Pass Interference (2 page)

She’d begun to realize lately, though, that the slutty armor pinched. That even as a disguise, it didn’t seem to fit her anymore. She wasn’t comfortable with herself and that disturbed her. Had she gone so far over the edge she’d lost the core of Tyler?

Unexpectedly, he stopped trying to paw her. “Hey, Chuck.” He signaled to the bartender and pointed to the television mounted up in one corner behind the bar. “Turn that thing up, will you?”

“Aw, no one wants to hear that crap tonight,” Chuck argued. “They got the jukebox going.”

“I said turn up the fucking television,” Dewey challenged. “That is if you expect any kind of tip tonight.”

“Asshole,” Chuck muttered.

Tyler wanted to agree with him, but the man threw down his bar towel and reached for the remote. When she looked up at the screen to see what was so important to the jerk next to her, she
really
didn’t want it turned up. Behind the sportscaster was a huge rendering of the new logo of the San Antonio Hawks. Up in the corner was an inset of Kurt Gillette’s photo. Her
beloved
father.

“…still pouring in,” the man was saying. “The public is still divided almost equally on whether they want the team to remain the Bisons or keep the new name, the San Antonio Hawks.”

The female reporter laughed. “Like it or not, Kurt Gillette won’t be changing it back. Since the big switch, with a new logo, new colors, and new uniforms, the team has rebounded from the slump it’s been in since the loss of star quarterback Tate Manning.”

“Gillette says they’ll get used to it as the team keeps racking up wins. You have to admire the man for taking such a bold step, but it seems to be working.”

God! It seemed no matter where she went, Tyler couldn’t get away from her father or his precious effing football team. As the television reporters continued to discuss the topic, nausea roiled up into her throat. She needed to get out of here. Fast. Get away from both Dewey and yet another news blast about the vaunted Kurt Gillette.

She slid from the bar stool and grabbed the thin strap of her purse. “Be right back,” she said, slurring just a little.

“Hey, wait.” He grabbed her upper arm with his thick fingers. “You’re not gonna run out on me, are you? I got drinks invested in you, Marie.”

She forced a smile. “Would I do that? I just need to head to the little girls’ room for a minute.”

She glanced pointedly at where he held onto her. With a frown, he released her, but took the moment to stroke his fingers the length of her arm. Tyler managed to keep from spitting in his face. After all, the whole thing was really her fault. If she hadn’t been here in the first place, having her usual pity party—

She shook herself. “I’ll be right back. Promise.”

“You’d better be.” The tone of his voice had an unpleasant cast to it. “If you take too long, I might have to come after you.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “In the ladies’ room?”

“Wherever.” He grabbed her arm again. “I don’t let my women run out on me. Not until I get my money’s worth.”

“
Your
women? Damn, Dewey, all we had was a couple of drinks.”

“You gave me the come-on, sweetie. Don’t try to deny it.”

She yanked her arm away again and took a step back. Arguing with him would get her nowhere so she dug up a smile. “I told you. I’ll be right back. You just order us another round of drinks.”

As if he needed one. She managed to make it to the restroom although inside she was shaking. Usually she was a pretty good judge of the guys she met. If they got a little too aggressive, she could back off and they looked somewhere else. Apparently Dewey didn’t fit into that category.

Inside the ladies’ room, she took a good look at herself in the mirror. What a mess. The hair she’d arranged so artfully to fall just so to her shoulders looked as if she’d been combing it with her fingers. Okay, so she had. BFD. The black dress that she’d thought so sexy when she got dressed now looked like a cheap come-on. Her makeup, well, it didn’t look too bad, but her vision wasn’t quite as sharp as it had been early in the evening. All in all, she was bordering on a mess.

She was doing herself in. At this rate, she’d be dead before Kurt Gillette had a change of heart.

She had another little problem to deal with, too, one she hadn’t told a single soul about. Mostly because she had no idea who to bring it to. She really hoped it would just go away.

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen.

Sighing, she took care of business, washed her hands, and pulled her cell phone from her purse. She’d taken a cab so she didn’t have to worry about driving, but she needed an alternative now. She was pretty damn sure good old Dewey would put up a huge fuss if he saw her trying to get into a taxi. No, she needed a better solution to the mess she’d gotten herself into.

Taking out her cell, she dialed her friend, Betsy. She’d definitely come and bail her out. But all she got was Betsy’s “Leave a message.” She tried ten more numbers, people she felt comfortably asking to help her with this ugly situation, but she only got their voice mails.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Did no one have their cell phones on tonight, when she desperately needed to reach someone?

Bam, bam, bam
.

The heavy pounding on the door startled her.

“Hey, Buttercup. You comin’ outta there tonight?” Dewey’s voice was edged with anger, an anger no doubt fueled by his consumption of alcohol.

Holy crap. No way was she opening the door. Still, she couldn’t spend the night in the ladies’ room.

“Miss?” A strange man’s voice. Oh, wait, it sounded like the bartender. “Miss, are you okay in there? You need to open the door.”

Not for any amount of money. But she had to get herself out of this mess and away from a drunken Dewey.

She had one more number she could call. She referred to it in her mind as her when-the-sky-is-falling-and-no-one-else-is-around number. The number for a man she’d been lusting after for a long time, who was unfailingly polite to her whenever their paths crossed yet as much as possible avoided her. She had hoped she’d never have to use it, for a number of reasons. A woman didn’t want to call the man she’d dreamed about for so very long to get her out of this kind of trouble, a mess of her own making. She didn’t want to see the disgust and censure in his eyes. But the sky was definitely falling tonight and this number would reach the one person she knew would get her out of it swiftly and cleanly.

She’d probably have to pay for it by listening to a good lecture and beg him not to tell her father.

Swallowing her misgivings, she dialed the number with hands that trembled. No one knew she had his number, that she’d programmed it in just in case. This was definitely a just in case. She prayed that he wouldn’t hang up on her. Surely he couldn’t refuse a plea for help, right? After all, he worked for her father, so how could he say no?

* * * *

“Okay, Ortiz, what do you think of the big name change for the Bisons?” Cal Hopewell looked at his poker hand, pulled out two cards, and threw them down on the table.

Rafe Ortiz studied his hand while he tried to form an appropriate answer. As the head of security for the San Antonio Hawks as well as Southern Bank Stadium, he had to be careful what he said, even in the company of his closest friends.

He slipped a single card free and tossed it down. “I’ll take one,” he told Andy Milliken, who was dealing, as he took his time putting his thoughts together. This wasn’t the first time he’d been asked this question.

“The name change,” Cal prompted.

“I think Kurt is a smart businessman who wants to inspire both his team and his fans. Whatever you might think of this, it’s working.”

“Yeah, but you played for the Bisons,” Andy reminded him. “Don’t you feel a disconnect to this new, so-called revitalized team?”

“Not at all. Some of the guys I played with are still on the active roster, and I want success for them. My relationship is to the team, whatever it’s called.”

“Well, whatever the circumstances,” Cal said, “we’re glad Gillette didn’t forget about you. He gave you a nice cushy job when you decided to retire.”

“Cushy?” Rafe laughed. “Did you say cushy? You come down to the stadium any Sunday and watch my staff wrestle drunks, sore losers, and bullies. Or corral some of the team members when they’re loose in a new city. Then tell me it’s cushy.”

Not that he was complaining. He loved his job, more money than he’d ever use and a circle of friends he was comfortable with. Friends who didn’t care about the celebrity status that still dogged him.

“Come on,” Andy teased. “How hard can it be to herd all those groupies?”

The ringing of Rafe’s cell phone broke into the conversation, saving him from having to answer. Because of his position with Lone Star Security, he kept the phone on twenty-four/seven. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the readout, expecting it to be one of the players or, worst case, Kurt, with a problem. When he saw who it was, he cursed silently.

Shit!

Kurt’s spoiled, pampered princess. The wild child of Texas.

And the woman he’d been secretly dreaming about for ten years.

Just what he needed.

He pressed the Talk button. “Ortiz.”

“Um, Rafe?” Her voice was soft and a little unsteady.

His stomach clutched, nervous apprehension dancing up and down his spine. What trouble had Tyler gotten herself into now? And why was she calling him, of all people? She never called the security team, never had anything to do with the Hawks unless she was forced to. And certainly never with him. Whenever he’d run into her, he was very careful not to show any interest that could be misconstrued. It hadn’t been just the reputation she seemed intent on building. No, it was actually the fact she was Kurt Gillette’s daughter with a big out-of-bounds sign on her. Getting involved with the boss’s daughter was a sure recipe for disaster.

So often he’d been struck with the feeling that her entire lifestyle was just one big masquerade. That beneath her outrageous exterior was a woman in a lot of pain, determined to tell the world to go to hell. But he wasn’t about to get in the middle of whatever complicated relationship she and her father had. Nope, not at all.

So he’d kept his distance, despite feelings that he ruthlessly suppressed. Now here she was calling him in the middle of the night.

How in the fucking hell had she gotten this number, anyway?

“Yeah, it’s me.” He tried not to let his irritation show.

“This is Tyler. Tyler Gillette.” Didn’t she know her ID showed up on his screen?

“How did you get this number?” he demanded.
Rude much, Ortiz
?

“Can we please, please talk about that later? Right now I really need your help.”

He could hear loud conversation and music in the background. Obviously she was at one of her usual dive bars. Her activities were legend. Rafe gritted his teeth. If she’d called
him
it must really be bad.

“What’s up?”

There was a long pause and he wondered if he’d lost her. If she’d hung up. Then her voice came back, a little lower as if she didn’t want anyone to overhear her. Although with all that noise, he wondered how she could hear herself.

“I—uh—I hate to bother you, but can you come and pick me up? Please?”

Pick her up? He held the phone out and stared at it for a moment.

“Where’s your car?” he asked.

“I took a cab.” She was practically whispering now. “I am so sorry to bother you, but I-I have a bit of a problem and I seem to be having trouble reaching people. I would really appreciate it if you could see your way clear to coming to get me.” Slight pause. “Please. I’m in, uh, kind of a bind.”

He just bet she was. Probably the reason she was being excessively polite. His gut told him there was real trouble, and she had focused on him as the solution. He heard a sudden
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Wherever she was, it sounded as if someone was banging on a door near her.

“What’s going on, Tyler? Where are you? What’s that noise?”

“I—I’m in the ladies’ room at a bar. Uh, Rafe? Please?”

Rafe frowned. Come and get her? Swooping up Tyler Gillette wasn’t on his roster of responsibilities and he’d made damn sure to keep it that way. He had the feeling that no matter what he did he’d end up in trouble.

“Why can’t you take a cab home?” he asked, hating himself even as he heard the callous tone in his voice.
Nice, Rafe.
“If you’re too blitzed, have the bartender call one for you.”

“I can’t. I—You don’t understand.”

Bam! Bam! Bam!

“You in there, bitch?”

Okay, that really did not sound good. What the hell was going on?

“Fine.” He let out a heavy sigh. If something really did happen to her, he’d never forgive himself. “Give me the name of the bar and lock yourself in the ladies’ until I get there. If the guy busts in just scream, and the bartender will come running. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

He disconnected the call and tossed his cards on the table. “Wouldn’t you know it. Two queens with an ace back.” He shook his head in disgust. “You guys can divvy up my money; I gotta dash.”

“Man.” Cal shook his head. “You don’t get too many late night calls like this. It must be pretty damn important for you to break out of the game. Or something.”

“Or something,” he repeated and headed for the door of Cal’s town house. “Just deal me out. I think I’m in for a long night.”

God, he really did not want to be doing this. He’d spent a lot of years keeping as much distance between himself and Tyler Gillette as possible. Long years of sticking his hormones in deep-freeze where she was concerned. From the first moment he saw her he’d wanted her, with the passion that only a twenty-two-year-old could have. His need had been hot, strong, and gripping. And for one fleeting moment when they’d been introduced, he saw an answering spark in her eyes.

“Stay away from that one,” Moe Dempster, a linebacker, had warned him the first day. “She’s poison.”

But he hadn’t needed to be told. He’d been a rookie who needed to prove himself to his new owner, and she was that owner’s daughter. And young, besides. He’d known from the get go she was off-limits. She was brash, brassy, over the top, the continuing star of tabloids. She might as well have had trouble tattooed on her forehead. Anyway, her lifestyle was so foreign to the way he lived. He could never be with a woman who defied every rule of good behavior the way she did, even if he did have a sneaking suspicion it was all an act. It wasn’t the way he was raised, and it wasn’t the way he lived.