Play to Win

by Tiffany Snow

  Finally, Charlie asked, “So what do you want to do, kiddo?”

  “Call the lawyers,” I said. “Get them in here and start talking strategy. I don’t know what files they got or what evidence they may have. Prepare for the worst.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to pay a visit to Steven Shea.”

  * * *

  The offices for SLS Enterprises were north of downtown. With traffic, it took me a while to get there, which was fine with me. I was nervous and had dressed carefully, opting for a black pencil skirt that hit just below my knees and hugged my hips, along with a white silk blouse. I’d left the top two buttons of the blouse undone and tied a scarf around my neck to accessorize. With my hair loosely pulled back and in two-inch heels, I’d hoped to strike the right note of professional yet still feminine. To end this war with Shea, I needed all the weapons in my arsenal.

  “I don’t like the idea of you walking in to the lion’s den like this,” Charlie had cautioned me.

  “He’s not going to kill me in the middle of his office,” I’d reasoned. At least, I hoped he wouldn’t.

  The office building was newer, with five floors and manicured landscaping out front. The company’s name and logo were etched in a granite slab artfully placed amidst a bed of marigolds in full bloom.

  You’d never guess that the man who ran it had tried to kill me.

  I tucked my black clutch bag underneath my arm as I entered the lobby. It was early evening, but I was betting Shea was still there.

  A security guard stood behind a counter to my left and a woman sat behind a reception desk straight ahead. I approached the security guard, who asked for my ID, dutifully writing down my name before handing it back, then I headed for the woman.

  “Sage Muccino, here to see Steven Shea,” I said to her.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Mr. Shea is very busy and doesn’t take walk-in visitors—”

  “I’m quite sure he’ll see me,” I interrupted. I tapped her phone with a fingernail. “Just give him a call and tell him I’m here.”

  She gave me a dirty look, but I just smiled serenely and waited. Finally, she jabbed a button on her phone and spoke into her headset.

  “A Sage Muccino is here to see Mr. Shea. She doesn’t have an appointment. I told her he won’t—” She stopped, glanced up at me, then back down, frowning. “Yes. I’ll do that.” She ended the call. “Mr. Shea will see you,” she said. “Fifth floor.”

  “Thank you.”

  I headed for the elevator, taking a deep breath as it took me to the top floor and the doors slid open.

  I stepped out into an open floor plan, with huge half-circle windows and tall ceilings. Tasteful décor in modern lines of chrome with bold colors adorned the space, and the floor was a beautiful hardwood in deep mahogany. A man sat behind an imposing desk placed in front of the windows. He stood as I walked toward him, my heels clacking on the floor.

  Steven Shea wasn’t very tall. With my heels, we were the same height. He was thin and well-built, with dark hair meticulously coiffed and styled. If I’d seen him on the street, I might glance at him twice, as he was striking. He smiled, displaying a perfect set of even, white teeth.

  “Miss Muccino,” he said. “To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?”

  I sat down in one of the two leather armchairs in front of his desk and crossed my legs. “I think we both know why I’m here, Steven,” I said coolly.

  He took his seat again, leaning back and steepling his fingers underneath his chin as he surveyed me.

  “Giving up already?” he asked. “I didn’t expect that, I have to admit. Maybe it’s because you’re a woman.”

  His barb stung, but I kept my face expressionless. “No one said I’m giving up. I’m here to make you see sense and stop what you’re doing.”

  Steven’s pseudo-smile became a gloating smirk. “And what am I doing, pray tell?” He sat back in his chair, relaxed and smug.

  “Should I begin where you tried to have me and my father killed? Or when you broke into our offices? Or with the investigation into allegedly illegal activities from over a decade ago?”

  “That is a long list of very serious accusations,” he said with a mocking frown. “And I suppose you have evidence of my involvement in all of that?”

  “We both know who’s responsible,” I said. Tension had my body strung as tight as a wire, but I struggled to keep up my façade of indifference. “Your father is dead. Mine, nearly so. Let’s let bygones be bygones, Steven. This doesn’t have to become a war between us.”

  He leaned forward suddenly, surprising me, and I jumped.

  “Of course it does.” His eyes were intense and the curving sneer on his lips looked anything but friendly and logical. “It’s much more fun that way.”

  “This isn’t fun,” I retorted.

  “Of course it is! And I just love that you came here today. Aren’t you the brave and plucky one?” He laughed.

  “This is a business meeting,” I gritted out, unwilling to admit how much he was unnerving me.

  “Yes, of course it is,” he said, waving a hand. “By all means, conduct your business. I’m all ears.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. It was hard to look into his eyes as he stared at me. Something wasn’t quite right. His eyes looked…dead inside. A shiver crept down my spine.

  “This investigation will cost us both in time and money,” I said. “Because if they crawl into my books, I’m pointing them in your direction. Neither of us can afford the business we will lose, especially once word gets out that you’re accusing us of collusion. There are enough skeletons in your closet to keep the FBI busy for years.”

  “On the contrary, my business will do just fine,” he said. “Your customers will flee to me as an honest businessman, while the feds drag you through the courts. You may prove your innocence, but by then your customers will be gone.” He grinned. “Bye bye, trust fund. You’ll have to actually work for a living, Sage.”

  “I have been working for a living,” I fired back. “What about you? Aren’t you new to daddy’s business? Spending his hard-earned money while he worked to keep up with your booze and drug habits?” Those last two parts were a shot in the dark, but I didn’t think I was too far off.

  Suddenly, a knife appeared in Steven’s hand. It was pointed right at me, clutched in his hand as his elbow rested on the surface of the desk. My breath caught and I shut up.

  “Neat trick, right?” he asked. “It took me a while to get the hang of it. There’s this sheath on my arm.” He casually pushed back the sleeve of his jacket to show me. “And the dagger sits right there. But then when I do this,” he did something with his arm, “it springs forward into my hand. Isn’t that something?” The knife moved fast and he caught it just as quick. “Of course, it took some time to get it right. If I miss catching it…well, it just flies off at whatever is in front of me. Put a few holes in the Sheetrock, I’m sorry to say.”

  He laughed and I swallowed, my eyes on the knife as he continued to play with it, the point always directed at me. If he slipped, it would come flying right at me. My palms began to sweat.

  “People know I’m here,” I said. “If something happens to me, they’ll come looking for you.”

  “Perhaps they would,” he replied. “But then…you’d still be dead, wouldn’t you.” He smiled again.

  I don’t know if it was his smile or what, but an almost sixth sense had me throwing myself out of the chair just as the knife flew from its sheath. The point buried itself in the soft leather of the chair, right where my chest had just been.

  “Oops,” he said. “Missed.”

  “You’re insane,” I gasped, scrambling to my feet.

  “I prefer to call myself a creative thinker.”

  Rounding the desk, he pulled the knife from the chair. “I’ll give you a head start,” he said, motioning toward th
e door to his office. “But fair warning: I don’t play by the rules.”

  There was a breathless moment as we stared at each other. He wasn’t smiling any longer. In fact, he looked downright deadly. Adrenaline rushed through my veins and I bolted for the door, slamming my palm against the wood and shoving it open.

  “Run, run, little Sage! But wherever will you go?”

  His taunt followed me as I raced into the hallway, only to have everything go dark.

  The lights were out. He’d turned them off. Now I was as blind as a bat, blinking furiously to try to get my eyes to adjust. I kept going, remembering the length of the hallway from before the light had gone.

  Using the elevator seemed a bad idea—like a cage just waiting for me to enter its gaping maw—so I felt for the stairwell door I remembered being at the very end of the hall.

  “Little Sage, Little Sage, come out come out wherever you are…” Steven’s singsong taunt echoed around me, maybe coming through intercom speakers, I wasn’t sure.

  He was crazy. Certifiably insane. We were in his office building, for crying out loud. There were people around…weren’t there?

  My fingers found the latch on the door and I pushed it open. The red glow of the Exit sign lit the way and I thanked all the government regulation and bureaucracy that mandated stuff like that as I flung myself down the stairs.

  I hit the door at the bottom with speed and it crashed open, spilling me out into the cool evening air. I gulped in breaths, shaking, more rattled by Steven than I wanted to admit. I hurried through the shadowed parking lot, looking back at the innocuous looking building…and ran straight into someone.

  A scream clawed its way up my throat and I would have fallen backward on my ass if hands hadn’t shot out to grip my arms, holding me steady.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Ryker asked.

  My heart was hammering and I was breathing too fast. It took me a second to process what he’d said. “I came to see Steven Shea.”

  “The man who wants to kill you.” The tone of his voice clearly said what he thought of my plan.

  “I’d hoped he’d be reasonable,” I said with a nervous shrug. “But…uh…he’s not so much.”

  “Shea is a sociopath,” Ryker bit out. “And you coming to see him—alone—the height of idiocy.”

  I stiffened, immediately angry. But then the fear I’d just gone through and everything else that had happened the past few days came crashing down on me, and I burst into tears.

  Ryker cursed and dragged me into his arms. “Christ, I’m sorry,” he said, holding me close. I buried my face against his shoulder, sobbing. “I was frantic, on my way here, afraid Shea would do something stupid.” His hold tightened. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  I sniffled, gulping down tears. “H-how’d you know I was h-here?”

  He kept an arm around me as we headed toward his motorcycle. “Charlie,” he said. “He thought it was a bad idea, too, and got nervous. Thought sending a cop over to get you would be best.”

  Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he swung it over my shoulders and I pushed my arms into the too-long sleeves. He held on to the front lapels, pulling me closer until I tipped my head back to look at him.

  A grimace creased his brow as he saw my tear-stained face. “What happened in there?”

  Haltingly, I told him, a shudder running through me when I got to the part about the knife. Ryker’s hands gripped the leather of his jacket, tightening into fists as I finished the story.

  “He’s a fucking lunatic,” he growled. “I should go arrest him now for threatening assault.”

  “No, don’t,” I said. “It’ll just cause more trouble and he’d be out in hours anyway. I just want to go home.” The thought of going back to Parker’s—and Natalie being there—was too much for me. “Please take me home.” I’d driven myself here in a company car but was more than willing to let Schultz retrieve it in the morning. I was shaking so badly, I doubted my ability to even drive at the moment.

  Ryker looked at my face and must have read my desperation because he sighed and gave in without a fight. “All right.”

  We climbed onto the motorcycle. I wrapped my arms around his torso and held on tight as we roared off into the night.

  Chapter Twelve

  Carrie had arranged for a new mattress to be delivered for my bed, and a darn good one at that. I thanked the gods above for having a secretary at the company who knew everything about everyone and how to get things done. Ryker helped me put on some new sheets and a blanket. That would do for now.

  “How did things go last night?” I asked. “Wasn’t Natalie supposed to take the money to them?”

  “She did. She followed their instructions and they grabbed the money without us being able to catch them at it.”

  “You didn’t catch them?” I asked, too late hearing the Really? in my voice. Ryker’s jaw tightened.

  “They were armed and took out the drop location,” he said. “We split as the emergency personnel were being dispatched.”

  I shook my head. “What does that mean, ‘took out the drop location’? Translation, please.”

  “It burned to the ground.”

  Oh. Okay, now I felt kinda bad for pre-judging their competence. “Is everyone okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah. But it means we’re no closer to finding Jessie.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Poor Jessie. “So Natalie lost Parker’s ten thousand dollars and has nothing to show for it?”

  Ryker flinched. “Pretty much,” he said.

  “Supposedly, neither one of you trust her,” I said, “yet you’re both dancing to her tune. Why?”

  “I wouldn’t characterize it as ‘dancing to her tune,’” he replied. “There’s Jessie to consider and Natalie is our only link to helping Jessie.”

  I stood with my arms crossed, staring at him, looking probably for all the world like a pouting child, but I couldn’t stop. Neither of them would listen to me about Natalie; both of them seemed hell-bent on following the path she was laying out for them no matter what common sense said to do. And the only reason I could think of as to why…was that neither man was really over Natalie, no matter what they said to the contrary. Actions spoke louder than words, and ten thousand dollars was a helluva statement.

  I collapsed onto the bed, dejected and beaten down. I felt foolish. Going tonight to see Shea by myself had been a dumb move, though at least now I knew he wouldn’t listen to reason.

  “You okay?” Ryker asked, handing me a glass of wine he must’ve found in the fridge.

  I sat up on the bed, taking it from him and swallowing a too-large gulp. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired. It’s been a hell of a week.”

  “How are your stitches doing? Need some medicine?”

  I nodded and he disappeared into my bathroom, coming back with the prescription bottle. It would help me sleep, which was just what I needed. I was so tired even my bones felt exhausted.

  “I ordered some pizza, too,” he said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  As if on cue, my stomach growled, prompting a chuff of laughter from him and an embarrassed blush to my cheeks. I couldn’t remember when I’d eaten last.

  It should’ve been awkward, eating pizza on my couch with Ryker—now officially an ex—but it wasn’t. There was a familiarity between us that was comfortable, but not overtly sexual. I didn’t see him that way any longer, though I could still appreciate the view.

  An hour later, we were stuffed and lethargic, lazing on the couch while watching reruns of Supernatural. I could pretend that Shea wasn’t trying to kill me and destroy my father’s business; Ryker could pretend his ex wasn’t back from the dead with inscrutable intentions.

  “You should probably go,” I said when the latest episode’s ending credits rolled, prodding his thigh with my toe. “It’s late. McClane’s gonna have to pee.”

  “He’s already gone in the house, I’m sure,” Ryker said, leaning
over to scoop up the last slice of cold pizza. “He throws a temper tantrum if I’m gone a lot, because he knows it ticks me off.”

  Why did people have dogs again? I couldn’t understand it.

  “You should still go.” Our eyes met. “I’ll be fine,” I said, knowing why he was sticking around. I wasn’t an idiot.

  “The lock on your door wouldn’t keep out McClane,” Ryker said. “Much less someone like Shea.”

  “I don’t want a babysitter,” I said. Especially Ryker. It was one thing for us to be friendly exes, but another for him to stay the night when both of us were fully aware that Parker was the one who’d decided to pull bodyguard duty. And he was nowhere around.

  “Take this then,” Ryker said, handing me his handgun. “You do know how to use one of these, right?”

  “Duh, yeah, of course,” I said. I handled it gingerly. Yeah, in theory I knew how to use one, but they still made me uneasy.

  “And keep your cell right by you,” he said. “Stick a chair under the door when I leave and don’t open it for anyone you don’t know. I don’t care if they say they’re from Publisher’s Fucking Clearinghouse.”

  “Got it.” I suppressed a smile at his vehemence, feeling warm inside at the obvious signs that he cared what happened to me. I was glad our breaking up hadn’t cost us everything.

  I showed him to the door and impulsively gave him a hug. “Thanks,” I whispered. “Thanks for caring.”

  “Of course I care,” he said gruffly. “Just because we’re not sleeping together doesn’t mean I stopped caring.”

  We were too close and for a moment I was reminded of that strong chemistry between us, but I stepped back before it became something awkward.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I called after him, watching as he disappeared down the hallway and through the stairwell door.

  I closed and locked my door with a sigh. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a little canine companionship tonight, eat my words though I must. McClane had saved me once before and I had no doubt his ears would hear much more acutely than mine to sound the alarm if someone tried to break into the apartment.