The Jock

by Jaid Black

  All of this meant a lot of decisions, thus a grueling schedule for the Tremonts throughout November and December. Would they rent a bigger place in Boston or keep Sam’s old one? Where in Tampa did they want to purchase a home? Should they stay in Hyde Park or move closer to the beach? How many rooms should the house have? And didn’t that depend upon how many children they eventually wanted?

  Sam had insisted on eight or nine kids, but had relented in the end and begrudgingly agreed to two or three. He’d decided, though, that their oldest would be a son named Jackson, after Sam’s father. The next two would be girls, twins preferably, and the names were negotiable. Gwenyth had simply nodded, pretending to listen to her husband’s ranting—an effective way of dealing with him that she’d since learned in her seven-week-old marriage.

  There were also decisions to be made at Jones & Jones now that Gwenyth would be based out of Boston for a few months out of every year for the next four years. Especially since Verlene planned to retire her camera after the “Touch Me” shoot and relegate her talents to the business end of their company. In the end, grandmother and granddaughter had decided to promote Gwenyth into Verlene’s position, promote Ed into Gwenyth’s, and hire a new assistant photographer. Interviews were currently underway.

  On top of all of that, Gwenyth began to suspect that she was pregnant. She hadn’t had her period in over two months, her breasts were tender and swelling, and she couldn’t brush her teeth before noontime without gagging. She would have caught on a lot sooner had the improbability of it not been higher; she did, after all, take her birth control pills consistently at the same time each day.

  When the family doctor confirmed Gwenyth’s suspicion, she swore Dr. DuBois— who also happened to be Verlene’s closest friend—to secrecy, wanting to wait and share the incredible news with her family on Christmas Eve. This new development invariably meant that there were more decisions to be had, but she was too overcome with joy to care. She and Sam hadn’t planned to have children until his four-year obligation in Boston was fulfilled, but Gwenyth knew he’d still be ecstatic when he found out.

  Amidst all the planning and working, Gwenyth and Sam still found time to have fun together. Lazy breakfasts that typically ended in passionate lovemaking, leisurely lunches around town that also generally culminated in passionate lovemaking, and expensive, decadent dinners that, of course, inevitably ended in passionate lovemaking. Gwenyth had no doubts as to how she’d become pregnant so soon in her marriage. Her husband was much like a wild animal in heat.

  The Tremonts, however, still managed to do a lot of things together besides make love. They took in shows at the Tampa Performing Arts Center, shopped together at the St. Petersburg Pier, strolled hand-in-hand down Clearwater beach collecting shells and enjoying the breeze off the Gulf, and one of the museums in St. Petersburg had an early Roman-period ruins exhibit which Sam had insisted the entire family attend on opening night. Gwenyth and Sam had returned to view it twice more since then.

  The only situation that possessed the ability to cast a shadow over a marriage that was otherwise sturdily growing happier every passing day was Detective Anderson’s as of yet stagnant progress concerning the threatening NAM notes. That, and the fact that Sam still hadn’t told Gwenyth that he loved her yet.

  Gwenyth took her husband’s stubbornness with a grain of salt, however, since she pretty much knew he was in love with her anyway. His actions spoke louder than words ever could, though she was in touch with her emotions enough to realize that she still longed to hear him actually admit to it out loud. She figured it was only a matter of time now before Sam’s stubbornness came to an end.

  The threatening notes, on the other hand, showed no signs of stopping. Gwenyth received three more of them before the Christmas season closed in, which only served to infuriate Sam beyond reason. On the last occasion, a week after Thanksgiving, Sam had ranted and raved during the entire trip back to their apartment. Gwenyth had gently pointed out to her husband the futility in getting angry, to which Sam had responded, “yeah, but it sure as all hell makes me feel better.” So because it did, Gwenyth did her wifely duty and listened to him gripe for hours at a time whenever a new note arrived. She didn’t take the notes seriously in the least, but she knew her husband did, so she tried to be supportive.

  A few days before Christmas, Gwenyth and Candy plunked down into Candy’s SUV to drive over to the house the Tremonts had purchased only a week past. The old owners were packed and gone as of midnight last night and Gwenyth and Sam were anxious to move in. Sam wanted their first official night in the house to commence on Christmas Eve, which was only two days away. Gwenyth had told him he was being overly ambitious, but Sam had grown stubborn, insisting that he and Harry could get it done.

  Much to Gwenyth’s surprise, it looked as though Sam’s timetable was going to be workable. She had to hand it to her husband…he had said he and Harry would get the job done while Gwenyth was working and get the job done they had. The only things left to move in were possessions of aesthetic value, such as Sam’s collection of Egyptian and Greek paintings and sculptures and Gwenyth’s boxes of fragiles. Tomorrow would be set aside for unpacking enough boxes to make the house live-in-able. If her husband played as relentlessly on the ball field as he did in real life, she now understood why he was the Crusaders most esteemed hitter.

  Candy started the ignition of her apple red SUV, then pulled out of Gwenyth’s soon-to-be former driveway. Smiling brightly, she glanced over at her best friend who was sitting in the passenger seat. “I’m so glad you two decided to stay in Hyde Park. I know Clearwater Beach is only a half hour drive, but it’s just too far.”

  Gwenyth chuckled. “Sam and I felt the same way. He didn’t want to be so far removed from our family and friends either.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Especially now that he has found another lover of archeology in that accountant Marc we introduced him to.”

  “Marc, that’s right. Him and Sam are pretty tight now, huh?”

  “And Harry too. They think they’re the Three Musketeers or something.” Chuckling, Candy stopped at the red light.

  “What about that lawyer guy, Devin?”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s been to your apartment a couple of times with Marc.”

  Gwenyth grew thoughtful as she considered that fact. “True, but somehow he’s remained the outsider.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I get the impression that Marc pretty much brings him along because he’s too easy going to hurt Devin’s feelings, but I don’t think Marc particularly cares for his company. Sam either for that matter.”

  “I wonder why that is.”

  An unladylike snort erupted from Gwenyth. “There is something strange about that man.” An inexplicable shiver trickled down the length of her spine, inducing Gwenyth to rub the goose pimples from her upper arms. “There’s something very calculating about him, something…arrgh! Who knows! I know it’s something I can’t put a name to.”

  Candy blew out a bubble and let it pop before responding. “No problem.” She eased her foot from the brake pedal when the light turned green. Signaling, she then veered into the left lane to make a turn at the next intersection. “We’re almost there now. And by the way, your new house is a dream, Gwen.”

  Gwenyth chuckled. She shifted in her seat to keep the seatbelt from cutting her across the shoulder. “Yeah. And one I never would have been able to afford on my own for many, many years down the road.”

  Candy smiled bemusedly as she chewed on her gum, her violet eyes twinkling. “Uh huh. I know. I wouldn’t complain, though. The houses on Bayshore are the nicest in the city.”

  Gwenyth considered that for a moment. Eventually, she nodded her agreement. “They are elegant.”

  “Try ‘decadent’.”

  Gwenyth laughed. “That’s my husband. Sam ‘The Decadent’ Tremont.” Glancing out of the side mirror, she narrowed her eyes to a squint and frowned thoughtfully. “Is it just me or has
that white sedan been following us?”

  Candy shot her gaze into the rearview mirror, her gum chewing momentarily halted. “Hmm, you’re right. It’s been behind us the whole way.”

  Gwenyth bit her lip. “Pretty strange seeing as how the streets in the village are one twist and turn after the other. You think?”

  Candy blew out a breath as she considered that. “We’re probably both being totally paranoid, but let’s see what happens.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Candy made a left turn. “I’m going to zigzag around the neighborhood and see how much longer the sedan keeps up with us.”

  “Good idea.” Gwenyth studied her side mirror, waiting for the visual confirmation that would tell her whether or not they were being followed. “Wasn’t there a scene like this in one of your books, Can?”

  Candy made an abrupt right turn. Her eyes widened in dismay when the white sedan trailed a ways behind, but stayed within their sights. “Yeah. It was in The Courting of Constance,” she breathed out.

  Gwenyth squeezed her hands together. The nails bit into her palms as the sedan followed them through yet another turn. “I forget how it ended. What happened?”

  Two more turns. The sedan remained on track. This was too much coincidence. Candy’s hands began to tremble along with her voice. “Constance was being stalked by a madman, a subject of Bulgaria who felt it was her fault that Prince Demetri might be forced to give up the crown to be with her.”

  Gwenyth’s lips went dry. They were nearly as white as the sedan that, unbelievably, followed them in yet another series of turns. “Sort of how my photographs might have forced the former Senator Green from his throne?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Something like that.” Staring into the rearview mirror, Candy made an abrupt right turn and then another left. “This isn’t coincidence anymore, Gwen. Hang on to your seatbelt. I’m going to ditch this guy.”

  “What do you meeeeeeeeeean—Candy! You’re going about a zillion miles an hour! We’re going to die! We’re going to crash and die!”

  Candy glanced into her rearview mirror. “No we’re not,” she firmly insisted. “We’re going to lose this guy.” She pushed up her sleeves to just above the elbows as an alarming glint Gwenyth recognized all too well shimmered in her eyes. Candy’s excitement was terrifyingly palpable. “Those drag racing lessons I took are finally going to pay off,” she murmured.

  Gwenyth clutched her hand to her throat. “Lord help us,” she choked out.

  “Relax, Gwen. Just think Thelma and Louise, okay?”

  The movie’s ending flashed through Gwenyth’s mind. She seemed to recall that the women raced the authorities to the edge of a cliff in the Grand Canyon then subsequently chose to plummet to their deaths rather than be apprehended. Gwenyth decided she didn’t care for the comparison. “Oh God.”

  Candy, however, was in her element. She rolled down the driver’s side window long enough to spit out her bubble gum and pop a fresh piece into her mouth. An unholy grin showed on her face as the SUV picked up more speed. “He’s trying to keep up with me, but I’ve got him just where I want him,” she snorted. “Nobody knows these roads as well as two outlaws like us.”

  Gwenyth clutched the dashboard as her life passed before her eyes. “We’re not outlaws! I’m a photographer and you’re a romance author!”

  Candy shrugged absently. Nothing could dissuade her now. “Thelma was a housewife and Louise was a waitress. Stranger things have happened.”

  “They aren’t real! They are two figments from some writer’s vivid imagination! Let’s not die as a tribute to it!”

  The next sharp turn would have caused a driver who hadn’t briefly joined the racing circuit to lose control of the car. Gwenyth idly considered the fact that she would probably lose control of her lunch. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on breathing. “Just tell me when it’s over!”

  * * * * *

  When Sam was driving back with Harry and Marc from having picked up take-out dinners for everybody to indulge in, the last thing he or his friends had expected to see was Gwenyth and Candy racing by them so quickly it made their heads spin. When he considered the brief glance he’d gotten at his wife’s wide-eye expression coupled with Candy screaming “hiiii-yeeeeeee!” like some hell-bent Apache warrior from an Old West movie, he knew there was trouble brewing on the horizon.

  “What the hell are they doing?” Harry bellowed. “Are they trying to get themselves killed?”

  Marc pointed toward a white sedan hot on the women’s trail, doing its damnedest to keep up, but failing. “Look at that car lagging behind them. I think we’d better follow.”

  A cold sensation slammed into Sam’s gut. He didn’t want to consider the fact that the white sedan and the threatening notes might be connected. Cursing, Sam made a sharp turn that sent his brand new, day old Mercedes barreling in the direction of his wife, Candy, and the white car.

  “Be careful,” Harry said from the backseat in his usual controlled tone. His hands clutched onto the bags of food containing their dinners. “You’re going to spill the raspberry-almond sauce that goes on our salads.”

  Sam shot Harry a sour look through the rearview mirror. “I think I’m more worried about the white sedan following my wife!”

  Harry’s head snapped to attention. “What?”

  Sam followed Candy and the white car into another series of high-speed turns. “Didn’t you hear what Marc said? That car is following Gwenyth and Candy!”

  “Oh no.” Harry swallowed nervously. “We can always get more raspberry-almond sauce,” he concluded in what Gwen often referred to as his senatorial tone. “Catch my sister, damn it!”

  “What do you think I’m tryin’ to do?!”

  “Will you two shut-up!” Marc heatedly chastised. He waved his hand toward the white sedan. “Get as close as you can, Sam. I want to take down the license plate number.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Yes,” Harry agreed, “a very good idea.” Thinking more on the subject, he frowned slightly. “And if the raspberry-almond sauce soils my clothing, I plan to sue the pants off of that guy.”

  “Would you forget about the damn sauce already!” Sam growled. Spitting out a string of inventive curses, he made another sharp turn. “Sweet Jesus, Candy can drive like a bat out of hell.”

  “She once took drag racing lesson,” Harry added helpfully.

  “Oh great,” Sam drawled out, “as if I wasn’t worried enough.”

  “I can almost make out the plate number,” Marc announced, his eyes squinting slightly for a better focus. “Just another foot or two, Sam.”

  Sam nodded implacably. “I’m tryin’. Give me a few seconds.”

  “Got it!” Marc jotted the number down on the upside of his hand.

  “Good,” Sam spat out, his jaw rigid, “because now I’m goin’ to make this guy wish he’d never laid eyes on my wife.”

  Harry’s green gaze widened considerably. He’d known Sam for twenty-one years and the icy light in his brother-in-law’s eyes didn’t bode well. “What do you mean?” he asked hoarsely.

  Sam’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Think Thelma and Louise, my friend.”

  “They were women!”

  “Oh well.”

  Marc’s tie inexplicably tightened of its own accord. He reached up to tug at it. “Just what are you saying here—Saaaaaaaaaaam!”

  Harry clapped a hand to his forehead. “There goes the goddamned raspberry-almond sauce.”

  Chapter 19

  “It’s no wonder that opposites attract.” Wearily, Harry closed his eyes while Monique stood behind him massaging his temples and fussing over him. “If two people like Sam and Candy ever got together, World War III would ensue.”

  Grinning, Sam winked at Candy. “Brian Goodman is as stable as Gwen, Can.” He waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “You still have his phone number?”

  Blowing out a bubble, Candy flipped Sam the bird, then stood up t
o go help Marc warm up dinner in the kitchen. Sam and Gwenyth laughed as they watched her shuffle away. Gwenyth could only hope that Candy relented and called Brian soon. She had a feeling the duo would be great together.

  After Candy disappeared into the kitchen, Gwenyth turned her attention toward another pair of opposites who were suitably matched. Trouble was, Harry hadn’t figured out exactly how well suited he and Monique truly were yet. She sighed. Her brother was a terrific guy and Gwenyth was certain he’d make a hell of a good senator, but when it came to women, the man was as blind as she didn’t know what.

  Of course, Gwenyth mused, it would help matters considerably if Monique at least attempted to pretty herself up. Poor woman obviously didn’t know the first thing about flirting and seducing. And that was a definite shame; especially in light of the fact that the first person Harry had called after leaving the events of this evening behind was his assistant. Come to think of it, her brother always turned to Monique when he needed comforting.

  Even now, Monique was standing behind Harry, coddling him with her hands and cooing to him with her voice. Rather than turning away from her ministrations, Harry was nuzzling his face closer, like a kitten that wants petted. Gwenyth stifled a chuckle; Monique was shy enough as it was without being made to feel embarrassed about her seemingly instinctive behavior.

  Clearing her throat, Gwenyth turned toward her husband, who was watching Harry and Monique with a bemused expression on his face, and smiled. “Detective Anderson said he would call as soon as he got an ID on the plate, right?”

  A frown marred Sam’s face, making Gwenyth wonder if she should have reminded him of the day’s earlier events. “Yeah. And I for one can’t wait to get some answers.” Clutching his wife’s hand in his own, he peered harshly into her eyes. “I about had a heart attack when I realized what was goin’ on, Gwen. That man, whoever he is, is damn lucky he decided to break off his pursuit of you, otherwise I can’t say what I’d have done when I got my hands on him.”