Deadly Sexy (3 page)

He graciously bowed his head.

“He’s kinda silly too.”

Showing a grin of his own, he took a sip from his bottled water.

“I won’t keep you,” Carole said. “Just wanted to let you know that the rental’s hooked up and waiting for you at the office. The dealership has picked up the Lex.”

“Good. Thanks for all the help. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Stay safe.”

In the quiet after the call, Reese wanted to tell her the truth about what he did for a living, but his doubts remained. He’d been having too nice a time to risk riding the rest of the way to Oakland with an angry, icy sister upset by his revelation, so he kept his mouth shut. “Do you have any siblings?” he asked her.

“A younger sister named Max.”

“She represent athletes too?”

“No. She works for the government.”

“You’re the oldest, then. So am I.”

“Being the oldest is okay, but it sucked sometimes when Max and I were young and my mother would say, ‘You’re the oldest. You should know better.’ Max was always getting us in trouble. Always.”

“Pinky and the Brain weren’t easy to have around either.”

She laughed. “‘Pinky and the Brain’? Is that what you call Jamal?”

“Yep. Hates the name, but he’s been called that for so long, not much he can do about it at this point.”

“That’s terrible.”

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirty-five. He and Bryce are two years apart.”

JT found the story amusing. “Your mother must have had her hands full raising three boys.”

“She died when we were young.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Even though Veronica Anthony had passed away almost two decades ago, Reese still missed her.

“I didn’t mean to bring up sad memories.”

“I’m okay. My pops raised us. He’d love you.”

Surprise showed on her face. “Why?”

“He appreciates a lady with a brain.”

“And his oldest son?”

Reese ran appreciative eyes over her angular face and deep brown eyes and said, more softly than he’d intended, “Like father, like son.”

The vibe arched again.

JT found it hard to keep her voice casual. “Sounds like a family of very smart men. Maybe I’ll get to meet the rest one day.”

“Maybe. Ever been to Michigan?”

“I try and stay away from places where stuff freezes.”

He laughed. “It’s not too bad. You learn to deal with it. Never been cross-country skiing, then?”

“No.”

“You’d like it.”

“Probably not the cold, but I’m up for anything once.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Gazes were locked. Reese wanted to tease a finger down the flawless skin of her cheek, but he beat down the urge. In spite of the shared adventure, they were still strangers. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her or make her feel uncomfortable. To distract himself, he checked his watch. “We’ll give the engine another five minutes, then start her up. You want fresh water?”

JT’s bottle was just about empty. “Sure.”

He got up and went into the back, giving her the opportunity to check out the tight fit of his jeans as he moved by. Shaking her head with female appreciation, JT smiled and looked out at the night.

The patch Bryce had programmed into the engine held up nicely, allowing them to cover the rest of the miles without incident. She kept sneaking eyes at him, and he did the same. They talked, they laughed, and by the time the big rig slowed to a stop outside JT’s office in the Jack London Square area of Oakland, neither wanted the night to end.

JT slowly gathered her belongings. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” He knew that the penalty for kidnapping was nothing to play with, but he wanted her to stay so bad, he amusingly considered it. He took the card she handed him.

“You can send the cherries to that address, and call me if you like.” She meant it, but doubted he’d take her up on the offer. Two different worlds.

He slipped the card into the console beside him. “I may just do that.”

As if wanting to commit these last parting moments to memory, they drank in the sight of each other.

Though Reese knew he was flirting with a traffic ticket if he didn’t get the rig moving, he tried to delay her leaving. “You need me to go in with you?”

She shook her head. “I should be okay.”

He wanted her to be careful. The cop in him knew that the man responsible for sabotaging her car would probably make another attempt. People like that were rarely satisfied with one shot. “If you have any more trouble with that ex-employee, call the cops.”

“I will.”

Resigned to the inevitable, he said with feeling, “Been nice riding with you.”

“Same here.” She scooted over and placed a soft kiss on his dark cheek. “Thanks again.”

She was illuminated by the headlights as Reese watched her walk the short distance to the door of a gentrified storefront that butted up against a small soul food restaurant. She stuck keys into the locks, then opened the door. She went in and he saw lights go on. A few seconds later she stepped back out to wave good-bye. He gave her a few blasts from the horn and was rewarded with her smile. He waited until she went back inside before driving away. The sweet sting of her kiss was still fresh on his cheek. Unable to help himself, he touched the spot with all the happiness of a high school kid and grinned.

The CD player was bumping loud enough to be heard in San Diego as Bobby G3 reached his home in the Valley. The sight of Kelly’s beat-up black Chevy Cavalier parked out front curled his lip. Another bitch he wanted to pimp slap. She was his babymama, and he was not in the mood for her drama. He drove up the driveway to the garage. A glance in the mirror showed her walking to meet him. The jeans were too tight, the top too small, the stilettos too high. He sighed, cut the engine and got out.

“Your check bounced,” was the first thing out of her mouth. Back in the day, that mouth used to do anything he asked, and gladly. Now all it did was piss him off.

“I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

“That’s what you said last month.”

“Look,” he told her coldly, “I’m having cash flow issues. The check will be good by the end of business tomorrow.”

She scanned his face by the light of the halogens attached to the garage. “What kind of trouble you in now, Bobby?”

He had to admit she knew him well, but he wasn’t telling her a damn thing. “Just take your ass home, Kelly. I don’t need you in my business.”

“Apparently you need somebody in it if your support check is bouncing. Aren’t you the one with the million-dollar clients?”

“Go home to your grease monkey, Kelly. He’s calling.”

“Don’t you dare dis him!” she shot back angrily. “He’s making an honest living at the garage. He’s also clothing and feeding your son, or have you forgotten that?”

Bobby began walking to the house.

“Send me my money by the end of the week or I’m dragging your ass to court. See how your clients like that!” She stormed off.

He went inside and slammed the door.

Preparing for bed, Matt Wenzel stared at himself in the mirror. The idea that the truth about what happened a few nights back could somehow come to light and drag him down to hell scared him to death. His hands shook as he reached for his toothbrush, and it took a couple of tries to place the glob of toothpaste on the bristles. He’d be the first to admit that he’d never had much of a spine. His father, Big Bo, had kept those genes to himself, or so it seemed. Matt had just enough spine to walk upright, Big Bo often pointed out. In the past, Matt failed to see the humor in the dig, but in this instance it proved true. How does a person sleep at night after seeing a person’s head blown away? Every time he closed his eyes, he saw blood. Everywhere. The police were calling the incident a botched robbery, but he knew better. His hands still shaking, he finished brushing, then padded back into the bedroom.

“Are you okay?” Melissa asked. They’d been married ten years. She was the only joy in his life. “You were in there quite a while.”

He slid under the bedding. “I’m okay. Just stressing about the job.”

She snuggled back against him, her hips warm against his thighs. He placed a protective arm around her and wished he could tell her the truth.

She twisted around and looked up into his thin face. “Is it something you want to talk about?”

He savored the familiar sight of her. “No.”

She didn’t appear convinced but nodded and turned over. He reached back to turn off the lamp on the nightstand. In the dark, he resettled himself, kissed the top of her brown hair, and prayed he didn’t dream.

After driving the rental car home, JT took a shower then slipped into a slinky black nightgown that brushed her toes. Seated now on the balcony of her waterfront condo and surrounded by the darkness and the sounds of the water, she sipped from a goblet of red wine. The memory of Reese Anthony hummed inside her like a song. She wondered where he was, what he was doing, where he’d be sleeping tonight. Would she ever see him again? Men who promised to call most times didn’t. Not that she hadn’t done the same thing over the years, but Reese the Fine had left a memorable impression. Although it hadn’t come up, she was sure a man as gorgeous and as smart as he was had a steady lady somewhere, probably one he took cross-country skiing and who didn’t mind the cold.

Sighing, she took another sip and turned her thoughts to a less likable man. Bobby Garrett. She was going to have to do something about him eventually. Since there was no proof that he’d sabotaged her car, she’d have to cede him this round, but if he caused her any more grief, she would have to get him straight, otherwise this little war he was intent upon waging was going to escalate into something ugly.

She put Garrett out of her mind and her thoughts slipped back to Reese. Raising her glass in a toast, she said against the breeze, “Sleep well.”

Reese turned the rig over to the night crew at Anthony Trucking’s San Francisco facility and took a cab to the Le Meridien Hotel. After the long truck ride from Dallas to San Francisco, the glamour and glitz of the five-star establishment seemed over the top, but the amenities in the pricey suite were just what he needed. He had a bracing shower, ordered some dinner, and flopped tiredly onto the plush cream-colored sofa to await its arrival. JT filled his mind. He was certain there was not a woman like her anywhere on the planet. Smart. Sassy. Sexy. A perfect package. Would their next meeting be good, or would she blast him for not telling her the truth about himself? In truth, it didn’t matter. He’d never had a woman work her way into his psyche with so much impact before, and whether she was mad at him or not, he planned to pursue her and let the sparks lead where they would.

To that end, he grabbed his phone and made a call. His old college friend Carl Carlyle grew the Traverse City cherries JT had loved so much. Carl answered the phone on the fifth ring and sounded groggy with sleep. “Hello.”

“Hey Carl. Reese.”

“Man, do you know what effing time it is? You better be needing bail money.”

“No bail money. Cherries. Need you to ship a couple of pounds to Oakland, California, in the morning.”

“What! You call me at three in the damn morning to order two pounds of cherries? What’s her name?”

Reese laughed and told him.

“Send me an e-mail with the address, and you will be getting the bill for whatever the same day shipping costs. Now, good-bye!”

It was the second testy phone conversation of the evening, but he didn’t care. Grinning, he tossed the phone onto the sofa, picked up the remote and clicked on the TV.

Big Bo Wenzel kissed his mistress good-bye,
slid beneath the steering wheel of his gold Escalade, and drove toward his office at the Grizzlies Stadium. It was 6
A.M.
, and the sky was gray with the early morning smog that passed for sunrise in L.A. Better smog in L.A. than hogs in Mississippi where he grew up, he thought. Back then, he’d been expected to follow in his daddy’s shit-filled footsteps and take over the family’s hog farm, but in 1969 a football scholarship to Ole Miss saved him from a life of stink and slaughter, and he never looked back. He was fifty-five now. Over the years, he’d put on some weight and maybe his blond hair wasn’t as thick as it had been back at Ole Miss, but thanks to the wonders of modern pharmaceuticals, he was still a stud, or at least that’s what he told himself, and so did the women drawn to his bed by the scent of money and power. He liked them young, big breasted, and blond. It didn’t matter if they were dumb as artificial turf as long as they had IQ enough to spread their legs.

He’d owned the L.A. Grizzlies for five years and had yet to see a profit. Owning a football team was every sports fan’s dream, but as his granny often said, be careful what you wish for. The first season, the combined costs of salaries, uniforms, equipment, and a thousand other expenses might have sent him to the poor house had he not had his fingers in other pies. A less confident man might have sold the team, but he stuck it out, convinced the fledgling league would be worth millions one day because they played good old-fashioned, back in the day, smash mouth football. Not that lethargic, rule-bound sorriness the older league passed off as sport. In the new league there were no half-assed rules like ”in the grasp” or spiking the ball by the quarterbacks. End zone celebrations were encouraged, and the fans loved it. The only things outlawed were chop blocks, leg whips, and helmet-to-helmet contact. There was also no instant replay—if the officials got it wrong, cry in your beer. The human element had been returned to the game, as had the weather, because the eight teams played outdoors.

All in all, Big Bo Wenzel knew he should be happy. And he would have been if the league would hurry up and start paying off. The newly signed agreement between the league and one of the cable giants to televise the games helped his bottom line, but it wasn’t enough. With the losses he’d incurred, his other pies were no longer able to keep him afloat. The cash flow problems were keeping him awake at night. His four ex-wives were hounding him about their alimony, he’d gotten a foreclosure notice on the condo he kept in Vegas, and a few days ago he’d watched an old man get blown away not ten feet in front of him.

The memory of that haunted a man even as jaded as himself. In hindsight, he should have known better than to get mixed up in what he had, but the broker had promised big profits in exchange for a small investment, and no businessman, no matter how ethical, would turn down a 150 percent return. With that in mind, he’d thrown in on the deal, thinking it would be easy, and it had been until the janitor Gus Pennington showed up. The pressure of being linked to this mess was even greater than having to face the grand jury in Texas twelve years ago. He’d beaten that rap thanks to friends in high places, but if he was brought up on murder charges now, he knew that friends were going to be as scarce as a hog with a condom.

At the stadium, Big Bo parked the Escalade in the space reserved for the owner, then walked across the empty lot to the entrance. With any luck, he thought, the whole thing would disappear. The police seemed to think the janitor’s death was tied to a robbery gone bad. He hoped they stuck with that theory—he couldn’t afford the truth.

JT felt good when she walked into work that morning. On the drive in from her condo in San Francisco, the rolling fog covering the bay had burned off to reveal a sunny, blue sky day. She felt light, buoyant and apparently it showed.

“You look awful happy this morning,” Carole said from behind her desk.

JT met the smile on her dark-skinned face. “And I am. Don’t know why, but the sun seems brighter, the air sweeter.”

“Sound like an overdose of trucker to me.”

JT grinned. “You could be right. I haven’t had that much fun with a man in my life. Lord, he was fine.” And the first thing on her mind when she opened her eyes in bed this morning: Was he still in California? Was he having breakfast with a woman?

“Planning on seeing him again?”

JT shrugged her lean shoulders, encased in a fire engine red, Italian designer suit. “He said he’d call, but who knows?”

“Well, while you’re waiting on yon knight to pick up the phone, one of your court jesters is in your office.”

JT glanced over at the closed door. She’d been so dazzled by Reese last night, she’d forgotten about this morning’s appointment with basketball superstar Deuce Watson. His team, Charlotte, was in town to play the local club that evening, so they’d arranged to get together that day. “Coffee first,” she said. She liked Deuce. He was one of her oldest clients, but like most of her guys, he had issues. She poured a cup of the brew Carole kept hot and fresh, all day, every day, and strode into her office.

While playing in Dallas, Deuce Watson had the distinction of being named the league’s Defensive Player of the Year, four of the last seven seasons. He’d also earned back-to-back championship rings and would probably be in line for a third had he not asked to be traded at the end of his contract last year.

“Mornin’, Deuce.”

“Hey, Lady B.”

JT placed her briefcase on top of her desk, then took a seat. “How are you?” she asked, sipping from her coffee and studying him. He was a big old country boy from Alabama.

“Miserable.”

“I hear you and Coach Palmer aren’t getting along.”

“You heard right. I want to go back to Dallas.”

JT shook her head. She’d tried to tell him to stay put, but he’d been so dazzled by the extra thirty million Charlotte offered, he chose to take the cash and leave behind the team he’d taken to the championship and a city that loved him.

“I’ll give Charlotte their money back,” he offered. “Hell, I’ll play for Dallas for free if they’ll have me.”

“You know that isn’t possible. Trading deadline was back in February. Playoffs will be starting soon.”

“And I’m going to be home watching it for the first time in seven years.”

“Tried to warn you.”

The sadness on his face was evident. He could have passed for a homesick fifth grader if it weren’t for his six-eleven height. “I miss my boys in Dallas, too.”

The members of the Dallas team had been as close as brothers. JT allowed herself a sympathetic smile. “Let’s talk about this at the end of the season. Maybe Charlotte will be as sick of you as you are of them and want to do something about it. No guarantee, though.”

He sighed with resignation.

“What time is shoot-around?” she asked.

“Four.”

“You want to have lunch?”

“No, Coach wants me on the court at one to work on my free throws.”

JT thought that an excellent idea. His stats were terrible. The only players with worse free throw percentages were Shaq and Ben Wallace of the Bulls. “You know, you could make that team into a contender if you wanted to.”

“You sound like my wife.”

“Lisa is a very smart woman, so I’ll take that as a compliment. You’re just homesick, Deuce. You were with Dallas seven years. You’ve been with Charlotte one. Give yourself time to settle in before you talk about throwing in the towel. They paid a lot of money for you, my man.”

“Will I make incentive money?”

Incentive clauses were common in pro athletes’ contracts and were tied to productivity. In Deuce’s case, he got bonus money for pulling down ten or more rebounds in a game. “I’ll have Charlotte fax the stats over and let you know.”

That seemed to satisfy him, but he still looked glum as he rose to his feet and filled the office with his girth. “Thanks, JT. Lisa said I was homesick, too, so maybe there’s something to it.”

“Maybe.” Over the years, JT had learned that sometimes hand holding was the most important aspect of her job. “Have a good game tonight and think about what Lisa said. You could make that team fly.”

He didn’t appear convinced, but JT didn’t press him. Sooner or later Deuce would realize that if he played his game instead of acting like a little boy wanting to come home from summer camp, he’d enjoy himself and his new team much more.

She walked him out. “I’ll call you with your numbers as soon as Charlotte gets them to me.”

“Thanks.”

She watched him fit his big frame into his navy blue Maybach, and when he drove off, she stepped back inside.

She spent the rest of the morning poring over paperwork and calling various team execs on behalf of her clients. It was a busy time for her. The 2006 NFL draft had been held a few weeks ago, and training camp would be opening soon, not to mention the NBA playoffs just getting under way. Every now and then her thoughts slipped back to last night, and Reese’s face would rise in her mind’s eye. She’d linger there for a few moments enjoying the memory of his smile, then, after reminding herself that she had work to do, return to the job at hand. By noon her eyes were blurring from all the clauses, contract addendums, and reports, so when Carole beeped her on the intercom, she was grateful for the break. “What’s up?” She’d hired Carole five years ago. It was the best personnel move she’d ever made.

“You should probably come out here.”

Puzzled, JT got up and walked out to see what was going on. The first thing she saw were the beautiful long-stemmed calla lilies standing so elegantly in a stylish glass vase on top of Carole’s desk. Some were gold and the rest a soft ivory. “These were just delivered,” Carole explained.

“They’re gorgeous. Brad sent you flowers?”

“No. They’re for you.”

Confused, wondering why Carole’s husband Brad would be sending her flowers, JT took the florist card Carole handed her and read:
Thank you. Reese.
She couldn’t contain her grin, but before she could say anything, Carole told her, “And this box came by FedEx about an hour ago but I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

JT wanted to marvel at the flowers but forced herself to scan the shipping label attached to the top of the box for a clue to the sender. “Carlyle Farms in Traverse City, Michigan?” Then as the memory rose of where she’d heard the city’s name before, excitement grabbed her. “Give me something to open this with. Quick.”

Carole dug around in a desk drawer and handed her a box cutter. The blade split the tape. There was a smaller box inside. After opening it, JT grinned. Cherries. Big, fat, deep red berries that appeared to be just as succulent as those she’d eaten in the cab of Reese’s truck filled the cardboard interior. She couldn’t believe he’d managed to have the cherries shipped to her so quickly. First the callas, and now this. “Carol, I think I’m in love.”

The secretary grinned. “Oh really?” But after JT washed up a handful in the office’s small kitchenette, Carole was in love as well. “Oh, these are good.”

“Like butter. Oh, my.”

“These are from Michigan?” Carole asked, eating a couple more. The handful JT had washed weren’t going to be enough.

“Yeah.” They were just as sweet and delicious as the ones last night. “I didn’t know they grew cherries either.”

“If you don’t want Reese the Fine, I will definitely take him. Callas and cherries like this?”

“Back off. I saw him first. You already have a man, remember?”

Carole and Brad were high school sweethearts. They’d been married seventeen years. “If Brad can get me cherries like this, I’ll stay with him another seventeen years.”

Carole bit into more red flesh and declared, “Reese the Fine could be a keeper, Jess.”

“Don’t start looking at bridesmaid dresses yet. I may never see him again.”

“Any man sending you goodies like this—same day, overnight? He’ll show. Don’t worry.”

JT wiped her hands on some toweling then picked up the vase of callas. “We’ll see. In the meantime, these babies are coming with me.” She carried the gold and ivory beauties into her office and set the vase on the small glass coffee table by the sofa so she could enjoy them to her heart’s content. JT couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten flowers that weren’t from clients or that she hadn’t purchased for herself. Reese’s face floated into her mind again and she smiled. The truck driving man had definitely scored on this one. Big-time. Where was he? she wondered. She knew better than to read anything into his gift other than the thank-you he’d written on the card, but he was proving to be just as nice as he’d seemed last night, and what woman wouldn’t appreciate that? Feeling even more buoyant than she had at the start of her day, JT floated back to her desk to work.

Reese’s flight from San Francisco touched down at Detroit Metro Airport at 9
A.M.
local time. The long drive in the truck from Texas to California coupled with the predawn flight had left him dead on his feet. Seeing his Pops waiting for him in the baggage claim evoked a tired but affectionate smile. They hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, and so embraced like the close family they were.

“How was the flight?” Pops asked while they walked over to the carousel. Tall dark-skinned Richard Anthony was glad to have all of his sons with him again.

“Long. I had to be at LAX at 4
A.M.
to make the six o’clock flight. I want to sleep for a week.”

“Bryce told me about the call you two had last night.”

The bags from Reese’s flight were just coming out of the chute and down onto the carousel when they walked up. “Except for that glitch, the engine performed pretty.”

“Who was the lady?”

He froze. Seeing the humor and curiosity in his father’s eyes, Reese shook his head. “You’re as nosy as Bryce.”

“True. Answer the question.”

Reese lifted the handle on his wheeled bag and pulled it behind him as they walked to the exits and outside to the parking structure. “She had car trouble. I gave her a ride to Oakland. That’s it.”