Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) (32 page)

“No—”

“Then why are you giving her my number?”

“Mike, look. I got a call from her Saturday—”

“Because I wouldn’t talk to her.”

“Wait.” Adam held up a hand, palm out. “She called me Saturday morning.”

And must have given him quite a sob story to convince his friend to hand out his number. “She’s using you, Adam. That’s what Brooke does. She uses people.”

“Hey, listen. I know that, okay? But she told me what it’s about.”

“I don’t care what it’s about. Do you know I had just gotten home from my first date with Meg when she called? Do you know what it would do to us if I talked to her?”

“You’re not gonna have a choice, man. If you don’t talk to her, she’ll come find you.”

Was he serious? “You’re nuts, Destin.” Brooke had done enough—Mike wasn’t letting her ruin this chance with Meg too. “Nothing she could say is that important.”

“You might be wrong.”

“Then you tell me.”

“Mike…” Adam looked away. “I wish I could.”

Mike groaned.

“Seriously, man. I told her I’d let her… talk to you. I know you and Meg are working things out, but consider that I’m asking you to listen to her. One last time.”

No way would he talk to her. Mike shook his head. How could he? How
could
he do that? He picked up his empty bottle, shook it, watched droplets inside merge into one.

Nothing would be worth the risk.

Meg’s reunion with Mike’s family took place in San Francisco’s airport, outside of baggage claim.

“Meg!” Linda, Mike’s oldest sister, wrapped her in a tight squeeze. “I’ve missed you, girl. Look at you, just as pretty as ever.”

Chris, Linda’s husband, hugged her as well. “At last, another in-law,” he joked.

Meg returned his smile. “I hear you two are grandparents. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I’ll pull out my stack of pictures in a minute.” Linda let go of her arm to lean down to Terrell. “But first I’d like to meet this guy.” She held out her arms. “Hi, Terrell. I’m your Aunt Linda.”

Terrell gave her a tentative hug, looking up at Meg. “Does this mean I have cousins?”

Linda pulled back and winked at him. “If I’m a grandma, you’d have to have cousins, wouldn’t you?”

He sent Meg a confused look.

“Your cousins are over there.” Meg pointed past Linda and Chris to Mike with his niece Heather and her husband who pushed a stroller.

Terrell shook his head. “They’re too old to be my cousins.”

“Sounds like Mom when she found out she was pregnant with Mike.” Linda laughed. “‘Too old.’ There’s your other aunt, Terrell. And the rest of your cousins. Are they young enough?”

Behind Mike and Heather, Betsy—Mike’s other sister—walked with her two boys, thirteen and ten, and Linda’s other son and daughter.

Meg caught her breath.

Betsy’s face was lined, and her once blonde hair had faded to a grayish taupe. She looked years older than forty-five, years older than her big sister, the grandma.

Meg didn’t wait for Betsy to reach them. She jogged past Mike and Heather to her former sister-in-law. “Betsy,” she whispered, pulling her into a hug.

Betsy let go of her suitcase and wrapped her arms around Meg.

She couldn’t cry. Meg closed her eyes. She wouldn’t cry.

When they finally separated, they wiped damp eyes at the same time, then laughed together. Meg hugged her again. “Your boys have grown so much.”

“Yours too.” She nodded at Terrell, who stood with Mike and his grandparents. “There’s no doubt he’s a Connor, is there? Mom says Dad couldn’t be happier.”

“I’m glad.” Maybe she’d been forgiven.

Betsy kept her arm around Meg’s waist as they joined the rest of the family. She pointed to her boys, Erik and Gavin, who already had Terrell laughing. “No need to introduce them.”

“I guess not.” What had Betsy been through that had aged her so much? “Betsy, I’m sorry I never noticed.”

“I made sure no one noticed, but thank you. And I’m sorry about my kid brother. Let me know if you want me to knock him around some.”

Betsy’s words formed a lump in Meg’s throat, the ugly fear that Mike might someday repeat his affair ringing through her mind. She’d forgiven him—why couldn’t she shake these thoughts and memories? What would it take for her to forget and move on?

Mike joined them. He raised his eyebrows at Betsy in mock alarm. “Forming alliances already?”

“He doesn’t take me seriously, but he should,” Betsy said. “I’ve learned some moves.”

Mike tugged his sister into a hug which she returned. “How’s your back?”

“Bearable. Thanks for the seat upgrades.”

“You’re welcome.”

The three of them followed the rest of the Connors. Mike walked in the middle with an arm around Meg. People tried to stop him, but he refused. He lifted a finger from Meg’s waist, pointing to the group ahead. “I’m with my family. Not now.”

His family.

His finger fell back against her, and she tightened her hold on his waist as they walked. She’d forgotten how good family felt.

Fans in the packed stadium cheered as a Seattle player launched another ball into the night sky. Terrell’s eyes popped wide open as the ball sailed over fans beyond right field and into McCovey Cove.

From behind a screen, the pitcher tossed another ball. The batter swung, and the ball followed the previous one’s path. The stadium noise rose another level. Little Katie Destin, sitting beside Mike with her dad, plugged her ears with her fingers.

Mike scanned the stadium from his grassy seat in front of his league’s dugout. The biggest names in baseball sprawled around him with their children beside them dressed in miniature jerseys. Mike looked at Terrell, who sat between his legs, dressed in a matching Connor jersey. Tonight topped every other night, all because Terrell was here.

Mike craned his neck to look into the stands where his family sat. He’d managed some pretty amazing seats for them a little farther down the third baseline and could just see them. His three nephews huddled together, jaws slack as another bomb cleared the park. His parents sat together, as usual, with Linda deep in conversation with Mom. Meg sat sandwiched between his sisters, but her eyes were not on the home runs. They were locked on him.

He sat up a little straighter to get a better view of her.

She smiled at him, waved.

Mike winked back.

In his arms, Terrell leaned back, releasing an enormous yawn, his eyes drifting closed.

Mike chuckled. Terrell would fall asleep the second they left the park.

Their busy day had started with an early visit to Alcatraz, where Mike discovered how little of his Chicago heritage Terrell knew when he’d asked who Al Capone was, then a trip to Chinatown via cable car. Tomorrow, if they had time, they’d take in the Golden Gate Bridge—and make another stop for ice cream at Ghirardelli Square. Meg, Linda, and Betsy insisted.

By the time the Home Run Derby ended, Terrell’s eyes were slits he struggled to keep open, and before their cab reached the hotel, he snored softly.

Mike carried him into the hotel’s lobby.

“Mr. Connor.” A man behind the registration desk held up an envelope. “For you, sir.”

So much for checking in under an alias. Mike shifted Terrell’s dead weight high on his shoulder so he could take the small gold envelope. Across the front, his name and the hotel’s address were written in an unfamiliar script. “Thanks.” He stuffed it in his pocket and returned to where Meg waited.

On their floor, Mike followed Meg to her suite and waited while she unlocked and opened the door. She stepped aside, and he walked through the living room to the bedroom and put Terrell on the bed Meg pointed to.

Still asleep, Terrell curled into a ball.

Mike tugged Terrell’s tennis shoes off and dropped them beside the bed. “Where are his pajamas?”

Meg motioned for him to leave the room. He did, and she shut the bedroom door behind them. “I’ll let him sleep in his clothes. He needs a bath tomorrow anyway.”

“Fine with me.” Mike pulled her close and leaned down for a kiss before she could speak. Her lips were soft and tempting. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.” Even though she smiled up at him, she pushed herself back a little, a bit stiff in his arms.

His gaze drifted back to her lips. He wanted to kiss her until she relaxed.

“Mike,” she warned.

He smirked. “Is that a no?”

“You should probably go. This won’t look good.”

He glanced at her hotel room door. “No one can see in,” he teased.

“Exactly. So you should go.”

“All right.” He released her, and she stepped back. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded. “I’ll call you when we’re up.”

“I’ll be waiting.” He opened her door, wanting to go back for one more kiss. Instead he gripped the door handle. “Goodnight, Meg.”

He shut her door behind himself and walked past his family’s suites to his room. Inside, the living room was silent and dark. He left the lights off, pulling open the shades to look over the city. The night was clear, and the city lights rose and fell beneath him.

Mike left the shades open and turned on the TV. The Home Run Derby was replaying already. He sprawled across a chair, content to let baseball clear his mind.

The letter
.

He sat upright as if it had jabbed him and pulled it out of his front pocket. The envelope was creased and wrinkled from his movements, thick between his fingers. Whatever was in here wasn’t a single page.

“Okay, God. Let’s see what this is.” He slid his finger beneath the flap and pulled out a photograph covered by a folded piece of stationary.

What a pretty picture
, the note read.

Mike looked at the photograph—a picture of himself and Meg walking through the airport.

Someone had taken the picture from behind them.

His heart pounded. Who’d sent this? Ben? Some stranger Mike would never recognize until it was too late? And why send this? What was the plan?

Meg
.

He dropped the letter and picture, ran to Meg’s room, and pounded on her door.

She opened immediately, forehead already creased with worry. “What’s wrong?”

He slipped inside and shut the door behind him, whispering so his voice wouldn’t carry. “I don’t want you to open this door for anyone but me, okay?”

Meg opened her mouth to speak.

Mike raised his hand. “I don’t want you or Terrell leaving this room by yourselves. Do you understand?”

Her face blanched. “You got another letter.”

“Yes.”

“What did it say?”

“Never mind—”

“Mike—”

“Listen to me. I don’t want you to leave this room without me. Not for room service, laundry, nothing. If someone’s delivering something to your room, call me so I can be with you when you open that door. And make sure Terrell knows not to leave by himself.”

“Did they threaten Terrell?”

“I don’t think so.”

“They threatened me.”

Was that this stalker’s plan? “Maybe.”

She swallowed, her hand at her throat. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going downstairs to talk to security.” He pointed to the deadbolt on the door. “Use that.”

Her eyes slid shut.

He pulled her close, her hair soft against his neck, her perfume filling his senses. He closed his eyes, refusing to be distracted. “Don’t worry. Go to bed and sleep, all right?”

“I’ll try.”

“Good.”

She stepped out of his arms, wrapped her own around herself.

Mike cracked open the door behind him. “Call if you need anything. Don’t look at the clock. Just call.”

“I will.”

He left and shut her door, waiting until he heard the locks before jogging for the elevator. Who was sending these letters?

And what did they mean?

When Meg opened her door Tuesday morning, Mike forced himself to look awake and cheerful, not easy with only a few hours of sleep.

He followed her into the living room. “How’d you sleep?”

“About as good as you. Is everyone ready to leave?” She picked up a mug of coffee—or maybe orange juice—and eyed him over the edge while she drank from it.

“Just about.”

“You tell your parents?”

Of course not. They had no idea of the mail he’d gotten over the years, especially these latest ones. He winked at her, taking the mug from her and gulping a drink. Ouch, coffee—and hot. He wiped a few hot drops from his mouth.

Meg took the cup back, biting back an impish smile. “Can I get you some?”

Now this was more like it. “Are you flirting?”

“Doesn’t take much for you, does it?” she teased.

He flicked his coffee-damp fingers at her, but she dodged him, eyes sparkling. He chased her, and with a shriek she ran behind the couch, her half-empty coffee cup held shoulder-high. He hurdled the ottoman, then rounded the couch and cut off her escape.

She halted, her hand palm out in front of his face, her expression serious. “Stop!”

He froze. “What?”

She lifted the mug like a weapon and tilted her chin enough to give the appearance of looking down her nose at him. “Don’t make me hurt you.”