”

Mention of her name brought Laura into the room with them, an intangible but conspicuous presence. Griff looked hard at Coach, who read the unasked questions in his eyes. “She can’t come to see you, Griff.” He spoke in as soft a voice as he could manage. “Press would be on it like flies on dogshit. There’s already been speculation. Raised eyebrows. You know what I’m talking about. Nothing specific, just the suggestion that something between the three of y’all was a little shady.

“Don’t forget, it’s only been days since she held a very public funeral for her husband. Joe Q. Public doesn’t know that Speakman had gone off his rocker, and, for the future of the airline, she’d like to keep it that way. She certainly doesn’t want anybody to know what you were hired to do for them.”

“She told you about that, too?”

“All of it.” Coach shook his head in bewilderment. “Hell of a thing. Never heard of such.”

“It’s in the Bible.”

“Yeah, but Moses also wore a beard to his navel and ate locusts.”

“Abraham.”

“Well, anyway, Laura said you would understand why she can’t come to you now.”

“I do understand.” Then after a beat. “I love her, Coach.”

“I know.” At Griff’s surprised look, the older man nodded. “The other night, when your whole future depended on chasing down Rodarte and Ruiz, you stayed with her. That wasn’t like you, putting somebody else’s welfare ahead of your own. You’ve got to make another sacrifice now, Griff. If you truly care about this lady, you’ve got to give her time. Distance. Absence from you.”

Griff knew that. He understood the necessity. But that didn’t make it any easier to accept. “Is she all right?”

“Doing fine. Her worst problem is Ellie.”

“Ellie?”

“She’s in her mother hen mode. Practically smothering the girl.”

Griff smiled and closed his eyes. “She’s in good hands.”

He must have dozed off again, because when he woke up, Coach was gone. The room was empty. He was alone.

GRIFF ANSWERED HIS CELL PHONE ON THE SECOND RING. “Hello?”

“One o’clock today?”

His heart stopped before stuttering into a dangerously rapid beat.

“Can you be there?”

“Uh, yeah. Yes. Yes.”

“I’ll see you then.”

He held the phone to his ear for another thirty seconds before snapping it closed. Then he stood there in the shopping mall, letting other shoppers eddy around him while he reassured himself that he was awake, that he wasn’t dreaming, that it had actually been Laura calling.

As with the first time, he arrived at the house easily twenty minutes early. He drove around the neighborhood till twelve fifty-eight. When he got back, her car was in the driveway. He parked behind it. It seemed a long walk to the front door. He was reaching for the bell when the door opened and she was standing there.

“I heard your car.”

For a long time, he didn’t speak, just stood there, taking in the sight of her. Finally his joy pushed its way out of his tight chest in the form of a light laugh. “You look terrific.”

“Thank you.”

“No, I mean it.” She was wearing a pink, body-hugging sweater and a pair of black slacks. Simple, elegant, sexy as hell. “Really terrific.”

She blushed at the compliment and stepped aside, motioning him in. He walked into the living area that was so familiar, yet completely altered since the last time he’d been here. The house had been transformed into an inviting home.

The armoire he recognized, but the sofa was new. There were additional pieces of furniture, artwork on the walls, magazines and books and an area rug, a bowl of white tulips on the coffee table. For the first time, the shutters were opened, letting in sunlight. It wasn’t that cold out, so the low fire in the fireplace was more for ambience than for heat.

He turned to Laura, knowing what she was going to say before she said it. “I live here now.”

“I read that you’d sold the mansion. Do you like it here?”

“I love it.”

They exchanged a long stare, finally broken when she motioned him toward the sofa. “Would you like some tea?”

“Sure.”

“Hot or cold?”

“Cold, please.”

He sat down, and she disappeared into the kitchen. Curious, he leaned forward and opened one of the doors to the armoire. There was a TV, some reading material, and recent movies on DVD. Nothing X-rated. He closed the doors and settled against the sofa cushions in what he hoped looked like a relaxed position. In the two hours and eighteen minutes between her call and his arrival, he hadn’t known a moment of easy breathing.

She returned carrying a tray with a pitcher of tea and two glasses. She set it on the coffee table and filled a glass for each of them. “Sugar?”

“I’m okay.”

She passed him a glass, then carried hers to an armchair where she sat down facing him.

He sipped his tea. She took a sip of hers. But they drank in the sight of each other. He was afraid of starting the conversation, afraid of saying the wrong thing. He didn’t know why she had invited him here today. The familiar manner in which she’d called, and the time of day she’d specified, couldn’t have been coincidental. Yet she’d done nothing to suggest that this would end the way their past meetings in this house had. She may have simply invited him over for tea.

Eventually he said, “Your airline is going gangbusters. That new Select thing sounds interesting.”

“It’s scheduled to launch in three months.” She laughed as she shook her head. “It’s hectic and crazy. So much to do. A million decisions. Daily deadlines.”

He smiled over her apparent exuberance. “But you’re enjoying it.”

“Every minute,” she admitted. “I’m very optimistic for its success. We’ve already sold seventy-eight percent of our membership goal. Through the industry grapevine, I’ve heard that our competitors are scrambling to initiate similar services.”

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Absolutely. But it’s still imitation. We’ll be first.”

Her enthusiasm was evident in the way her whole face lit up. Her eyes sparkled. Her smile was so beautiful and uninhibited, it made his heart ache. And he realized this was the first time he’d ever seen her look really happy. Ever.

He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Good luck to you and Select. Not that you need luck. SunSouth’s stock is at an all-time high.”

“You’re monitoring the stock?”

“I’m an investor.”

“Truly?”

“Yep. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. It’s working.”

“I’m very busy and working hard, but I’m also maintaining some balance in my life. I give myself Wednesday afternoons off.”

That explained her casual outfit. She wasn’t going back to work later. He tried not to read anything into that. Tried but failed.

She watched him closely as she said, “Those Wednesdays off allow me time to devote to other things that are important to me. Like the Elaine Speakman Foundation.”

He shifted in his seat. “The foundation. Right. I saw your picture in the newspaper recently. At some black-tie fund-raising event. How’d it go?”

“Very well.”

“That’s good.”

“Beyond the money raised that night, the foundation recently received a sizable donation.”