by Sandra Brown
To prevent that, Griff must confront this issue head-on, now. He wasn’t willing to live with the constant threat of Rodarte. He certainly didn’t want to inflict it on two people who were entirely innocent. He couldn’t bear the guilt of someone else falling victim to Rodarte’s brutality the way Marcia had.
Griff drove straight home from the practice field, rushed through a shower, and dressed. He left behind his new Armani jacket in favor of one he’d had before his incarceration, not wanting to look too well heeled.
It was nervy to arrive at Vista’s offices unannounced, but he was betting that the triumvirate would agree to see him, out of curiosity if for no other reason. He was right. After waiting in a reception area for almost half an hour, he was summoned into the inner sanctum where he’d met with them the first time.
Same paneled walls, indirect lighting, and sound-absorbing rugs, but the hospitality was noticeably lacking. No sandwich tray, no open bar. Larry’s tan was just as bronze, but it appeared that more time may have been spent in the club bar than on the links. He’d gone a little soft around the middle.
Griff was surprised to see that Martin could still breathe without some form of respiratory apparatus. But he was now relying heavily on a cane to help support his immense body.
Bennett had given up on the comb-over and shaved his head. It was perfectly white and round, and from the back looked like an overgrown billiard ball sitting on his shoulders. With even fewer lashes now, his eyes were more reptilian than before.
Larry had one hip propped on the corner of a desk. Bennett was in an armchair, legs crossed. As Griff walked in, Martin collapsed onto a short leather sofa that was barely wide enough to accommodate him. Both his lungs and the seat cushions emitted a whoosh of air as he settled.
Griff wasn’t invited to sit.
Martin began. “What do you want?”
Griff responded just as bluntly. “Call off Rodarte.”
No one said anything for a full thirty seconds. Finally Larry broke the taut silence. “Would that be Stanley Rodarte you’re talking about?”
Griff didn’t buy the dumb act. “You’ll be glad to know your watchdog is persistent. He was in Big Spring the day I got out, and he’s been making a nuisance of himself ever since. He assaulted a friend of mine. A woman. Sodomized her and ruined her face. When that failed to win me over, he set two guys on me. For a week after, I could barely walk and my pee ran red.”
“Gee, Griff, we’re sorry to hear that,” Larry said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “And this would be our problem…why?”
Griff resented their playing innocent. He wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know, so he’d rather they just own up to it and tell him that he and Marcia had it coming.
“Look, it sucks for you if Bill Bandy hid money where you can’t find it. But get off my back about it. I didn’t take anything from him. And you know damn well I didn’t kill him.”
“You had motive.”
“So did you.”
The FBI had arrested Bandy on charges of illegal gambling. Facing several years in federal prison, Bandy had played his bargaining chip—Griff Burkett. He told the feds about Griff’s association with Vista, specifically about the upcoming play-off game against Washington. No one in Dallas was happy about the loss that day, except the federal agents who were building a strong racketeering case against the Cowboys’ QB.
The deal Bandy had struck worked out great for him. Griff got caught; all charges against Bandy were dropped. But this exchange had made the Vista men nervous. What if the FBI wanted more from Bill Bandy than a cheating football player? The bookie might have been tempted to use them as another free pass at some point in the future.
The Vista trio had removed the temptation from Bandy by killing him.
At least that was what Griff had surmised and now had essentially accused them of. Unfazed, their stares remained unblinking.
“Maybe there was some secret stash,” he continued, “but I haven’t spent the last five years on a treasure hunt. I don’t want back in your operation, and I’m not working for a competing outfit. You can threaten me till doomsday, and you’ll still come up empty. So whatever you’re paying Rodarte to put pressure on me is money wasted. Call him off.”
Several moments passed. They sat like statues. Eventually Martin looked over at Larry, Larry looked over at Bennett, and Bennett continued to stare at Griff.
If Griff had still been a wagering man, he’d have put his money on Bennett as the enforcer of the group. Larry was the windbag, the people person, the public relations guy. Martin was the brains and the puppet master. Bennett, silent and stationary Bennett, who seemed to have ice water in his veins, was responsible for damage control.
It was Martin who finally spoke. “What makes you think…” Wheeze. “…that we’d have dealings…” Gasp. “…with a scumbag like Rodarte?”
“He told me himself. He said he’d talked to you. He passed along your message that there might be a way for me to make amends. That you might be willing to forgive and forget.”
“Forgive and forget?”
This was the first and only time Griff had actually seen Martin smile, and it made his balls contract.
“Is Rodarte delusional, or are you?” Larry asked. “After you gave the grand jury the juice on us, you think we’d ever welcome you back?” He snorted his opinion on the chances of that. “First of all, asshole, we’re not forgiving or forgetful. Number two, you’re the last person we want in our operation. We’re not slow learners. Once you screw us over, you’re screwed. Third, if one of our competitors—not that we have any that matter—takes you in, that’s good news to us. It only shows that they’re fucking ignoramuses.
“Lastly, you’re actually right about one thing. Rodarte did come sniffing around just before your release. He’s always had the mistaken idea that he’s a hotshot and that we’re impressed by him. We’re not. He’s a lowlife thug, is all.
“But, hey, we don’t want to appear unfriendly, especially to someone so inferior. So we dazzled him with bullshit and a couple shots of eighteen-year-old scotch, then sent him on his way. If he’s squeezing you, he’s doing it on his own time and for his own reasons.”
“And more power to him,” Martin wheezed.
“Amen to that,” Larry said. “More power to him. We won’t be brokenhearted the day you die, Burkett. The only reason you’re still breathing is because you deserve no better than Rodarte. We’d rather somebody of his caliber handle an asswipe like you, save us having to get our hands dirty. Now get the fuck out of here before we remember just how pissed off we really are.”
On his drive back from Las Colinas, Griff got stuck in a traffic jam behind a freeway accident that had two lanes closed. Staring into the brake lights of the car ahead of him, he ruminated over what Larry had told him. It felt like the truth. They wouldn’t mourn his passing, but if they’d wanted him dead, he’d be dead.
The Vista boys were scary, but Rodarte, acting on his own behalf, was even scarier. Griff wasn’t comforted by the knowledge that Rodarte was working independently.
That thought was interrupted by his cell phone’s chirp. He flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Are you free?”
CHAPTER
20
HIS HEART SKIPPED. “WHEN?”
“Now.”
“I’m fifteen minutes out.” Thirty at least, but he didn’t want her to change her mind.
“I’ll see you then.”
It took five minutes for him to get past the accident; then he herded the Honda as though driving in the Le Mans and reached the house twenty-two minutes after getting her call. He went in through the unlocked front door and found her standing in the center of the living room.
She was wearing a snug white skirt and a sleeveless red top with white buttons down the front and wide straps over her shoulders. She looked great.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
“I was o
n 114 when you called. There was an accident.”
“I didn’t give you much notice.”
He shrugged off his jacket and laid it over the back of the nearest chair. “How have you been?”
“Fine. What about you?”
“I’ve been okay. Airline keeping you busy?”
“Always.”
“This heat sucks.”
“I can’t remember when it last rained.”
“That time of year, I guess.”
Up to that point, they hadn’t broken eye contact. Now she did. She looked toward the window, where the louvered shutters let in only slivers of sunlight. “I asked you to meet me today so I could tell you in person.”
His stomach dropped. “You’re pregnant.”
She shook her head.
“No?” he asked, making sure.
“No.”
“I thought maybe you would be. We doubled the chances last time.”
Her eyes flicked back to him briefly, then away. “I’m not pregnant. But I…we, Foster and I, have decided to try A.I.”
His encounter with Rodarte, his meeting with the Vista boys, her call, the wild drive here, seeing her, all had combined to jumble his brain. Her words didn’t compute. He shook his head slightly. “Sorry?”
“Artificial insemination.”
“Oh. Right.” Again his stomach took a dive. “Instead of us—”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
There was a significantly long pause before she continued. “We realize the financial implications that our decision will have on you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So we’d like for you to remain the donor.” Nervously she wet her lips. “If you’re willing, that is. And if you are, and the insemination is successful, the terms of the payout will stay the same.”
He searched her face, but she avoided looking directly at him. After a moment, he went over to the sofa, sat down on the edge of it, and stared into near space, thinking what a bitch of a day this was turning out to be.
She must have taken his silence for either reluctance or indecision. She said, “You don’t have to give me your answer today. You have time to think about it. I have to set up appointments with a specialist. I’m sure there will be tests. I think I have to go on supplemental hormones. So it could be a while before we needed you. Weeks, I would guess.”
He looked over at her.
“Once the procedure is scheduled,” she went on, sounding rushed, “I’ll contact you and we’ll work out a time and place for me to pick up the specimen. It’ll have to be retrieved on the actual day. I’ll give you as much notice as I can. A day, possibly two.”
“All right.”
“Between now and then, if you decide you don’t want to…to participate, we’ll pay you five hundred thousand anyway. For the times you’ve…for your trouble.”
“Generous of you.”
“Naturally, whether you opt to continue or cancel the arrangement here and now, it goes without saying that I expect the absolute confidentiality you agreed to.”
Finally, something he wanted to address. “You don’t want anybody to know about…” He tilted his head in the direction of the bedroom. “What happened in there last time.”
“About any of it, Mr. Burkett.”
“No, I’m sure you don’t, Mrs. Speakman.”
She drew herself up straight and retrieved her handbag from an armchair. “Well, I think that covers everything. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“There’s a double entendre if I ever heard one.” He’d spoken in a mutter, but intentionally loud enough for her to hear.
Ignoring the remark, she moved toward the door. “I have to go. I have a meeting in half an hour.”
“Liar.”
She came around quickly.
“You don’t have a meeting. You’re running off.” He left the sofa and started walking toward her. “You’re scared. You don’t trust yourself to be here. Did you confess to your husband that you really got into it last time?”
“What Foster and I talk about—”
“Is that why he changed his mind about our little arrangement?”
“He didn’t. I did.”
Up till then, he’d been growing steadily angrier. But that stopped it. This was her decision, not Speakman’s, and not one they’d reached as a couple. He said the first thing that popped into his mind, the first thing he wanted to know. “Why?”
“I can’t…” She faltered, then started again. “I can’t continue with you like this, that’s all. I agreed to it only because it was what Foster wanted. And I love him. I do. I love my husband.”
“All right.”
“That’s the only reason I consented to this.”
“So you said.”
“But I can’t be with you anymore.”
“I got that, too. And when it comes right down to it, that’s all you had to say. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
She looked at him strangely, then lowered her head. Neither of them moved. Seconds ticked by while he stared at the way her hair grew in a swirling pattern around the crown of her head. Finally he said, “When did you decide?”
“I knew when I left here last time that I wouldn’t come back. But I fretted over it, and didn’t tell Foster of my decision until two weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you call to tell me then?”
“We decided to wait and see if I was pregnant before we told you. If I was, it would be a moot point. I thought the matter was settled.” The red top expanded with the deep breath she took, straining the white buttons. “But Foster has spent the past two weeks trying to change my mind.”
“He still wants his baby conceived the natural way.”
“Yes. He hasn’t really applied pressure, but he’s made his wishes known. He’s made it clear how disappointed he’ll be if we change course now. He’s used every tactic he knows to try to persuade me that we should continue as planned, at least through several more cycles.”
“Only he didn’t persuade you.”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you call and tell me the deal was off? Why are you here?”
“Because I let Foster think he finally wore me down.” Her gaze moved around the room, then came to rest for several seconds on the third button of his shirt before moving up to meet his eyes. “He kept after me until I agreed to meet you one last time. If I don’t conceive today, he said, he promised, he would never ask me to come here again and will agree to switching to a clinical method.”
Griff assimilated that. “One last time.”
“Yes.”
“Today.”
“Yes.”
“So he thinks we’re—”
“Yes.”
“But we’re not.”
“He’ll never know, will he? He’ll think this time had the same result as the previous three.”
“Only the two of us will know different.”
“Unless you tell him.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I hate that word,” she said with obvious anguish. “I don’t like keeping secrets from my husband.”
She looked beyond him toward the hallway that led to the bedroom, and her gaze stayed fixed on it so long that Griff looked over his shoulder to see what could possibly be holding her attention. The hallway was empty. He thought she might be seeing into the bedroom, seeing them moving together, seeing herself coming. That would be a secret she would want to keep from her husband.
He came back around just as she looked up at him. Their gazes held for several long moments, then she gestured at the front door. “Well…”
“Your meeting.”
She gave a wan smile. “There’s no meeting.”
“I know.” He returned her smile, but he didn’t feel it.
She reached behind her back for the doorknob. “Don’t forget your jacket.”
“Right.”
“Be sure the door is securely
closed so it will lock.”
“Of course.”
She pulled open the door, and they were struck with a blast of hot air. She said, “Depending on circumstances, this could be the last time I’ll see you.”
“Could be.”
She paused, then gave a self-conscious shrug. “I can’t think of anything to say that seems appropriate.”
“Small talk seems smaller.”
She smiled faintly at the reminder of her words to him the night they’d met.
“You don’t have to say anything, Laura.”
“Then…” She stuck out her right hand. “Good-bye.”
He took her hand. They looked down at their clasped hands, then at each other. She released his hand and his gaze simultaneously, and turned toward the open door.
But she did only that. Turned and stopped.
Griff hesitated only heartbeats before acting. He moved in close behind her, reached over her shoulder, put his hand flat against the door, and slowly pushed it shut.
Laura stared at herself in the vanity mirror. The reflection looking back seemed to be of someone else. The woman in the mirror was disheveled, not as meticulously turned out as usual. Most disturbing, her eyes were filled with uncertainty. Where was the characteristic self-confidence? What had happened to the surety that she had a grip on the situation? Who was this tremulous stranger?
She ran her fingertips across her lips and dabbed at the smudge of mascara at the corner of her eye. No question, the image in the mirror was hers.
“Laura?”
She spun around, flattening her hand against her chest. “Foster. I didn’t hear you.”
“Obviously not. You nearly jumped out of your skin.” His wheelchair was straddling the threshold between bedroom and bath. “Manuelo told me you were home.”
She had parked in the detached garage, entered the house through the mudroom, and used the back staircase. “He said you were on the telephone.” She forced a light laugh. “At least I think that’s what he said. I didn’t want to interrupt your call. I’m glad you chose to stay at home today. The heat is unbearable. It’s making everyone cranky. People were driving like maniacs, so rush hour was more hazardous than usual.”