Tennessee Touch, Sisters of Spirit #6 (28 page)

“No. We just came. Thought we’d make last minute arrangements, as it would be harder to track us.”

“We have a spare bedroom, if you’d like. You can stay here as long as you need. That way you don’t have to register for a room or anything.”

“Is that all right with you, Angie,” Logan asked. “We might be bringing a killer to your door.”

“No problem,” she said. “Tag would take care of him.”

“You sure?”

Ryan laughed. “I work from home. I’ll be here, too. And I’ll stay armed until this man is caught.”

“Then thanks. That would be great. We can stay three days. We need to do some personal shopping, so it might be best to do it here, where it’s harder to recognize us. Then we have to get back and restart our life.”

Jake nodded his agreement, as did the rest of them.

After the pumpkin pie and cranberry jello dessert, Grandma Miller opted to take a nap on the couch. Alison and Chantal helped Angie with the dishes while the men put the flash drive containing Mark Stone’s spreadsheet into Ryan’s laptop.

They grouped around the dinner table, looking at the information on the spreadsheet.

“I see what you mean,” Ryan said. “Totally random.”

“The only link we could find is that many of them were having an exceptional year.”

“I can sort these into groups, if I knew what to look for,” said Ryan. “But over the years at least one player from every team has been hurt.”

“Not the same positions, not the same teams,” said Jake.

At that moment the women joined them. “May I see,” asked Chantal.

The men stepped aside to let them in.

“What do you mean, your team?” Ryan asked Chantal. “They play for different teams.”

“My fantasy team. I play fantasy football and I was doing great until my key players started getting hurt.”

Logan and Jake just looked at each other.
Of course! They weren’t on the same real team.
They were on fantasy teams, playing against fantasy teams, and someone was so caught up in the fantasy league he was willing to injure or kill real players so his team would win.

“So how does anyone know who’s on your team?” Ryan asked.

“People have to register their teams in order to play.”

“Do you play fantasy football?” Ryan asked Logan and Jake.

“Nope,” said Jake.

“No time,” said Logan. “But I know a lot of players who do. They might’ve spotted it if we’d shown this to them, but we just got it ourselves. How does fantasy football work?” he asked Chantal.

She gave a detailed rundown of drafting players, joining a league, and putting out players each week that could hopefully beat the other teams.

“If you have a player who you picked up cheap in the draft, who has a breakout season, it can really help your team.”

“And hurt someone else’s team,” Ryan guessed. “Which could be why players having an exceptional year might get targeted.”

“Unless they were on this guy’s team,” she said.

Ryan nodded. “Whoever this person is, he wouldn’t have had any of these players on his team. Then make a separate list of players who didn’t get hurt, but who had exceptional years. Go back at least three years. One or more of them were probably on his team.”

“Will do.”

“Then we have to find out which fantasy owners have been having winning teams and do some list comparisons. It should give us some names for the FBI to investigate.”

“At least it’s a start,” Jake said.

“Yes. But I’m afraid the lists are going to be big ones.”

Rain poured down in Seattle the second week in December. But the weather in Miami was beautiful, so it was no great hardship to stand in line. Unable to get tickets for the play-off games, Chantal's dad had come up with two tickets for the game in Miami. A Saturday afternoon game, it fit into their schedules perfectly and the two women had gone, not telling the men they were coming.

They knew that Jake and Logan planned to fly back to Green Bay with the team Sunday and to Seattle Tuesday, so they made reservations to fly from Miami to Green Bay on Sunday.

The seats were excellent, at about the forty yard line and on the first level. Security was tight and it took awhile to get into the stadium.

Down below, the Skippers were already on the field, warming up. Alison was searching for uniform number two when a roar went up through the crowd announcing the arrival of the home team. She spotted Logan just as everyone stood up and by the time they settled again she had lost him. This time she located Jake and was able to watch him as he did short sprints down the field, then she found Logan once more.

Everything appeared highly organized and very colorful; the cheerleaders beginning their songs and chants and the crowd responding. Having played soccer, she knew what the linesmen were for. The referee signals had been a snap to learn; they were simply an easy type of sign language.

The game began and Alison got her first taste of what Logan had talked about. The Miami fans felt free to boo and comment, often cuttingly, about either team; as critical of their own players as they were of the Skippers. Rarely happy with what was happening on the field, they were full of advice and comments about how it should have been done. They cheered when Logan was sacked and when Jake was tackled; cheering the most when Logan had to be assisted off the field after being knocked flying by a huge left end.

He appeared dazed, not quite certain where he was at, and the coaches who had helped him off the field had to guide him in the right direction. The helmets didn't protect completely from concussion; it looked like they were offering him smelling salts and someone else was examining his eyes.

Alison watched the bench during the next four plays, her stomach tensed till it hurt, then gave a sigh of relief when Logan jogged back into action. She wondered if he was really better or if he was just playing on adrenalin. Still he ran the next few plays okay and connected with his passes, so he must have been okay.

Chantal kept up a running commentary, as good as any announcer, and received encouraging comments from some of the Miami fans sitting next to them—even though they had swiftly ascertained that Chantal was for the Skippers. Her enthusiasm for Green Bay was apparent in every word.

Knowing two of the players made the game much more interesting, but it still looked and sounded like armed combat out there. At the conclusion of the game, which Green Bay won, Alison felt as worn out as if she had been playing herself.

The crowd filed out, some of the comments still burning Alison and Chantal's ears as they waited patiently for their turn. Some persistent inquiry was needed before Chantal discovered the gate where autograph hunters assured her the Skippers would come out. They stood with them, crowding in the heat along with some loyal Green Bay fans who had made the trip down, waiting for the team to appear. The fans were clapping each other on the back and talking loudly, excitedly, about the play-offs; who the Skippers might play first and how well they would do. Security guards surrounded the newly fenced area, all armed and watchful.

After a long wait the players slowly emerged, some stopping to give autographs or to talk to someone they knew, laughing and joking happily with one another, although Logan and Jake were not among them. Today's win put the Skippers into the play-offs, the first time that goal had been reached for several years. There would probably be a huge celebration in Green Bay tonight. The players piled their gear into three charter buses, then gathered back around the gate, in high spirits, evidently elated with their victory. Some walked back in, then out again, laughing; the door being opened and closed often.

A cab pulled up beside the busses and the driver got out and looked around. At that moment Jake came outside but stepped back in again before Chantal could call his name.

And then Logan hurried out amidst the loud cheers and catcalls of his teammates, a large coat thrown over him and a giggling woman he was holding hard up against his side. The autograph seekers surged forward, calling his name, but Logan and the woman ran straight past the crowd and ducked together into the cab. As Alison spun blindly backward into Chantal, faint with shock, the cab moved swiftly away.

The players laughed as if it were all a big joke and climbed into the busses to be driven off. Sick with shame and disgust, Alison turned into Chantal's arms as Jake joined the others, both women ducking their heads so he wouldn't spot them. The crowd shifted around them as they pushed backward into it.

No wonder Logan had kept this part of his life from her. Had remained a mystery man while he laid siege to her heart. The woman with him had been dressed in a skimpy, bright red sweater, low necked and revealing, and a black skirt that barely reached her legs. Her make-up had been layered on and her jewelry heavy and cheap. She looked exactly like all the street women Alison had ever seen. And the woman and Logan, who was bare from the waist up, had just jumped into a cab and driven off—together.

"Can you make it?" Chantal asked, concerned.

"Yes. That was a...a shock," Alison answered, feeling sick. Better now than later, she realized. What if she had married him and then found out this was what he did on road trips? She fought back the desire to throw up and also the desire to scream and cry and pound her fists against the nearby concrete wall. Men! She had thought Logan was different, but she was wrong. He'd probably been laughing at her naiveness all the time.

At least she'd found out in time—her heart ached right now but hadn't cracked—unless that was yet to come, after the numbing shock wore away.

The crowd of autograph seekers compared the signatures they'd been given, some trading pieces of paper, then they dispersed, going rapidly on their way. The two women were left alone, wordlessly staring at the concrete paving.

"You'll have to leave," a security man said. "We're locking up." They walked out ahead of him, hearing the stadium gates clang to with a finality.

The end—finished—all over.

And I had such high hopes
, Alison thought,
that this time I'd found a man who was interested in me, myself, and not my looks. He sure had a smooth line. So sincere.

Disappointment cut deeply. He had really fooled her.

The parking lot was almost deserted by now and they had no trouble finding their rental car. Unable as yet to speak about what had just happened, the two got in, Chantal doing the driving while Alison sat crunched into as small a space as possible, her head in her hands, tremors of shock shaking her body.

They had flown into Miami early Sunday morning, traveling all night, and booked into the same hotel as other Skipper fans. The team had stayed there Saturday night and should be on their way to the airport to fly back to Green Bay. Alison and Chantal had checked out and taken their luggage with them to the game, planning to fly to Green Bay behind them.

Alison spoke, her voice a tortured whisper, yet fiercely determined, as they drove out of the parking lot. "Make sure we catch a flight to Seattle."

Chantal had been thinking the same thing and they discussed it quickly. Neither one of them wanted to go to Green Bay. But was Seattle a good choice? Logan would call, wanting to talk to Alison. If Alison stayed with Chantal, Logan or Jake would call there.

"I'll tell you what," Chantal said, having come to a decision. "Let's not go back tonight. Let's stay in Miami and soak up some sun. It will give us both a chance to recover. The sunshine will be more healing than the rain we left behind.”