Big Leagues (26 page)

“His name sounds kind of familiar but, as you
know, I don’t really follow sports.”

“Well, he killed himself.”

“Yeesh.”

“Yeah. Except …”

“Except?”

“Except apparently the team was even more
hush-hush about his death than they are about Jamal’s heart
attack.”

“Okay, so they don’t like deaths. They have
poor mourning management. Or maybe they plain don’t give a damn.
None of those are a crime.”

“Not a crime, but the handling has been
unusual.”

Benji chewed on his lip. “Yeah?”

“So, just out of curiosity, I was trying to
find out more about Brad’s death. I can’t. There’s
nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“All of his files have been wiped. His
personnel files, his memos, old articles, any information
pertaining to Brad Derhoff has been wiped from the team’s Intranet
site.”

“Okay. I’ll give you unusual on that
one.”

“So I’m saying, what if Brad didn’t kill
himself?”

Benji’s eyes doubled in size. “Cat, what
exactly is it you’re implying?”

“Maybe there was a missed sign on the suicide
squeeze.”

“You lost me.”

Cat looked away. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s
crazy. Maybe I’m crazy. I’ve given that some serious thought.” She
shot him a small smile, which he returned. Fiddling with the
bandages on her knees, she said, “It’s just a theory. You like
theories, right?”

“I like theories formed through the application
of logic. Keyword being logic.”

“Okay then, Spock. Hear me out through those
pointy ears.”

He grinned approvingly.

“First, the successful team reporter—who by all
accounts is as happy as a clam—offs himself, leaving behind a
soaring career and a family he adored.”

“Well, maybe he didn’t kill himself.
Intentionally, that is. Maybe he just OD’d. What was the drug of
choice?”

“No clue. Just like with everything else on
Brad Derhoff, there’s not a lick of public information about drugs
in his system at the time of his death.”

“Probably street. Maybe prescription. I think
it’s safe to say it wasn’t over-the-counter.”

“For sure. The thing is, this is a guy in the
same line of work as me, and we’re drug-tested almost as often as
the players. I doubt he was some kind of closet junkie.”

Benji furrowed his brow in an adorably
inquisitive way. “There’s never been documentation of a dirty
test?”

She shook her head. “I mean, I can’t say a
hundred percent, but the commissioner’s office gets the results,
not the team. There’s no way they’d stand for any degree of drug
abuse.”

“Zero tolerance, huh?”

She nodded.

“Well, I’ll give you strange, but I don’t know
we need to send out the Mystery Machine just yet.”

She cleared her throat. “There’s more. Tonight,
with the mugging …”

“Yes?”

“It was after he demanded my stuff.” She
sighed. “I was fumbling to get the purse to him, you know. My hands
were shaking. I was scared and the strap kind of got caught in my
hair and he shouted—” her voice wavered.

Benji placed his hand on hers. “You’re okay
now.”

She took a deep breath. “Now, or you’re going
from the byline to the headline, ball bitch.”

“Ball bitch, huh? Hmm … you’d think a felon
wouldn’t have a PG-thirteen sensor.”

“It wasn’t the second syllable that got
me.”

“Ball? As in
base
?”

“Plus the comment about the byline. How would
he know I work with the team?”

“Well, you were coming from Hohenschwangau
Park—or is it Field?”

“Stadium. I was, but this was hours after the
game. If I’d been at the game, I wouldn’t have been wearing a
pencil skirt and mules.” She held out her foot for his examination.
“Wear these in the stands? I don’t think so. Do you know what beer
does to suede?”

Benji ignored the question and frowned. “So you
think he knew who you are, that you’re the Chips’
reporter?”

“I do. Again, we’ve got this random mugger who,
in addition to sporting designer driving gloves, just happens to
recognize the city’s newest sportswriter walking down the
sidewalk?”

“Well, you do work for a major team. Don’t they
have your picture next to your byline?”

“Nope. They do the team photo shoots at spring
training. Since I wasn’t around, my byline just reads Catriona
McDaniel. No picture. No description. Heck, I’ve hardly even been
seen outside the press box.”

“Not even in the minors?”

She offered a wry smile. “Benji, they didn’t
even let us have a hot dog on the house. They weren’t about to
spring for staff photos.” She looked down. “Maybe the whole
mercenary attacker is a stretch. The more I think about Brad
…”

“What are you saying, Cat? You think he was
murdered?”

She brought her eyes up slowly to his. “I think
maybe someone wanted him out of the way.”

“Out of the way of what?”

They locked eyes. “Like for his
job.”

Benji smiled and shook his finger at her. “Ah,
I see. ’Fess up and if you promise to never kill again, maybe we
can get you a plea bargain.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cute. Keep that up and
I’m gonna need one.”

“Okay then, let’s say for a second you’re right
and this whole discussion isn’t an understandable reaction after a
stressful, traumatic event.”

“Fair enough.”

“If Brad’s death wasn’t a suicide, and the
person responsible is now after you, what would they have to gain
from hurting the team’s reporters?”

A chill ran through her body. Her eyes widened.
“Not the team’s reporters. The team’s
senior
reporters.”

Benji cocked his head. “What’s the dif— Oh. Oh!
You mean … are you talking about that guy at work, the one you were
complaining about?”

“Dustin Carlyle, the junior
reporter.”

“Junior looking to become senior?”

“Oh yeah. It stood to reason Dustin should have
been next in line for my job. In fact, he would’ve been my logical
choice.”

Benji finally removed his hand from hers to
push the hair out of his eyes. “Well, forgive me for asking, but
why’d they pick you, then?”

“That’s the million dollar question. I’ve been
asking myself that for a month.”

Benji leaned back in. “Maybe you’re not giving
yourself enough credit.”

She brought her head closer to his and
whispered, “Maybe.”

The room fell silent.

She scooted back a few inches and cleared her
throat. “Or Erich König realized Dustin is a fungus. Either way,
put yourself in Dustin’s clodhoppers …”

“I’d be pissed.”

“So pissed, right?”

Benji raised an eyebrow comically. “If I’d
already murdered once …”

“He did kind of threaten me earlier
today.”

“Define
kind of
.”

“I was nosing around for information, but he
saw right through it and shut me down. Then he followed it up with
a stone-faced ‘curiosity will kill you, Cat.’ ”

Benji dropped his amused expression.

Cat shook her head. “No. Dustin’s a weasel. A
giant weasel. The biggest weasel in the entire Weaselia
family.”

“Mustelidae family, and even the biggest weasel
would be pretty small in comparison to its cousin, the giant
otter.”

“Whatever. I don’t think Dustin Carlyle is
seriously capable of murder. I think you’re probably right about
the stress. I’m just freaked out right now.”

Benji tilted his head. “People can be capable
of a lot of things if they want something bad enough.”

They were both quiet again.

“Just be careful.”

She stood and took a step toward the door. “I
should get going. It’s been a long night.”

“Do you want to, uh, stay here?”

She stopped and turned around.
“H-here?”

“I just thought, you know, you might feel
safer. Until you get your locks changed. If you want.”

“Um …”

“And, of course, I’ll sleep on the
couch.”

Cat had been avoiding the trepidation that
waited across the hallway inside her lonely and dark apartment.
Even though she knew there was no reason to believe that the mugger
had her address.

Assuming he was a mugger and not a hired
gun.

She wanted to take Benji up on his offer. She
wanted to stay behind his safe door. She wanted to cuddle in his
warm bed. She wanted to feel his strong arms wrapped around her.
She couldn’t give into her wants. Whether it was baseball or love,
Cat maintained the best offense was a good defense. Pitching
shutouts wins ballgames and detached hearts don’t get
broken.

“That’s so kind. Really, Benji, it is, but I
can’t take your bed.”

“Well, you can have the couch then.” He patted
the soft cushion. “She’s pretty comfy.”

She smiled and shifted her eyes toward the
sofa. “I’ll be okay. Really.”

He took a step toward her and lowered his
voice. “Cat, are you sure?”

She didn’t answer.

“I’d feel better, knowing you were safe. With
me.” He took another step.

She slowly brought her face up to his. He
lowered his head until their lips were barely touching. His warm
breath thawed her cool skin. He glided his hand up to her cheek and
let his finger trail down to her jaw. He leaned in closer. Cat shut
her eyes and her long lashes graced his cheek. His mouth caressed
hers, and she closed her eyes and sank into his velvet lips. Benji
wrapped his arms around her waist and fell deeper into the
kiss.

Cat tore her lips from his and stepped back,
holding him at arm’s length. She brought her hand up to her lips
and looked away.

“I c-can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I am. After the night you had and then
I drag you over here, throwing my lips around.”

She met his guilty eyes. “No, I like your lips.
I mean, it was nice.” “I’m just tired. I’ve had a really weird
night.”

“I know.”

Cat eyed the door and then gazed around his
apartment. Her fingers traced the plastic quiver on the Green Arrow
figurine that adorned his hallway table. “Maybe I should stay here.
Just for tonight.”

“Why don’t I get my bed ready for you? I’ll
grab a blanket from the closet for the couch and—”

“You don’t have to do that. We can sleep
together. N-not sleep together/sleep together, but share the bed.
Together.”

“Share?”

She raised her right hand as if being sworn in.
“I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” She smiled.

“Well, if you can, then I suppose I can, too.”
Benji flashed her a dimpled grin.

Sunlight streamed through the window, and the
morning rays burned at her closed eyelids. She peeked one eye open
and recited her morning mantra.

Ugh. Does every day in this damn city have to
be so freaking sunny?

Rolling over to the other side, she buried her
head in the pillow. The events of the prior night raced through her
head, and the montage concluded with the moment she’d fallen asleep
with her feet tucked under Benji’s. Her eyes snapped open to find
an empty pillow next to hers. She reached over to touch the sheets,
hoping to find recent warmth; instead, she felt a chill in the
wrinkled mass across the bed.

She sat up and peered at the robot alarm clock
on his nightstand.

Eleven o’clock!

For the first night since Jamal Abercromby’s
brother had visited her office, Cat had slept for more than five
hours.

Nine, to be exact.

She combed her fingers through her
hair.

“Hellooo?”

Cat waited for an answer from the quiet
apartment. She crawled out of Benji’s bed and looked down, feeling
very self-conscious wearing only the oversized
98% Chimp
t-shirt he had lent her the night before. She tippy-toed out of the
bedroom and found the rest of his apartment equally deserted. She
detected the faintest whiff of maple. On the kitchen table, she saw
a note taped to a pink pastry box.

“Didn’t want to disturb the world’s cutest
snorer. Had an early class. Will you come by after tonight’s
game?”

Cat grinned at the smiley face he’d added at
the bottom.

“Okay, Lord Byron he’s not.”

She folded the note and clutched the small
square in her palm. When she went back to his bedroom to straighten
up the sheets, a frame on his dresser caught her eye. She picked it
up. Though he was a few years younger and had hair almost as long
as hers, she recognized the sparkling blue eyes beneath the black
mop. He stood with an older duo in front of the Louvre Pyramid. All
three wore matching gray UNLV sweatshirts and identical grins.
Bites of jealousy nipped at Cat’s heart as she traced the dimples
on his face. She put the picture down and fought the sinful urge to
snoop around the rest of his unguarded apartment.