Brody drove the RV, subdued, distracted and barely speaking. He looked as if he’d been run over by a truck. Harrison sat in the passenger seat, talking loudly on his cell phone. Every time Amanda tried to talk with either of them, Harrison shut the conversation down. She’d known the moment he’d proclaimed he was leaving his rental car in Hans’s driveway “to be picked up later,” that something big had gone down, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what it was.
For now, she lapsed into silence, riding in the back, holding Brody’s World Cup trophy, which Harrison had transferred from his rental car like another inside message she wasn’t meant to understand. She wasn’t even sure what she was supposed to be doing with it, but when Brody had climbed inside the RV he’d passed it to her wordlessly. Now, an hour later, she still held it in her lap, feeling as if the truck had run over her, too.
“We’re here,” Harrison said as the RV pulled into the parking lot at a small factory outside a mountain town. A green logo on the building read Vivere Skis.
Amanda stood, determined to stretch her legs after the long drive and to finally get to the bottom of the mystery treatment. She had one foot on the ground when Harrison blocked her. “You wait in the RV.”
She glanced at Brody, striding across the parking lot in the cold winter air. She was through being shut out by Harrison. “Brody said I could go inside with him.”
“My client wants you to know there’s been a change of plans,” Harrison said. “He’ll meet you afterward, when he’s finished with his meeting.”
Nope, sorry. Irritated, she stepped past Harrison. “I need to hear that from him, if you don’t mind.” Without waiting for a response, she stalked toward the showroom, pulling open the heavy wooden doors.
Behind her, the agent huffed at her heels. “Ms. Jensen! Wait!”
She kept going. Luckily for her, Harrison’s cell phone trilled, stopping him as he fumbled to see who was calling. He gave a muffled curse, then stayed outside to take the call in the better reception.
Good. Inside the sales area, a group of guys with huge ski racers’ builds and stances were conferring with Brody. Amanda recognized his team members from the night of her sister’s wedding.
Blowing into her hands to warm them, she waited beside Brody, outside their circle so as not to be rude. “Hi,” she said. But instead of greeting her and introducing her to the others the way he’d said he would, Brody blanched.
Something was very wrong. Her pulse quickened, and she stepped back.
Swallowing, his Adam’s apple lifting and falling, Brody turned to his men. “This is Amanda Jensen,” he said, his tone strangely flat. “She’s the reporter who’s writing an article about me for Paradigm magazine.”
Amanda felt paralyzed. Though his words were technically true, if she hadn’t heard the unhappiness in his voice, she wouldn’t have believed it. His introduction was a clear message that she was not to be trusted.
She stood rooted in the awkward silence, her mind swimming. What had Harrison told him that could have changed Brody’s opinion of her? She couldn’t think of anything.
“I…hello…” was all she could choke out.
No one said a word in return, not even Brody. In her worst nightmares she had never expected him to act as if he neither liked nor respected her.
Somewhere in the midst of her misery, a man jumped forward. “I am pleased to meet you, Ms. Jensen!” A short man with a moustache, holding out his hand and a business card. “I am Carlo, please allow me to show you a tour of our factory, yes?”
She waited to see if Brody would escort her back to the RV as Harrison had requested, but Brody wasn’t moving. He seemed as shattered as she was.
Eyes watering, she fumbled in her purse. She’d never been a quitter, and she wouldn’t run away now. Somehow, she found a business card with her name on it and passed it to Carlo. “Thank you, I would like a tour very much.”
Brody’s men glanced at one another. There had to be a specific reason they didn’t want her on the tour. But nothing jumped out.
Wasn’t it her job to figure out why?
“Please, come this way,” Carlo said. He stayed close to her elbow and guided her ahead of the men to the factory proper. “We are the ski makers who build all the skis Brody Jones wears for his races. We are a family company since 1960.”
As her legs moved, she felt the numbness wearing off. She had a concrete goal now. Pay attention. Automatically, she reached for her notebook and a pen. The smell of heated fiberglass and resins jogged her. Calling up all of her journalistic objectivity, she jotted down notes.
The former warehouse was stacked from floor to ceiling with every size and color of ski imaginable. Band saws droned in a high pitch on one side of the factory, sanders and planers the other. The tang of adhesives and burning plastic hung in the air. Carlo handed out protective eyewear, explaining to Brody and his team how Vivere had incorporated their ideas into a design custom made for Brody’s technique and body mechanics.
I should be taking photos. Chelsea wants photos. The whisper came from her subconscious, and she reached for her camera phone. Maybe she should reconsider the angle of her article because nothing about Brody’s past—his father or his foundation—explained his sudden change of attitude, his fear about her presence.
She thought back to Harrison’s arrival. To his team’s concern over Brody. To their anxiety over the upcoming race.
She watched Brody. Studied him like a subject. His distraction had lifted and now he focused on business, paying close attention to Carlo, inspecting the curve of the skis they’d made for him and asking pointed questions. These were to be his slalom skis, she gathered. One of the four disciplines he’d been known to race, and the only one he chose to race this season.
Why? She tucked that thought away.
One of his teammates muttered something to Brody. They glanced at her, then held a quiet sidebar.
What is the most logical explanation for their behavior? the reporter in her asked. She clicked her pen shut and rubbed her eyes.
“Okay, are we all set?” Harrison stalked into the group, pocketing the phone he’d been glued to. “We need to wrap this up and head to lunch.” He blinked at Amanda, surprise and irritation showing plainly in his face. “Ms. Jensen, you’ll have to leave now. Brody, say goodbye to the reporter, give her the keys to the Alfa Romeo, and she can drive herself to the hotel.”
That was it?
Brody shook Carlo’s hand. Then he strode over to her, keys ready, and stood stiffly before her. He’d touched and kissed her a hundred times this week, and now he couldn’t even bring himself to shake her hand?
“May I speak with you privately, please?” she murmured.
He took an audible breath, then gave her a quick nod. Leading her a few paces away, nearer the factory with the drone of band saws behind them, he crossed his arms as if he didn’t want to be having this conversation.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He gave her a sad, slight smile. “There’s been a change of plans. I need to have a meeting with my team before I can say anything else about it.”
“What did Harrison say to you? Why has everything changed?”
“Nothing. He said nothing.” His gaze shifted back to the group, filing through the doors to the parking lot. “Look, Amanda, I’m sorry I need you to drive yourself, but I can’t get away just yet. I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I didn’t think you were capable.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Brody?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing you don’t know.” But his eyes didn’t meet hers.
“Brody, why are you only skiing one discipline?”
He blinked at her, startled. “Don’t you have facts to check about my foundation?” He seemed angry. “Because I thought I was doing you a favor in clearing free time for you to work this afternoon.”
Shock went through her, and a chill of recognition. He doesn’t want me to pry. Something wa
s definitely off with him. He was deliberately hiding something from her.
In her shock, anger built. “I can’t leave your team yet. You know I need to talk to them about my article. I need one or two benign quotes, at least. We’ve discussed this, Brody.”
His Adam’s apple moved up and down. “Harrison made the decision. They’re not going to talk to you. Nobody’s going to talk to you, and there’s nothing more I can do about it.”
Everything within her froze. “That’s not what we agreed. I have an article to write and a deadline to meet.”
He slowly shook his head. “I’m not happy either. But we’ll talk more at the hotel tonight, and I’ll do what I can to help you before you leave.”
No. She had misjudged the situation, badly. She shouldn’t have been so quick to trust him.
“I need to get through this next race,” he said. “I need to concentrate on that, above all.”
“And then?”
He stared at the floor. “I can’t think beyond that right now.” He looked at her, his eyes nakedly pleading. “Manda, the next few days are everything to me. Please understand.”
Yes, she realized he had a race to prepare for. She understood it was his comeback and therefore critical to him. But why did he have to lie to her about it?
She put her hand to her throat. She needed to get out of this place; she needed to breathe again.
Except she needed her story more than she needed to breathe. Her job was what made her breathe.
By instinct, she scanned the group for the most vulnerable man, the person most likely to weaken under pressure. Because as Brody had said, after today, she would no longer have access to any of them. She zeroed in on Steve, the young ski tech who’d brought them the picnic dinner that night at the Leopardo hotel. And the condom box.
Steve had sad puppy-dog eyes and an expression that seemed more worried for Brody than for himself. Yes, he was the right one. She would latch on to him like a lifeline.
Glancing back to Brody, she steeled herself. “I need a ride to the hotel. I don’t feel well enough to drive myself.”
Concern flickered in his eyes. “Is your head injury bothering you?”
“No.” And because he’d been lying to her ever since Harrison had shown up—she could feel it—she gave him a fake smile and told a complete whopper of her own: “It’s my stomach. Breakfast didn’t agree with me. I need to lie down for a while.”
Brody’s brow creased. But if he offered to drive her to the hotel, Harrison would be all over him. They both knew it.
“Maybe you can spare Steve to give me a lift?” she suggested. Brody would never suspect him. Steve was so shy, how could he be expected to talk with her?
Still, Brody hesitated. But finally he nodded.
In the parking lot, she smiled at Steve and settled into the front passenger seat of one of the smaller vehicles Brody’s team had arrived in. She needed to crack this problem of what was staring her in the eye.
Brody closed her door and then pressed his palm to the glass, a regretful look on his face. She was sorry, too, but she didn’t have time to nurse her hurt or think about her mistakes. As Brody’s image receded in the side mirror, she turned to Steve, calling up every ounce of friendliness and cheer she could muster. “Brody looks good, doesn’t he?”
Steve cast her a wary glance. He didn’t say a word in return.
That was okay, she hadn’t expected him to.
She leaned back in the seat and stretched, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to relax in front of Brody’s friends. “Harrison sure is paranoid,” she said. Then she rolled her eyes and laughed as if she thought Brody’s agent was being left out of a joke that everyone else was privy to. “Thank goodness I can finally let down my hair. I know Harrison told you guys you’re not supposed to talk to me, and Brody knows it, too. That’s why he’s playing along with this silly charade, for the sake of keeping Harrison calm.”
Steve’s brow wrinkled. He was listening to her, clearly interested.
She smiled at him. “Brody told me how he met you at one of his first summer camps. He said he’s really proud of you for what you’ve overcome in your life just to be on tour with him. He says you’ve already helped him more than you know.”
Steve glanced over. “He said that?”
“Yep.” She flipped down the mirror and casually touched up her hair. “He also said he didn’t know what he’d do without you on his team. Not just for the technical side, but for the interference you run on all the random things he trusts you with. Like bringing us sandwiches that night.” She lowered her eyes and twisted her hands in her lap. “He says he can’t trust the other guys with that kind of stuff. They might tell Harrison instead of keeping Brody’s confidence. But you wouldn’t do that.”
Steve’s breath expelled. He seemed to be thinking.
“Anyway,” she said, shrugging, “I know it’s not easy for him now. I’m just grateful you’re looking out for his interests.”
Steve’s foot slowed on the gas pedal. “Brody took some bad hits that last season,” he muttered.
Her heart rate sped up, but she tried to keep calm. “I know. I hate that, too.”
“Everyone’s worried about how he’ll handle the media this week.”
“Yes. I’ve been trying to help him, but my hands are tied, because Harrison won’t trust me.” She made a big sigh. “He thinks I’m going to betray Brody—as if I could ever do that.”
Steve glanced at her sidelong. “Aren’t you going to write about his injury in your article? That’s what Harrison said.”
She was on the right track. Something was wrong with the injury. “No, though Brody told me all about it, of course.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice, confiding. “I do know everything.”
“Everything?”
As Steve’s expression wavered, she went for the kill. “Yes.” She nodded seriously, adding, “Even the part that’s supposed to be secret.”
Steve’s face went pale. His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.
She held her breath, waiting for him to talk. There was more, and she was finally going to discover what it was.
“Wow.” Brody’s ski tech looked at her with his eyes wide. “You really are his girlfriend, aren’t you?”
No, I’m not. Her heart hammered and she wished she could stop. Because Brody didn’t deserve her as his girlfriend, not as long as he lied to her, and she didn’t deserve him as long as she went behind his back to get answers, but she couldn’t think about that now. She needed to protect her job, and for that she needed Steve’s response. She had to push him to open up. Now was not the time to give in to her emotions about Brody.
“He hasn’t told any of this to Harrison yet,” she said, licking her dry lips, “because he’s waiting to tell him at this afternoon’s meeting. That’s why he’s so freaked out. He was acting strange at the factory, wasn’t he?”
“What…what is he going to say?”
“That he’s ready to come clean, of course. That’s why he’s so nervous.”
“Come clean?” Steve’s voice was a wail.
Her heart sank, even as she did her best to nod sagely. “Yes. I told him it’s for the best, for himself and for his career. And for all of you.”
Steve stared at her. Then he shifted the gear into Park. They idled before the hotel where she and Brody were to have stayed together, a cozy inn with a bright awning and an attached restaurant that smelled fantastic even from here, like pasta and fresh-baked bread.
Oh, her heart cried. In their original plans, the rest of the team was to have driven on to the race site, but Brody had wanted to leave in the morning with her in the Alfa, in time for his afternoon gate training.
Not anymore. She’d changed all that with this interrogation of his ski tech, though she shouldn’t be thinking about that with the guy still sitting beside her.
It’s now or never, she thought, gambling everything and surreptitiously clic
king on her voice recorder. Please, Steve. Speak. “How do you feel about Brody’s decision to finally tell the truth?”
Steve’s face crumpled. “He’s making a huge mistake.” He wiped his hand across his eyes.
“Yes, but what do you think—”
Steve resolutely exited the car, then strode to her door and opened it, gently but firmly escorting her out.
She had miscalculated badly.
Her heart pounded as she registered into the hotel with her Paradigm corporate card taunting her. She’d emailed Chelsea, asking for and receiving extra nights until the day after the final race. From there, the plan was for her to turn in the assignment and return to New York, where she and Brody would balance a long-distance relationship, at least until his season was over. But that wasn’t an option now. Above all, Amanda needed to shut out her emotions and discover what he was keeping secret from her.
Inside her room, she locked the door and called up her internet connection. She wouldn’t give up until she’d found answers. With her chin set, she did what she should have done before she’d compromised on the angle of her article. She scoured the web, reading every single thing she could find about Brody. Every news update, every statistic, every opinion piece.
The worst she found was a minor equipment check he’d missed because of a scheduling mistake, and then the resulting commentary where a New York–based sportswriter accused him of cheating. Evidently, Brody had been insane with anger. He’d given a diatribe that had been roundly criticized by the sports media. Then, he’d clammed up. No more interviews. No more quotes.
Until now. Until this comeback.
Amanda leaned forward in her chair and racked her brain. His diatribe made sense to her because he took his integrity so seriously. Always, he avoided anything that smacked of cheating. With his father being the man he was, that was no surprise.
But what was the big scandal Steve’s reaction confirmed was lurking?
Think.
His injury, she thought. That’s what Steve had said. But how did Brody’s injury come into play?
She checked the timeline of her dates again. No injuries had been confirmed by his coaching staff, but from the videos she watched, it was evident when one injury happened…two races after the diatribe. Brody had slammed his right ankle into a controversially placed gate, and he’d gone down. DNF=Did Not Finish. Then he’d been out for a few races, ostensibly with the flu. Right.
Something to Prove Page 19