Kimberly Dean - Courting Suspicion

‘Ms Lockwood.’ A silver-haired man nodded politely as they crossed paths in the aisle.

‘Mr Bayles,’ she replied to the banker with just as much graciousness.

She stiffened when she felt the detective’s hand settle against her waist. Oh, no. She hadn’t just given away Luxxor’s accounting –

‘Careful,’ he said as he pulled her out of the way of a peanut salesman.

Her breath caught when her body pressed solidly against the detective’s larger, harder form, but he still had to catch the corner of the vendor’s tray before it hit her.

‘Oh, sorry, man,’ the freckled peanut guy said, but then his gaze lifted to her face and his fair skin flushed. He adjusted the harness over his shoulders as he gaped at her. ‘Ma’am.’

The detective ushered her around the poor seller as his ears turned red. ‘Don’t worry, she has that effect on most men.’

Nina’s head whipped around.

The detective simply lifted an eyebrow. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t know you too.’

She began to protest, but just then she heard her name coming from the next section.

‘Nina, darling.’

It was the choreographer from the Washington Ballet, another frequent client. She forced a smile and waved.

‘Finally, a woman,’ her date mused.

Oh, no. She wasn’t going to let him chew on that bone.

Without thinking, she caught his hand and led him down the steps. Their seats were only feet from the cursive W chalked into the grass behind home plate. The section gave a prime view of not only the game but DC’s relatively new ballpark. The LED scoreboard looked crystal sharp in right-centre, and from the upper deck the Capitol should be visible in left. They’d already indulged in a few of the perks that came with the Presidential Club seats. The all-access pass had gotten them onto the field for pre-game activities and unlimited food and drink in the indoor lounge. Of course, with all the gourmet food around, Morgan had insisted they have hot dogs and beer – which, admittedly, had been delicious.

Nine innings. She just needed to get through nine innings with him.

He followed her into their row, but, when they took their seats, Nina was flummoxed to find him still holding her hand.

He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. ‘You’ve got a lot of friends.’

‘They’re not my friends.’

His eyebrows rose, and she flinched. It had just slipped out. None of the people she’d run into tonight were clients she actually liked, except Andre.

‘Who is?’ the detective asked, his question low amongst the rustling of the crowd.

She went still. He’d taken the conversation in a direction she hadn’t anticipated.

‘Who do you trust, Nina?’

‘Rielle, Sienna and a few others.’

She was aware that her friends were also her employees. She was a social butterfly who only let a small number of people close. Not many people saw that, though. It unsettled her that he had.

But it didn’t surprise her.

‘So there’s room for one more,’ he said as he settled their joined hands on his thigh.

That did.

She looked at him, wide-eyed, unable to help herself.

The announcer called for the national anthem. Morgan stood, tugging her up with him. Nina rose too, but pulled her hand away from his warm grip. She put it over her heart to keep it from hopping outside her ribcage.

Her friend?

Her thoughts whirled as the organist played. They weren’t even close to being friends. They were adversaries, at best. Adversaries conducting a momentary truce.

Although he had come to her rescue when she’d needed help for Rielle … And she’d repaid him with tickets to this game – the highest priced seats in the stadium – because she’d wanted to thank him.

No, friends they were not. She doubted they could ever be. There was too much standing between them, not to mention the … spark . She didn’t know what else to call it. Whenever they got close, she felt the energy running along the edges of her skin like static electricity.

No, she didn’t want him as a friend.

When they sat back down, she busied herself opening her programme and digging in her purse for a pen. Morgan made himself comfortable beside her. The seats behind home plate were wider and cushier than those throughout the rest of the stadium, and the size was needed to accommodate his tall form. It didn’t stop his knee from brushing against hers.

She crossed her legs, and her Prada sneaker bounced up and down as she waited for the first batter to step up to the plate. The shoes weren’t her customary heels, but they had a blue hibiscus print that was fun enough to make her give up the extra inches. Right now, though, she wished for that extra boost of power. She cast a quick glance at Morgan, but he was focused on the game too.

It let her relax.

She began tracking the game in the blank scorecard in the programme, writing details like F-7, 6-3, and moving Andre to first base with his hit.

The detective looked over her hieroglyphics. ‘You know how to keep score.’

‘I know a lot of things.’

He chuckled. ‘I don’t doubt that.’

She retraced Andre’s path from home plate to first base, making the line bold. He was always pushing, this one, looking for a way in. ‘I like it. It calms my thoughts and lets me focus.’

‘Baseball as Zen? What’s got you so stressed?’

Her pen stalled. She’d slipped. Again. By trying to avoid the subject that made him so curious, she’d opened up.

‘You played, didn’t you?’ she asked.

And scored, point-blank.

His curious expression turned suspicious. ‘You looked me up.’

‘What? No. Well, not your past.’ She’d had her investigators look into who he was when he’d started poking around Luxxor during that whole Jason Sloan affair. She’d needed to know how big of a threat he was to her company.

She needed to remember the outcome of that report.

‘I can see it,’ she confessed. ‘It’s in the way you walk.’

Not that she was watching …

‘You were in your element down on that field. I could hear it in how you talked to the players and coaches.’ She shrugged. ‘I knew you were a baseball guy before I bought the tickets.’

He sat back in his seat, and their shoulders brushed. ‘What position did I play?’

She nibbled at her lip and looked at the field. ‘First base?’

‘How do you know that?’

He had the body of a power hitter, but she didn’t want to say that out loud. ‘You clean up after others.’

He smirked. There was no other way to describe the expression on his face. It made her stomach flip. She wasn’t trying to intrigue him.

But it didn’t look as if she was putting him off at all.

‘You read people, don’t you?’ he said.

‘So do you,’ she replied softly.

Their gazes locked, and her foot stopped bobbing. She was scared to think of what he saw when he read her. Scared, defensive and maybe just a bit wistful. He saw inside her too easily – or he liked making her think he did. She was a strong woman, but the mind games were getting to her.

Because the one thing she couldn’t forget tonight was that he was a cop – and she was DC’s top madam.

She toyed with her earring, and it jingled a little warning. How much did he really know? How much did he suspect? He’d been hanging around Luxxor for way too long now, no doubt picking up details and puzzle pieces. She couldn’t let any more slip around him. Not only was it uncharacteristic, it was dangerous.

‘I played first base and batted fourth in the lineup in college,’ he said.

She twirled her pen. She couldn’t let him say what he saw in her. She couldn’t hear it.

A beer vendor was making his way up the aisle, and she waved him down. ‘Two, please.’