Melinda Curtis - Count on Love

“It’s all right. We haven’t gotten the drug testing results back for most of these, anyway.” The fluorescent lighting glinted off Carl’s bald head as he turned the pile around with his short, plump fingers. “I hadn’t realized your stack had gotten so large.”

Like hell he hadn’t. But Sam knew when to keep quiet. He turned away, pretending to admire the photos of Carl’s family on a bookshelf by the door. The older man had three girls with toothy grins. Sam swallowed and sat in one of Carl’s plastic visitor chairs, his back to the bookshelf.

“My practice is more demanding now.” Sam had spent the early part of the week out at Lake Mead with his WaveRunner, practicing jumps.

“Good for you. We’ll always be here for you, Sam…as long as you’re here for us.”

As hints went, it wasn’t very subtle. Sam mumbled something reassuring and stared at his boots. Background checks were a lucrative business Vince had gotten him into after their stint in the war. Too bad Sam had to deal with Mr. College Graduate, I’m-better-than-you types.

If he took that job for Mr. Patrizio—

“Any surprises?”

This was where Sam usually said no, unfolded his invoice, handed it to Carl and bolted for the exit. Carl was so used to the routine that he was already hefting the files onto the credenza behind him.

Sam leaned forward with a creak of plastic. “Actually, there’s a problem with one.”

Carl’s pale forehead wrinkled. “What kind of problem?”

“Annie Raye. She’s got an arrest record.”

“Annie? There must be some mistake.” Carl didn’t need to search for Annie’s file. Sam had kept it on top of the stack. “Everyone loves her. I already approved her moving expenses.”

Damn if Carl didn’t sound like the forgiving type. “She was arrested for embezzling. I think that makes her a bad choice as your new finance director.” Sam pulled the invoice out of his pocket, smoothed out the creases and set it on Carl’s fake-wood desktop. “Should I pick up more files from Winona on my way out?”

“YOU HAVE THREE DOORS in this house.” Maddy looked up with big, blue unblinking eyes from the ball of Play-Doh she was rolling. Her short blond hair curled around her ears with a wildness reminiscent of Annie’s at that age.

“Have you started school?” Brett asked, unable to stop smiling. His granddaughter was as sharp as a tack.

“I went for thirty-three days before we left to come here. I was in Mrs. Guichard’s kindergarten class. We had twenty-one chairs in room sixteen.” She fluffed up her cotton dress before studying him again as if he were a lab specimen. “You have a lot of whiskers. So many I don’t think I could count them all.” Maddy reached up and touched his stubbled cheek, her fingers soft and warm.

Brett chuckled. He could listen to her talk all day. And if he played his cards right, he’d be able to. “I bet you learned a lot in room sixteen.” And taught her teacher a thing or two.

Maddy nodded. “We learned about numbers and counting. How come I haven’t seen you before?”

Brett swallowed past a lump in his throat. “You lived so far away.”

“We have eight houses on our street. You never came to visit, even at Christmas. I would remember.”

Annie hadn’t wanted him to come. He’d only visited her once after she’d been married. Brett might have screwed up his relationship with Annie, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. “The important thing is that you’re here now.”

His cell phone chimed.

“Where are you? I went by your house and you weren’t there.” Ernie’s anger vibrated through the phone.

Brett rented cheap, furnished apartments close to the Strip when he was working. He paid cash for the temporary space and registered under a different name. He’d been living in this dump for nearly a week. Being a career cardsharp was hard. If a casino identified him he’d be out of the game for good—banned with the aid of a security program that identified his features for the larger casinos, and a newsletter distributed to the smaller gaming houses.

“I needed a day off.” Brett tried to sound casual. He and his friends had just ten more days to raise twenty thousand dollars. He didn’t have time to sit and fiddle with Play-Doh, but he couldn’t let this opportunity with Maddy and Annie pass, either.

“Grandpa, I need yours.” Maddy stretched out her hand and waved it. He’d been helping her make a string of Play-Doh pearls on the coffee table.

“Who’s there with you?”

“No one.” Brett handed Maddy the dough ball and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. “It’s the TV.”

“Grandpa?” In the ensuing silence, Brett hoped he’d lost the connection. “She came back, didn’t she?”

“No.” Brett denied it too quickly. He’d wanted to ask Annie to help the moment she arrived, but she’d made it clear she disapproved of anything to do with cards. He clutched the small cell phone tighter. Although they could use her help, Brett didn’t want to risk losing her again. “Annie quit, remember? She won’t help us.”

“You shouldn’t assume anything. Chauncey needs this.”

Brett snapped the cell phone closed and returned to the living room. Chauncey might need money, but Brett needed his daughter back in his life. It was selfish of him to have wanted to see Annie again and to meet his granddaughter, foolish to think they could try to build a relationship when he’d agreed to such high stakes.

“How about an ice cream?”

“Isn’t Mommy going to be home soon?”

But Brett didn’t answer. He was too busy grabbing his car keys.

“I FAILEDMY BACKGROUND check?” Annie’s fingers were so numb from clasping her hands together, it was hard to believe it was a balmy eighty-degree October day.

“Annie, the committee made its final review of your application.” Carl paused to clear his throat. “Unfortunately, we’ve decided to pursue another candidate because of this blip in your background check.”

“What?” She barely had enough breath in her lungs to question the decision. “You said the job was mine. I packed up and moved.”

“I’m sorry. We’ll reimburse your expenses, but we can’t offer you the job.” His voice had lost its usual warmth and he wouldn’t look her in the eye.

The shock of losing something she’d thought was hers, had based so many life-changing decisions on and looked forward to, left Annie speechless. She’d sold everything of value Frank hadn’t already pawned or the courts hadn’t taken, and left Los Angeles with two hundred dollars and barely enough possessions to fill two suitcases. She’d thought she couldn’t sink any lower.

“You’re a qualified individual,” Carl was saying, when Annie’s mind was capable of comprehending. “I’m sure you’ll find something else soon.”

“There must be some mistake. May I see the report, please?” At least then she’d know why she’d failed. But really, there was only one reason not to hire her. She suspected she hadn’t run far enough away from Frank and the mess he’d made of her life.

“We don’t give out that information.” But Annie noticed a company logo on a piece of paper on top of a file with her name on the tab—an invoice from Sam Knight Investigations.

When she arrived, there’d been a tall man outside waiting for Winona to give him something. He’d had thick black hair and a face with features that probably inspired plenty of female fantasies, despite the gaunt look in his eyes, rumpled khakis and a well-worn polo shirt. He’d looked like an unscrupulous private investigator standing at the edge of a sea of sad gray cubicles. The secretary may have even called him Sam.