Pass Interference (6 page)

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Rafe put a half smile on his face. “I’m sure this concerns you, but I’m not sure what I can do about it.”

Kurt shifted, as if the chair was uncomfortable. “I don’t have any right to ask this, but I know you’re out here and there some nights.” He lifted a hand. “I don’t mean you hang out in bars and stuff like that. You’re a good man, Rafe. I always thought of you as the son I never had.”

Oh, Jesus.

Gillette shook his head. “I know she won’t listen to me. Listen, hell. She hardly talks to me.” He rubbed his jaw. “Anyway, I’m suddenly getting feedback from people more than before, so I just wondered if you could kind of put the word out to keep an eye on her.”

Ah. Feedback from people. That meant his cronies were asking him what was up with his wayward daughter. But why now? Had news of the debacle at Tequila Sunrise reached his ears? Had someone called him and said, “
Your
daughter
is a mess. Fix it.
”? Was this all about how it affected Kurt’s reputation? Or had all the stars suddenly aligned and focused on her father, giving him a nudge? Not likely, but whatever. He’d do whatever he could. After last night, he figured it was necessary, anyway.

He frowned. “Put the word out where, exactly?”

Gillette shrugged. “Wherever you can would be appreciated.”

“I don’t know how much help I can be,” he said. “I hate to say it, Kurt, but it’s not like I can call every bartender in town and ask them to watch out for her.”

“I know, I know.” The man gnawed on his bottom lip for a moment. “Maybe you could just tell the guys on your security team if they see her any place to pay attention to what’s going on.”

Rafe swallowed a sigh. “Don’t get upset, but my guys don’t exactly go the same places she does. I can do one thing, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

“What is it? I don’t have too many options.”

“I know a lot of the cops in this town. I can quietly pass the word to the ones who cover the part of the city she hangs out in to keep an eye out.”

Kurt heaved a loud sigh. “You’re right, asking the cops to watch my daughter isn’t something that I enjoy, but if that’s my only alternative, then I’d appreciate you doing it.”

“Consider it done.”

“Thank you.” Kurt pushed himself out of the chair, then stood there a moment, just shaking his head. “I guess I made a lot of mistakes with her, Rafe. But…I had no idea how to raise a daughter. Still don’t. And I hate the way she lives her life. Despise it. But I sure don’t want to see her get hurt. Which,” he added, “she’s liable to if she doesn’t make some changes.”

Rafe had to ask himself if there was a spark of genuine concern in there, or Kurt was just more worried about how people would view him if indeed something bad happened to Tyler. Either way, that was none of his business. He’d told the man what he could do and he’d do it.

Rafe stared at the doorway for long seconds after the man had left. He’d talk to the cops he knew well enough to approach and hope that maybe after last night she’d wised up a little. She seemed determined to destroy herself and people like that didn’t want help. Dewey could have done serious damage to her. Didn’t she realize that?

Maybe so. She hadn’t seemed quite as feisty.

As if the devil himself were tempting him, he found himself wondering yet again what Tyler looked like naked and in the throes of passion.
Not good
, he told himself for the tenth time. Thoughts like that could only bring problems. Maybe it was the lack of steady female companionship that was screwing with his head. He’d dated Mike Lazarus’s sister for a time, but they’d figured out in a hurry they were better as friends than lovers. Since then no one had rung his bells.

Last night, he’d responded to Tyler’s call because he worked for her father. Because he felt a responsibility. Period. The same with the promise he’d just made. But beyond that he was done. The farther he stayed away from this woman, the better off he’d be. Her lifestyle irritated him, and her attitude annoyed him.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that, smartass. Her father had nothing to do with that kiss.

Lunch. Food. Anything to distract him from thoughts of Tyler Gillette.

Still, as he headed out of his office, he rubbed his lips with the tips of his fingers, trying to brush away the memory.

He’d better rub it away real good. Otherwise he could get his ass in a very big sling.

“We were lucky to get this table,” Betsy said as they slid into their seats.

Tyler nodded. They’d scored a seat on Al Dente’s mezzanine overlooking the world famous Riverwalk. The entire wall of the restaurant was glass, giving them an unobstructed view.

“It is pretty crowded today,” Tyler agreed, adjusting her chair and looking around.

“Yes, it is.” Betsy gave Tyler a penetrating stare. “You look good, gal friend.”

“Excuse me?” Tyler’s eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline.

“You heard me. I like this look.” She grinned. “Am I seeing the real Tyler Gillette?”

“I don’t know.” Tyler looked down at the table. “I’m not sure I even know who the real Tyler Gillette is anymore, Bets.”

Betsy placed a gentle hand on her arm. “I think,” she said in a soft voice, “it’s the woman I’m looking at right now. The one without a chip on her shoulder.” She grinned. “But still feisty.”

“I feel strange,” Tyler said.

“Do you feel naked this way?”

Tyler gave a tiny little laugh. “Not so long as no one sees me, I guess. Of course, I’ll bet they’d never recognize me.”

Betsy put her elbow on the table and leaned her chin on her palm. “Maybe it’s time to make big changes in your life. Stop worrying about certain people and do this for yourself.” She paused. “You want to tell me what brought this on?”

Tyler nibbled her lower lip, a habit of her childhood that had popped up lately. How could she tell her friend why she was doing this when she wasn’t even sure herself? She felt odd with her naked face hanging out but it was something she’d felt impelled to do.

“I think,” she said slowly, “I took a good look at myself and didn’t like what I saw—someone I wouldn’t even want to be friends with.”

“Maybe it’s time you were.” Betsy opened her menu. “Let’s see what sounds good today. I could eat a truckload of something.”

Tyler looked at her own menu for a moment but she really didn’t see what was printed there. What the hell was she doing? Who was she trying to be? “Do it for yourself,” Betsy had said. But who was herself? She picked up her glass of ice water to take a sip and was just about to set it down when something made her look up and there, being seated at a table near them, was Rafe.

He pinned her with his penetrating gaze, and Tyler nearly dropped her drink.

“What’s the matter?” Betsy frowned. “You have a weird look on your face.”

A sudden feeling of panic clutched at her, and she pushed her chair back from the table.

“I’ll be right back. If the waiter shows up, order me a dirty martini and that bruschetta appetizer.”

Grabbing her purse from the back of her chair, she headed—almost ran—to the ladies’ room. Thank the Lord there was no one inside. Quickly she pulled out the makeup case she always carried and began to paint her face. When she was done, she yanked the holder off her ponytail, bent over, and raked her fingers through her hair. When she stood up straight and tossed her head back, her hair fell to her shoulders in sexy, messy waves. Good. Just what she wanted. She felt safe behind what was probably her stage makeup. No way did she want Rafe to see her face naked and vulnerable.

“Well!” Betsy gave her a wide grin as she took her seat again. “What brought that on? I told you before, I think I like the other Tyler better.”

“I just—I didn’t—” She swallowed. “God, Betsy, I got scared. I didn’t have my usual mask in place.”

“Maybe it’s like a twelve-step recovery,” Betsy teased. “You have to do it in stages.”

“Maybe.” She buried her head in the menu again.

“It’s okay, Tyler.” Betsy voice was filled with understanding. “I’m here for you all the way. After lunch, we’ll stop at one of the T-shirt shops on the Riverwalk, and get you something to wear with a crazy saying.”

Crazy saying. Right. Her whole life was a crazy saying.

“Sounds good.” Impulsively she reached over and squeezed the other woman’s hand. “I’m so lucky to have you for a friend, Bets.”

“Same goes. Now let’s have a drink on that.”

At that moment, the waiter appeared with their appetizers and drinks. Tyler lifted her martini glass and took a swallow. The liquor burned on its way down, but it was a familiar sensation and one she embraced. It let her know she was alive.

“So tell me,” Betsy asked, “how long are you going to keep changing cell-phone numbers? The guy at your carrier store looked as if he thinks you’re nuts. Three numbers now.” She tilted her head and studied Tyler. “You need to tell someone about this, Tyler. I’m not kidding.”

“I’m not telling anyone.”

“Anyone?” Betsy leaned forward. “Honey, you need to tell someone. I’m worried about you, that’s all.”

“I’m fine. Truly. And I’m stingy with who gets the new number.” She forced a grin. “I’ll just have a contacts list of the people who are important to me.”

“Wow!” Betsy grinned. “I feel honored to be one of your important people. So what’s the new number?”

“Hold on. I’m dialing you so you’ll have it.”

In seconds, Betsy’s phone, which she’d placed on the table, began to vibrate. The woman picked it up, answered, and added the number to her contacts list. Tyler spent a few minutes calling the people who most needed to have her new number, the few she felt comfortable sharing it with like Betsy and her other really close friend, Lynn. She’d worry about the others later.

Unable to help herself, she glanced sideways at Rafe’s table and caught him watching her again, his face expressionless. She didn’t dare meet his gaze knowing she’d see a look of censure there. She’d deliberately plastered everything on as outrageously as she could, her version of flipping him the bird.

“What is wrong with you?” Betsy wanted to know. She gave Tyler a hard look, then turned to see what was going on and spotted Rafe, sitting with another man. “Wow! Who is that?” She fanned her face. “Hot, hot, hot.”

“No one,” Tyler muttered.

“No one?” Betsy’s eyebrows nearly rode to her scalp. “If he’s nobody, why is he giving you that hungry look, and why are you trying to avoid him?”

“Rafe isn’t giving me a hungry look. More like distaste.”

“Rafe, is it? Well! Rafe who? And where have you been keeping him?”

“For God’s sake.” Tyler took another sip of her drink. “His name is Rafe Ortiz. He works for my father, and if he stepped on me, he’d just scrape me off the sole of his shoe.”

“Wow.” Betsy took a swallow of her own drink. “Whatever did you do to him?”

“Nothing. And I don’t intend to.” She ground her teeth. “Can we please change the subject?”

Betsy lifted one shoulder in a graceful, practiced gesture. “Sure, honey, whatever you say. But if you don’t want him, can I have him?”

“Forget him. He’s poison.” She lifted a sliver of the bruschetta and took a small bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Let’s just finish our appetizers and go someplace else. I’ve suddenly decided I’m not in the mood for Italian.”

Or Hispanic.

They paid the check, and when they left, she made sure to walk to the other side of the area then turn back to the open stairway. The quicker she got out of here the better.

* * * *

Rafe cursed his decision to come to Al Dente for lunch. But he had run into Leo Campion, the director of player personnel for the Hawks, on his way out and couldn’t figure out a polite way to tell him he wasn’t interested in company. This was Leo’s choice of restaurants, and he’d gone ahead to get a table. Rafe had nearly tripped over his feet when he spotted Tyler sitting at a table against the glass wall. It wasn’t so much that he saw her, but what she looked like. It was the first time in longer than he could remember that she hadn’t had ten pounds of makeup on her face and been dressed to expose as much skin as possible.

“You look like you swallowed something bad,” Leo joked, sliding in opposite Rafe.

“No. It’s just—No, nothing.”

Leo gave a grunt of skepticism. “I’m telling you, big man, that look doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Just drop it, please.” He definitely did not want to discuss Tyler Gillette with a member of her father’s executive staff. Nope. Not going there.

But Leo was like a dog with a bone, scanning the people seated in the mezzanine. Rafe knew the moment the man’s eyes landed on Tyler.

“Aha!” Leo sounded as if he’d just struck gold. “Fixated on the boss’s daughter, are we? Have I missed something?”

“There’s nothing to miss.”

“She won’t go there, anyway.” Leo’s mouth ticked up in nasty smile. “She won’t have anything to do with anyone even dimly connected to the Hawks. I don’t know if it’s her father’s edict or the fact she hates anything to do with the team. But trust me, she’s a snotty brat. Just ask me.”

“Can you still be a brat at her age?” Rafe asked.

“She hasn’t grown up much,” Leo commented. “So yeah, brat probably still applies.”

Rafe deliberately lifted his menu to study it, hoping Leo would get the message this conversation bit was over. Still, he managed to catch a glimpse of Tyler with a sideways glance. She looked like a totally different person without all that trash on her face, wearing none of her usual glitz.

He knew she’d seen him spot her and hoped she didn’t think he was following her or anything. When she left the table, he let his gaze fall to the menu. But then, in what seemed like a moment, she was back, stunning him with the change she’d affected. The layers of makeup were back again, her T-shirt pulled out of her jeans and knotted in front to expose her midriff, and the hair that had been so smoothly contained in a ponytail now hung in a wild tumble of curls around her face.

He wanted badly to tell her how much better she’d looked without all that crap plastered on her face, but was sure she’d misunderstand. Even from the distance he’d been able to see she had beautiful skin and gorgeous hair. In fact, he wanted to run his fingers through it, but they’d probably throw him out of the restaurant if he tried.