Robert nodded, reached inside the cooler they kept stocked and picked up his favorite sports drink. It was a low-sugar variety. He would have preferred simple water, but after screwing up the workout, he’d have to take this. He chugged half of the bottle and went to the door of the workout room. He was just checking out the venue, which was being prepared for the first of the time heats. There was already a sizeable crowd gathering in the bleachers, and to his left he saw another tram arriving, full of fans. Media members from all over the country were already in place. Photographers and the writers from the media center lined the course marked out on the river.
He glanced back at the media area, seeking one particular photographer. Some photographers were still milling about the center, while others had already set up their equipment along the bank of the river. He couldn’t see her but he knew she was there somewhere. He could feel her presence, much like he used to be able to feel the bad guys when on a mission. Of course, that famous intuition had failed him at the most important moment of his life, so why he was counting on it being right now was anyone’s guess.
He muttered a frustrated curse and turned away from the door. Screw this, he thought. He didn’t really give a good goddamn where she was, as long as she stayed the hell out of his way. The heats for the eights were the first step on a path he’d set for himself. He’d have his teammates with him on this hop and he wasn’t about to let them down. That meant focusing completely on the job at hand—coming up with the fastest time in the heat and starting them on the quest for Olympic gold. Anything else was simply unacceptable.
Chapter Three
“Excuse me, are you Dennis Wojtanik?”
The young man turned at Annalisa’s question. He was tall, thin and running on adrenaline and—from the grease stain on his tie and the fried-cornbread smell—fried catfish. He was one of the best sports writers her uncle had on staff, and although she had never met him personally, Annalisa had read all his articles on rowing the night before. Seeing him now, she couldn’t help grinning.
“Yeah. You aren’t the normal WNO shooter. Where’s Jody?”
Annalisa smiled to cover her blush. She wasn’t about to admit that she’d told a little white lie that morning and sent an email to the World News Organization’s top photographer pulling him off the rowing trials and sending him instead to the track events.
So she’d signed into her Uncle Vinnie’s email account and perhaps had misrepresented herself a bit? It wouldn’t matter in the long run and no one had to know in the short term.
“Oh, they pulled him off this and sent him to the track. I’m the backup.”
“Makes sense. I probably wouldn’t even be here myself if it weren’t for the fact that Buchanan is filling in. The US doesn’t really have a chance at winning the gold next month, but Buchanan is a feature story. Between competing in the eights and sixes, where he’s a competent rower, he’s being thrown to the wolves in the singles.”
Annalisa nodded as if she had a clue what this guy was talking about. “Well, I was figuring on getting some shots of all the teams but focusing heavily on Buchanan’s group. Do you want anything special from my shots to go with any of your planned stories?”
The writer nodded. “Come on—we can walk to the press center and I’ll tell you. We definitely want a ton of shots of Buchanan. Since he was only an alternate before the accident, we don’t have very much on file. Except from when he won the Medal of Honor, but I know the boss will want something less formal for this. Especially if he flops or is an unexpected hit.”
Annalisa smiled. She could understand that, but she had a feeling about Robert and it had nothing to do with him flopping. She walked beside Wojtanik and pretended interest as he prattled on about all manner of things, all the while thinking about the things she’d felt when she kissed Robert the night before.
All she’d intended had been an impetuous thank you. Who would have known that such an innocent little move on her part could set her blood on fire as if she’d touched a hot strobe light?
After leaving Wojtanik, who’d headed to the reporters’ area to watch the race, Annalisa was still thinking about that little kiss and the way his hand had rested on her waist. She settled herself on the ledge underneath the bridge overpass above the competition venue. They’d been strong hands—not entirely unexpected, since they were attached to arms and shoulders that were roped with muscle from his hours and hours of work on the boats.
Annalisa didn’t usually like being manhandled by men, but she hadn’t felt manhandled at all with Robert. She also hadn’t felt fear, even when he’d been yelling at her for falling into his boat—as if that had been her fault. She’d felt anger and a little embarrassment, but not manhandled.
Back to the job at hand, she told herself. She was the only photographer here and that was a good thing. After thinking about it, she thought that had been the problem yesterday. There had been several shooters in the spot and one of them had probably nudged her the wrong way. Once she zeroed in on taking the shot, everything else tended to fade for her. It wasn’t surprising that she hadn’t even been aware of being pushed into a danger zone.
That wouldn’t happen today. She thought the other shooters there were missing a prime spot. There were television cameras on rolling platforms that would cover the length of the course. There were a gaggle of still photographers positioned at the finish line for the shots of the bows of the boats crossing the tape. See? Her research had paid off. She knew which end of a boat was its bow.
There were a few more cameras positioned at various spots along the course, but she was the only one who had chosen to go for the bird’s-eye view. She felt a shiver along her spine. There must not be a repeat of yesterday’s performance. But she’d taken every precaution this time. She’d left her bag with most of her equipment in it at the media center. She only had two Nikon camera bodies with her, one with a fast telephoto lens attached and one with a wide-angle lens for some fish-eye shots. With the two bodies, she could seamlessly switch back and forth.
Buchanan’s group wasn’t scheduled to run until the fourth heat, so she was going to experiment with a couple of wide shots first, then use the telephoto lens for the money shots. From her position on the ledge, she could swing around and shoot the start of the races then it would only take a quick flip and she’d be positioned to catch the finish. She figured this spot would be the same one a sniper would choose. She laughed a little at that thought. She’d never compared herself to a sniper before. Since Robert had been an Army Ranger before tackling rowing, she figured he’d chuckle at the sniper comparison too.
She took a deep breath and locked her focus on the job as the officials signaled the start of the first heat. Time to get to work.
* * * * *
It was time. Robert joined his teammates on the small dock and boarded the scull. The coxswain readied them and Robert went through the checklist with the rest of the team. At the first time trial, it was important to get a feel for the water, then make their next one their best, earning a spot on the Olympic team. He knew his teammates felt the same way. This was the beginning of the real deal. It was vital that they start out strong and not have any glitches.
The sights and sounds of the competition were addictive to Robert. If he hadn’t been competing, he knew he’d have been there on the sidelines, just taking it all in. The enthusiasm and energy of the fans was contagious. The area popped with color and smells. The scent of the sunblock some of the rowers favored, mixed with a healthy dose of anticipation, settled over the venue.
The US finals competition was set up just like the Olympics. The best times in each heat would move forward, but there would also be a repechage round, which would allow them one more chance to move to the finals. Making it through to the Championship, and thus the Olympics, via the repechage was not on his agenda.
The crew was settled and the coxswain had a focused look on his face. He was like the driver of the tram, and considering that
the boat was sixty feet long and made out of carbon fiber, “tram” was a pretty good way to think of it. Robert always thought of the cox as being the squad leader. He’d been one back in the Rangers, but here he was happy simply to take orders.
When everyone was settled in the boat, feet planted securely and oars at the ready, they looked at the Cox. Seconds later the horn sounded and they were off. Despite movie depictions, the cox didn’t yell “stroke, stroke” but the orders were obvious and fluidly counted out. The boat moved forward quickly at the release and Robert paced himself. He had been worried, as the new member, that some of the movements would be awkward. Rowing at this level was about working as a team and being certain that each oar blade hit the water in a precise way and with the correct angle to move them through the water. Fans watching the sport were known to say that something so flawless had to be easy. As his heart worked strenuously to keep up with his responsibility, and the muscles in his legs, arms, shoulders and back strained through the repetitive motion, he focused on one thing—the end of the line.
The cox’s call for the “power ten”, meaning the finish was close, made his adrenaline spike higher. They were going to do it.
* * * * *
Annalisa caught her breath and almost forgot to snap the picture. Only her muscle memory allowed her to zoom in and do her job. Buchanan’s squad was working like a well-oiled machine and it was, oddly, the most beautiful sight she’d ever witnessed. She saw it all through her lens—the strain on each rower’s face, the ultimate concentration on the job at hand, the seamless and unhurried instructions of the coxswain. Her camera motor shuttered quickly and almost silently through a series of shots. A mere touch of her fingers changed the point of view from the cox at the back of the boat to the middle, where Robert was working. She took the pictures without conscious thought, knowing there were many winners in this grouping. As a professional, she knew her shots would be crisp and vital.
As a woman, she felt a stirring inside her. The intensity on Robert’s face was compelling in ways that couldn’t be ignored. Sweat was running freely across his brow, down his nose and dripping off his chin. The muscles in his arms bunched and released with a precision that made her wish her fingers were resting against them. The motion of his hips and torso sent shock waves through her insides.
In a blink of an eye, the boat was underneath the overpass and she scrambled to get to the other side and capture the back view. Oh my, she thought. Her finger pressed the shutter release, capturing each movement with digital accuracy. “The back is even better than the front,” she murmured.
Much too soon for her, the race was over. She continued shooting, taking more shots of the jubilation of the team after crossing the finish line. She heard the fans roar their approval as the announcer said that Buchanan’s team had set a course record. She didn’t stop shooting, wanting nothing more than to capture the sheer exuberance and exhaustion on Robert’s face. The only thing better than what she was doing would have been to be on ground level, touching him. She, along with everyone in the crowd, laughed and cheered when the team tipped their boat into the water, dunking themselves and their coxswain, in rowing tradition. Even as she lived their elation, she was capturing it all forever. To her complete surprise, the desire to touch him was greater than her satisfaction at having the money shot.
Chapter Four
Robert and his team members went to a bistro in Kingsport to celebrate their victory. As celebration parties went, it was ridiculously tame. As a special operative working in different foreign countries for many years, he had never lost control or broken his discipline, because doing so could cost a life. His life was less dangerous now, but he noticed his that teammates followed a similarly strict routine. This celebration consisted of a meal of low-fat protein to rebuild muscle after their race and high-density fresh vegetables with a small amount of pasta for some carbohydrates. The raciest thing he saw on the table was a yogurt smoothie.
“You guys really know how to pa-a-a-rty,” he said as he walked up to the table. It had taken him a little longer to get to the celebration, as several media members had wanted individual interviews with him. Though he’d done the talking, he had turned all the attention away from himself and focused on the job the team had done. There had been several photographers taking pictures in the media room. The one he was most interested in had been noticeably absent.
“Yo, rookie, we were waitin’ for you,” said Bert Armstrong, the coxswain for the team. “We figured those media boys would get tired of your lame answers sooner than this.”
Robert smiled at the small, dark-haired man who was easygoing and laid-back in the extreme—except on the water, where he was a pit bull who didn’t suffer whining or crap from men twice his size. He possessed a fierce competitive streak and hated losing more than anyone. Robert admired that and would have been pleased to have Armstrong by his side in any battle. Robert knew that Bert had coxed for the University of Pennsylvania team, which had taken top honors in the college division for four years straight. He was a professional in every way.
“You know how these journalists get. They’re just desperate for something to write about since there isn’t much going on today. They’ll have real news to report by tomorrow,” Robert replied. The truth was that he was more than a little embarrassed by the attention he’d got today.
“That’s true. That’s when they’ll be writing about me,” Benny Galway retorted.
Galway was an oarsman on the eights and the odds-on favorite to take the Olympic gold in the pairs next month with his teammate Frank Stallion. Galway had a shock of red hair, freckles that stood out against his permanently sunburned face, and a training regime that would make most Ranger candidates expire within half an hour. Of course, the rest of the team took every chance they got to knock his ego down a peg or two.
“You’re probably right, Benny,” Bert agreed, but Robert hid a smile because he saw the gleam in his eyes that was a sure tell. He didn’t disappoint him. “They’ll be busy writing stories about how you choked in the pairs. Of course, perhaps Frankie can save your butt, but the way you’ve been putting away the pasta today, you’ll probably cause the boat to sink.”
That brought laughter from the team, which got louder when Frank added, “Hell—I think the rookie already has that distinction. Had any more gifts from the heavens, L.T.?”
The team had started calling him L.T. in reference to his time as a Ranger. He never made a big deal of it, even though by calling him a lieutenant they were actually giving him a demotion. When he’d been injured, he’d been a captain. But the team nickname was growing on him.
“I heard it wasn’t so much a gift as a pain in the…” Bert paused at just the right time then said, “middies.”
“I saw what that babe looks like—that must have been the kind of pain that hurts so good,” Benny interrupted.
Robert had always taken the “officer and gentleman” creed to heart, so he wasn’t one to kiss and tell. Though he wasn’t about to comment, he also couldn’t just laugh the incident off. If he left the party without a comeback, he’d be in for more razzing, or hurt feelings from his teammates. Not liking the indecision he was feeling, he decided to say anything to change the subject, but before he could, he felt her presence behind him.
“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting,” she said. Her voice was steady but there was a blush on her soft skin that told him she had overheard the comments by his teammates. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her. He had nothing to feel ashamed about. He hadn’t been saying a word.
“I took this shot of all of you after the heat was over this afternoon. It’s been requested by a lot of papers, but I thought you guys would like copies. I brought some prints over for y’all.”
She slid the prints onto the table and Robert looked down at them. The rest of the crew each took one and for a moment there was total silence. It was a great shot, taken at the moment right after they’d crossed the finish
line. Each face was stamped with elation, along with exhaustion and physical triumph. It was the moment when they’d each known they’d done their best and produced the results they’d worked long and sacrificed much to achieve. It was a picture that told the only story that mattered.
“Ah, well…sorry about interrupting your party,” Annalisa said when silence greeted the pictures. She turned to leave. Robert heard Burt say, “I’ve never had anyone give me a print before.”
“Shit, it’s a great shot. Look at us,” Benny added. “We’re a team.”
Robert agreed, but he didn’t stay with his team. He went after Annalisa, who despite her short legs had made it all the way to the entrance of the cafe. By the time he caught up with her she was pulling open the door.
“Wait a minute,” he said as he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop.
“Oh, hi.” She turned and looked at him. There was a small smile on her face but it didn’t reach her eyes. Robert could tell she was still very embarrassed. “I really didn’t mean to interrupt your party, I just thought your team members would like the picture.”
“They did. I did,” Robert said.
Her smile became a little more relaxed, but she still seemed uncomfortable. “Great. I guess I should have just left them at the media request window instead of delivering them personally,” she said. “I was headed back there after picking up these prints when I saw you all come in here. I didn’t think, just followed you.”
Robert looked at her—really looked at her. How had he not noticed that her skin was like heated silk, while her eyes were clear, honest and as innocent as a child’s? He ran his finger down the side of her face, unable to resist the lure of touching her. When the skin blushed a charming pink, Robert felt himself falling deeper under her spell.
Stroke of Luck Page 3