Play to Win (18 page)

Tears rolled down my cheeks and I swiped them away, staring helplessly at his text. Steven and Natalie held us both hostage, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

I didn't question how he knew. Of course he would. He knew me, knew how I felt about him, though I'd been remiss in saying it.

I love you.
My hand shook as I typed out the letters.

I rested my wet cheek on my bent knees, trying to ease the ache inside. The phone buzzed again.

I snorted a laugh. Ever the unexpected, that was Parker; just another of the many things I loved about him. He could make me smile in even the most dire and bleak of circumstances.

A navy blue satin chemise with pink lace trim
, I lied, tugging down the hem of my faded Mickey Mouse T-shirt.

I laughed again as I typed,
No way. Do I look like I have Stupid stamped on my forehead?

I giggled again as I texted back,
I'm sure you'll get over it
.

Nope.
Unless you counted very unsexy white cotton panties, but he didn't need to know that.

My breath hitched as I stared at the screen. Okay…this was getting interesting. Tentatively, I rested a hand on my bare knee.

Okay
, I typed one-handed.

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. I might need a glass of wine for this, I thought, yet found my fingers doing exactly what Parker was telling me to do.

Yes
, I texted back.

Okay, I hadn't ever put much stock in “sexting” before, but this was starting to work. My pulse was racing and there was definite slither of heat through my veins at the thought of an aroused Parker.

Okay, yeah, definitely working. I tried to think what to text back. It went both ways, right? I should say something, but it wasn't like I'd done this before.

I miss touching you. Your chest, your arms.
It wasn't much, but it was true. Parker had a rock hard chest and his arms looked carved from marble. My fingers itched just thinking about him.

I miss you touching me, too
, he sent back.
But I miss your kiss more.

Oh, wow. That melted me and I was still staring at the words when the next text came.

I could feel heat flood my face.
I'm touching my leg.

I hesitated and he texted again.

That mental image flashed inside my head and I slipped my hand inside my panties.

Okay, so we're Going There. I could do that, even without the wine.

I swallowed. Parker was really, really good at this. I should step up my game.

If you were here, I'd want you inside me.
That was good, right? Not too vulgar, but definitely edging into R-rated territory.

It was getting very warm in my apartment.

I threw my inhibitions out the window.

Your cock feels so good. I want you to come inside me.
I sent it before I could rethink it and get embarrassed.

I wouldn't have thought something like this would work, but the mind is a powerful thing, especially when stimulated. And Parker knew how to flick my Bic.

There was a brief silence from both of us as I caught my breath. Good lord, that was a first, not that I was complaining. A giggle escaped. My phone buzzed.

I replied with the most shit-eating grinning emoji I could find.

You're so beautiful
, he typed.
I've always thought so.

I hesitated, then decided to go out on a dicey limb.
You don't know how many times I imagined slipping under your desk.
A true statement, when I'd let my imagination run away with me and he'd looked particularly mouthwatering. I'd be under his desk and reach up to undo the zipper of his slacks…

I imagined that, too
, he texted back.
And you on my desk, skirt around your waist, staring into your gorgeous eyes as I took you.

How long have you imagined that?
I couldn't help asking. The answer came back immediately.

That was a revelation. I hadn't realized Parker had felt the chemistry between us as acutely as I had. It was gratifying to know he hadn't been as immune as I'd assumed he'd been—just exercising enormous self-control as he'd never so much as hinted he felt anything but a professional interest in me.

Yes, I had. And he remembered. My throat closed up again.

I laughed, dashing a hand across my cheek to wipe away the tear tracks.

I chuckled as I texted.
You did take a bullet for me. So I'll let it slide this time.

There was a pause and I was staring at my phone, a stupid smile on my face. It felt so good to be talking to him.

I didn't hesitate.
I miss you too.

It'll work out
, he texted.
I promise.

How??
I saw no way out of the box Steven and Natalie had stuck us in.

The endearment curled around my heart like a hug.

It's late, go to sleep
, he sent.
Dream of me.

I set the phone down and cuddled back underneath my covers, staring at the window again. It was absurd, being held hostage at the whim of two thugs with enough crazy between the two of them to keep a slew of psychiatrists busy for years.

I had to think outside the box, that was all. There had to be a way out for us; I just had to find it.

F
lowers were waiting for me at work the next day, a full dozen peach roses. I was smiling before I'd even read the card.

“Who are they from?” Carrie asked, taking my jacket and hanging it up. “I've been dying to know since they arrived.”

Blushing, I hurriedly shoved the card in my purse. “Parker Anderson.”

Her brows rose. “Our investment manager at KLP?”

“No longer our investment manager,” I said, smoothing my skirt as I sat behind my desk. “He's gone to work for Steven Shea at SLS.”

Her jaw dropped. “You've got to be joking,” she said. “He's a good guy. Why would he go work for a slimeball like Shea?”

“To keep Shea from going after us,” I said. “He made a deal.”

“But that makes no sense,” she said, dropping into the leather armchair across from me. “You wouldn't need someone like Parker Anderson on staff, not unless…” Her voice trailed away and she got a vague look in her eye.

“Unless what?” I asked. Then repeated myself when she didn't immediately answer. “Carrie, not unless what?”

Her eyes refocused. “Not unless you were getting ready to do a buyout and needed to keep all your ducks in a row to stay off the radar as a monopolistic entity.”

That got my attention. “What other companies besides us and SLS move liquor through the tristate area? Are all the companies listed in the inquiry still in business?”

“Well, not all of them. Johnson & Halloway sold to Fulton Foods about six years ago,” she said. “They got out of the business. Then M&R Trading went belly up about a year ago. That leaves only Shelton Sikes's company, us, and Shea. Shelton covers a lot of Wisconsin, but he still has a few territories in Illinois.”

“Has he been having trouble lately?” I asked. “Financial trouble?”

“Funny you should ask that,” Charlie said. I glanced up to see him striding through the doorway, newspaper in hand. “Look what's front page of the business section.” He tossed it down on my desk as he sat next to Carrie in her chair's twin.

The story was relatively short. Shares for Sikes would go on sale tomorrow. The big news of the story wasn't that it was going public, but that a majority of the shares would be for sale. The owner wasn't keeping a controlling interest.

“They must be in trouble,” I said.

“Old Man Sikes made the announcement a few months ago,” Charlie said. “Your dad had approached them, wanting to buy, but Sikes turned him down.”

“Thought he'd make more money going public?”

“I think so.”

And no one was better equipped to handle buying controlling stock in another company than Parker Anderson.

“So you think he wanted Parker to ensure his control of Sikes?” I asked.

“Once Shea controls Sikes, we'll be the only other distributor in the region,” Charlie said. “And he's got our head on a chopping block already.”

“So we'll go down along with everyone else.” Regardless of the deal Parker had made, I knew Shea wouldn't stop until we were out of business. We were already on the government's radar, and even if he'd paid someone off to file and then withdraw the allegation, someone was bound to follow up at some point.

All of us were silent, considering the implications.

“We need dirt on Steven Shea,” I said. “That's the only way we're going to get out of this, by finding something we can hold against him.”

“Blackmail?” Carrie asked.

I hesitated, wondering if she'd have qualms.

“Not that I have a problem with that,” she hurriedly added. “Steven Shea is nuts. The things I've heard about him…” She glanced at Charlie, who nodded grimly. It appeared I was the only one in the dark about Steven Shea.

“I don't want to blackmail him,” I said, “but he's the one who went for the jugular first. He nearly killed us. As far as I'm concerned, the gloves are off. We fight back with everything we've got.

“So what do we know about Steven Shea?” I looked expectantly at them.

“Leo kept a lid on that kid,” Charlie said, settling back in the chair. “He was wild, with a mean streak. There was some business a few years back, but just rumors. That's when Leo sent him away.”

“I've heard through the grapevine that he's violent with women,” Carrie added. “My daughter has a friend who went on a few dates with him. His temper is on a hair trigger and she got out quick.”

I digested all of this. Rumors and hearsay. Not a lot to go on, but where there was smoke…

“Where did Leo send him off to?” I asked.

“There's a place about an hour and a half from here,” Charlie answered. “It's not really a juvenile delinquent place, but it's where rich people send their kids when they need to be dried out or rehabbed.”

“It sounds like we should pay a visit,” I said. “Carrie, want to get out of the office for a while?”

She grinned. “I'm all about job security.”

“Charlie, will you hold down the fort for me?”

“I always do. But you girls be careful. I don't want to have to call our lawyers to bail you outta jail.”

“Understood,” I said, grabbing my purse. “Let's go.”

Carrie had a car, so she drove. She was a few years younger than my mom and I'd known her my whole life, but we hadn't ever spent a lot of one-on-one time together. I thought it might be awkward at first, but I shouldn't have worried. She chatted away as she drove, telling me about her son Paul, who had just landed his first job out of college as a junior architect at a firm in San Francisco.

“What about you?” she asked, taking me aback.

“What about me?”

“Well, you've never shown much of an interest before in the business,” she said. “I thought you wanted a career in art, but then you seemed to really like your job at KLP.”

“KLP was a good transition from college to real life,” I said. “I think I needed that time. And while I love art, I don't think I want to make it my career.”

“So your job at KLP was all about you finding yourself?” A smile played about her lips as she glanced at me. “And didn't have anything to do with Parker Anderson?”

Carrie wasn't stupid. She'd known my family forever and she was a mom. I'd found moms had a built-in bullshit detector, and Carrie was no exception, so I didn't even try lying.

“It was about ninety percent Parker and ten percent finding myself.”

She laughed and so did I. “Well, at least you're honest,” she said. “The worst lie you can tell is to yourself.”

“I like the business,” I said. “I like being a part of something my dad built. It's different, I think, when it's a family legacy. It's not really just a job.”

“You're right. It's different when it's your own.”

A couple of miles passed in silence, each of us in our own thoughts, then she asked, “So what will you do about Parker? Are you in love with him?”

I slowly nodded. “Yeah. I am. I can't be without him. It's just not in me. I have to find a way to get us both out of this, even if it means stooping to Shea's level.”

“You're not stooping to his level,” she said. “You're doing what needs to be done to save your livelihood and the man you love. There's nothing wrong with that. Once upon a time, your father had to make the same choice.”

“I guess that old saying is true,” I said ruefully. “Don't judge another man until you've walked in his shoes.”

“Or her shoes, as the case may be,” Carrie added.

We pulled into a long, black asphalt driveway lined with huge oak trees. After about a quarter of a mile, it opened up to a large expanse of lawn with a huge stone mansion situated squarely center. Beautifully tended flowerbeds and manicured bushes flanked the home. I started counting the windows in the three-story structure and gave up after reaching twenty-nine.

“What is this place?” I asked as Carrie navigated to the discreet parking area west of the main house. Numerous outbuildings dotted the acreage.

“I'm guessing they turned an old family mansion into a hospital for the wealthy,” Carrie said, turning off the car. “Looks less like an institution and more palatable if you have to stay here.”

Considering that those who couldn't afford a place like this were relegated to state-run hospitals with more concrete than grass, I could understand wanting to pay to send your kid to a nicer place. But those with addictions battled the same demons, regardless of the size of the bank account.

Carrie and I walked toward the entrance. We saw a few people on the way, some sitting under the trees in the shade, and a man pushing a young woman in a wheelchair. She was so thin, she had to be anorexic. It hurt me to look at her, with her pinched face and deep shadows under her eyes. I said a quick prayer for her as we passed by.

“So what's the plan?” Carrie muttered as we climbed the flight of stone steps to the grand double doors. They had to be at least twelve feet tall.

“I think we're taking a look at this place for your son, my brother,” I said, thinking on the fly. “You can talk and I'll…wander. See what I can find.”

“You got it.”

The interior was every bit as impressive as the exterior, though I noticed the little security details they couldn't really hide—the card swipes on the walls next to doors, the cameras in the ceilings, the infrared motion detectors. The shining wooden floors and curved staircase didn't conceal that this was still part prison.

“May I help you?”

A woman intercepted us. Dressed conservatively in sweater and pearls, she looked like a maiden aunt, her smile warm and kind.

“We're visitors,” Carrie said. “I'm looking for a place that might be able to help my son.”

“Of course,” she said. “I'm May. Come with me, please, and we'll be able to answer your questions and show you around.”

She led us down the hall and we passed an open doorway. I peered inside and saw a handful of people seated in a circle by the windows, talking. Looked like a group therapy session to me, and I hurried on.

The sitting room was just outside an office and I wandered to the windows as Carrie sat down.

“I'll get Dr. McIntosh to speak with you,” May said. “He's just finishing up his rounds. Can I get you something to drink?”

We both requested coffee and May left the room. I settled next to Carrie on the sofa.

“Not at all
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
,” I murmured.

She grimaced. “Just let me know if you spot Nurse Ratched.”

I snorted just as May returned with a coffee tray. After leaving it on the table in front of us, she pulled the door shut, closing out the ambient sound of echoing footsteps and voices from the hallway.

By mutual agreement, neither Carrie nor I broke character. I didn't know if we were being monitored, but I'd rather operate under the assumption that we were. I poured coffee for us both while we waited. A few minutes later, the door opened and a man wearing a white lab coat hurried inside.

“I'm so sorry to keep you waiting,” he said as we stood. “I'm Dr. McIntosh.”

“I'm Carrie and this is my daughter, Sage.” We all shook hands before taking our seats again. The doctor sat in a chair opposite us.

“So I understand you're looking for a place for your son?” he asked.

“Yes. He's been…having trouble,” Carrie said, and I could only admire her acting skills. Her face was creased in lines of worry and she was twisting her hands in her lap. “He's always had anger management issues, but I think lately he's started using drugs, and that's only exacerbated the problem.”

“What kind of anger management issues?”

“He gets violent, verbally abusive. We believe he's mutilated animals before, though he won't admit to it.”

Dr. McIntosh looked very serious. “We do take those kinds of cases,” he said, “though the fee is higher, due to the staffing required to make sure they don't present a danger to themselves or others.”

“I understand,” Carrie said. “Do you have a lot of experience with those kinds of cases?”

“We do.” He launched into an explanation of their treatment and schedule. After a couple of minutes, I interrupted to excuse myself to use the restroom.

“Down the hall and to the right,” he said. “And please don't wander.”

“Of course,” I lied.

I bypassed the restroom and headed for the stairs. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, maybe a file room or office, something that would have a record of Steven's stay. It'd be real handy to just ask the staff, but I knew HIPAA rules would prevent them from disclosing anything about him to me.

On the second floor was a long corridor stretching out to either side, lined by what I assumed were patients' rooms. The key to breaking in anywhere is to look like you belong there. Any kind of sneaking or looking furtively around would be like a flashing neon sign to anyone who spotted me.

With that in mind, I walked down the corridor at a good clip, hoping one of the rooms wouldn't just be a patient room, and it wasn't until the very last doorway that I was rewarded.

OFFICE
was printed in block letters across the frosted glass window and I turned the brass knob, knowing it was probably locked…and it was.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Who are you?”

I jumped and spun around, knowing as I did so that I looked guilty as sin. So much for my great plan to blend in and look like I belonged.

A guy stood there: maybe twenty years old, a few inches taller than me. He was thin, too thin for his frame, and his eyes were shadowed. But he didn't look angry at spotting me, just curious.