Why Did It Have to Be You?

by Allyson Charles

  “You look like a family man,” David continued. More like a bored MMA fighter, but saying that wouldn’t help David’s cause. “I think there’s a way we can help both our families. Come to a mutually satisfactory agreement, so to speak.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’d like to ensure a little extra security for Zeke. A public servant such as yourself probably doesn’t make what you deserve.” David rocked onto the balls of his feet. “I’d like to propose that you pay extra special attention to my nephew, make sure he doesn’t get hurt again. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Officer Collins crossed his meaty forearms over his chest. “Worth my while?”

  Jesus, this guy made Helen Keller look like a good conversationalist. There must be something about working in a prison that sucked the personality out of a person. “Well, of course you’d get paid for your extra work. Enough to take your family on a nice vacation. Buy the wife a new car. What do you say?”

  “I say it sounds like a bribe.”

  “What? No.” David clapped the man on the shoulder. “Just extra money for extra work. That’s only fair.”

  “Extra money for work I already get paid to do.” He shrugged off David’s hand. “I always watch out for the inmates to the best of my ability. And I will do everything in my power to make sure nothing further happens to your nephew. Like I will for anyone else in here.”

  “But—”

  “I understand that you’re concerned for your nephew,” the guard said. “And that’s the only reason why I’m not reporting you for attempting to bribe a law enforcement officer. Now step back.”

  Frustration ate at his insides. Rubbing the knot in the back of his neck, David nodded and strode back down the hall to wait for his sister. When the hell did public servants get to be so scrupulous? He missed the good old days, when a bottle of expensive scotch could persuade a government official to see David’s side of the argument.

  Tracy emerged from the room, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. The incorruptible guard went into the visitor’s room and emerged a minute later with Zeke, handcuffed once more. His slight shoulders were rounded, and the guard behind him looked twice his size. The justice system might see Zeke as an adult, but David saw the child.

  “I’ll see you guys next week, right?” Zeke asked. The tough guy was gone, and he was just a kid who didn’t want to be left alone in a scary place. David’s heart ached. He wished he could take this away from Zeke. But there was nothing he could do.

  “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Next week.”

  They watched until Zeke was out of sight before he and Tracy headed for the exit. Another guard took them through gates that rolled shut behind them. Sealing Zeke away. When they hit the parking lot, David slung an arm around his sister's shoulders. “He’ll be okay.” He needed to reassure himself on that point, too.

  She shrugged him off. “None of this is okay. Stop acting like everything is normal.”

  Shaking his head in disgust, he turned for his car. “Would you rather I bitch and moan about how unfair life is? Cry useless tears that seem to do nothing except make you feel good? It’s like you think you’re a better mother if you cry louder than anyone else. Newsflash, Tracy: Crying doesn’t mean you care more. It just means you’re not smart enough to figure out what else to do.” He stopped by his door and faced her over the roof of his car. “And some of us don’t have the time to turn into a useless, sobbing mess.”

  Two red patches burned high on her cheekbones, stark against the pallor of the rest of her face. She flattened her lips into a thin line, and got in the car without a word. The entire forty-five minute drive back to her house, she remained quiet.

  David cut the engine in her driveway. “Tracy—”

  She slammed the door closed, cutting him off. He watched her slam the door to her house, too. Fatigue dug its nails into him, and he pressed his palms into his eyes. Starting the car, he headed home.

  Except his car didn’t get the message. Instead of following Highway 99 to the lake, it turned toward Galt Park. A large area on the south side of town, the park boasted a Japanese tea garden, a baseball field, and tennis courts. And a looping path that a certain someone liked to jog, making five circuits in her tiny running shorts, and driving David crazy with the way her sports bra bounced up and down beneath her tank top.

  He’d seen Connie out here working up a sweat many a Sunday, and he could only hope he’d find her here again on this one. He found his usual bench, the one partially hidden behind a thatch of aspen trees, and settled in. Sunglasses on, cell phone in hand, he looked like a normal guy enjoying the weather and catching up on his sports scores. Not like a creepy stalker at all.

  The fact that he liked to watch Connie run past him, all long, tan legs and bouncy ponytail, didn’t bother him. He used to worry about it. Wondered what it said about him. Now he just accepted the fact that if he was in a bad mood, or worried about a business deal, seeing her lope past him soothed his nerves. She was like a tall glass of ice tea on a hot day.

  And right on cue she came into view, jogging up the small rise in the park. Her face was flushed a deep red, her chest heaving with exertion, but her expression was as controlled as ever. He liked how she assessed her surroundings before acting. How her dark eyes absorbed the facts around her before coming to any conclusions. How she kept a level head and didn’t act on emotion. Except when he pissed her off and she got spitting mad. And a part of David liked that, too.

  She’d been stoic at Caleb’s funeral, hadn’t shed one tear in public. But David could get a rise out of her in less than two minutes. Was it his fault that he wanted to read more into that than he should?

  He had a view of her for about a quarter of a mile before she would jog out of sight, and he settled into the bench to enjoy every step of it. But something smacked into his back, right between his shoulder blades, and pain flared. “What the hell?” He stood and twisted around, the motion causing him to grimace. A boy, about ten years old, stood a couple yards away, eyes as wide as his mouth.

  The kid pointed to the ground, and David saw what had hit him. A worn baseball lay in the grass. “Sorry,” the boy said. “I didn’t mean to hit you. I was aiming for my dad.” He pointed again at the man who was crossing through the trees. A man David recognized.

  “Lee.” He nodded at his foreman. He looked back at the kid. His carrot-colored hair was a lighter shade of his employee’s beard. “I didn’t know you had a son.”

  Lee stopped next to the boy. “Really? I’ve mentioned it. Several times.”

  David dug through his memory. “Right. You coach your son’s Little League team.” He looked at the small-fry towered over by his father. “Pee-wee league?”

  The boy curled his upper lip in disgust, a look he must have learned from his father. “That’s for little kids. I’m twelve. I’m in Little League Intermediate Division.”

  The kid seemed awfully small and scrawny for a twelve-year-old, but what did David know? “Well, your coach here should teach you how to aim. Generally, it’s not at the back of someone’s head.”

  “I only hit your shoulder.”

  Lee placed a hand on his son’s back. “And what do you say?”

  “I already apologized.”

  “Do it again,” Lee said. David knew Lee didn’t give a shit about insulting him. He wasn’t the type of employee to suck up to the boss. His job security was doing such a good job it would be a pain in the ass to replace him. So this insistence on manners must have been for the kid’s benefit.

  “Sorry.” The kid kicked at a clump of earth.

  “What’s your name?” David asked.

  “Bobby.”

  “I’m David.” Taking two steps around the bench, he bent over and scooped up the ball. He rubbed the leather between his palms, a remembered habit. “Hi, Bobby. Your dad works for—” He cut himself off. “Your father and I work together. I also used to pl
ay some ball when I was younger. Let me show you something.”

  Lee took off his ball cap, scratched his head, and slipped it back on. “He’s already got a coach.”

  “And when I played for the University of Michigan, I had three coaches. The head coach, the batting coach, and the assistant coach.” He tossed the ball up in the air and caught it. “One more for Bobby won’t hurt. Go long.”

  “What?” The ball cap tipped down as Lee glanced at his son. The logo across the front read Pineville Panthers, and David guessed that was the name of Bobby’s team.

  “Go long,” David said again, nodding to a wide stretch of grass to the left of the trees. “I’m going to show Bobby a tip on how to throw a ball right to your target.”

  Lee grumbled, the sound deep in his chest, but took the glove tucked under one arm out and slipped it on as he walked in the direction David had indicated.

  David circled his throwing arm a few times, loosening it up. “Farther,” he yelled, when Lee turned too early. “Okay, Bobby. Here’s the deal. Throwing the ball isn’t just about using your arm. Your whole body needs to work together to throw the ball accurately and hard. Got it?”

  Bobby shrugged.

  “First, how you grip the ball is important. The best way is across the seams, like this.” David demonstrated, holding the ball with two fingers crossing the double rows of stitches. “You’ve got to practice pulling the ball out of your glove with this grip.”

  Bobby wandered closer, looking fractionally more interested.

  “Second, you’ve got to loosen up your wrist.” He circled his hand and smiled as Bobby followed suit. “If you throw the ball with a stiff wrist, you won’t be as accurate. Next, your front shoulder needs to point in the direction of your target.” David turned to the side so his shoulder faced Lee and waited for Bobby to do the same. “Now your back foot should be perpendicular to the target”—David nudged Bobby’s feet into the appropriate position—“and once you have everything lined up, you’ll want to step toward the target with your front foot, push off your back leg, and throw the ball using your entire body.”

  With a motion that came as naturally to him as closing a deal, David threw the ball in a low, hard arc at Lee. The man caught it near his right shoulder.

  “My turn!” Bobby bounced up and down on his toes.

  Holding up his hands, David waited for the return throw, and made sure not to flinch at the sting of catching the ball without a glove. Lee would only be too happy to exact a little retribution.

  Beckoning with two fingers, he urged Lee closer, and dropped to one knee to hand Bobby the ball. “Okay, stand like I told you. Loosen up that wrist.”

  Bobby flicked his hand back and forth as he circled his arm the way David had earlier. David leaned back to avoid a swinging fist to his face.

  “You gripping it right?”

  Bobby’s hand was too small to hold the ball with just two fingers, so three crossed the laces, and David only nodded. “Okay, left shoulder pointing toward your target. Feet planted perpendicularly. Step forward and let ’er rip.”

  The boy heaved with all his might, and the ball sailed ten feet over Lee’s head. But it went directly over his head, not left or right, so at least his aim was improving.

  “Getting better.” David stood. “Keep working at it and soon it will be second-nature.”

  “Did you really play baseball in college?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m going to play in the pros,” Bobby said before taking off after his dad. He hollered back over his shoulder as he ran, “Thanks, David.”

  A smile stretched across his face, a real one, and David felt some of the stress of the day ease away. He missed baseball. There was something almost Zen about it, and David knew he’d never been as happy in his life as he had on that diamond. Before life had taken that away from him. But life was too short for regrets. Maybe if he’d played catch with Zeke when he was growing up—

  “Fancy seeing you here.” The voice behind him was sardonic, a tart glass of lemonade missing the sweetener. And David knew he’d been busted.

  Chapter Eight

  He’d taken his suit jacket off, but he still wore a white button-down shirt, the cuffs rolled to expose bronze forearms. His trousers held the sharp crease of an iron. And the toes of his leather, Italian loafers were covered with little bits of grass. All in all, an absurd outfit for the park.

  But she couldn’t help but notice the way the golden hairs dusting his forearms shimmered as his muscles flexed. And how his broad hands had enveloped the ball as he gave the kid pointers. David Carelli. Playing with a child. Would wonders never cease?

  He turned to face her. As if he had all the time in the world, as if he had the right, he let his gaze slide down her body. The skin of her thighs tingled as his eyes caressed it. The flushed area above the cleavage of her sports bra felt hotter under his stare. She tried to slow the heaving of her chest, but she’d just run five miles and her body protested the effort. Besides, there wasn’t anything wrong with a good-looking man checking her out. Even if it was David Carelli.

  Snapping her fingers, she drew his attention back to her face. “See anything you like?”

  His smile was slow and wicked, as dark as her morning coffee. Something deep inside of her clenched. Which made no sense. She’d always been attracted to the good guy, and nothing about David’s smile could be classified as good.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Connie. Of course I’m going to enjoy the view.” His gaze flickered down to her legs and up again, his smile deepening. In the sunlight, his eyes lightened to the blue of faded denim. They were beautiful eyes. They also looked tired. Faint lines framed the edges, giving him the appearance of a man who had one more burden than he could comfortably carry on his shoulders.

  Not that his burdens were any of her business. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that why you come to the park and hide? So you can ‘enjoy the view’?”

  David flattened his lips, and took a step closer. “I don’t hide. I was sitting on a park bench, for God’s sake.”

  “One that’s half-hidden behind a tree.” She shook her head. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you before. You seem to sit here a lot when I jog. Communing with nature?” she asked sweetly.

  “It’s pretty here.” Chin lowered, he drew his shoulders up toward his ears. “Relaxing.”

  She snorted.

  He stepped closer, close enough for her to pick up a hint of cloves and musk. She inhaled deeply.

  “I’m not the only one who likes to watch,” he said in a low voice. His breath brushed across her ear, and she resisted a shiver. “I’ve seen you at the pool when I do my laps.” Picking up the end of her ponytail that rested on her shoulder, David rolled a lock of her hair around his fingers and gave a small tug. “You don’t seem to be doing much swimming when you’re there, I’ve noticed.”

  Heat raced to her face, but she kept her features even. She was a lawyer, damn it. She could lie with the best of them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He tugged once more before letting her hair slide out of his fingers. “Right. Because the high-and-mighty Connie would never let herself do something so crass as appreciate a man’s body.”

  Her flush deepened. It wasn’t just her, damn it. Every woman who happened to be at the pool the same time as David couldn’t help but look. And more than a few tried to coordinate their pool schedule around his. He had the perfect swimmer’s body. Muscular and toned without being bulky. Broad shoulders that vee’d down to a trim waist and powerful thighs.

  The only thing better than watching David slice through the water was watching him pull himself up and out of the pool, his muscles bunching and flexing in unison, water streaming from his body, his swimsuit plastered tight to his…

  A tingling started in the pit of her stomach. Or maybe a little lower. She wasn’t going to GPS track its location. If she moved t
o Detroit, her fun pool viewing times would come to an end. A definite point in favor of declining the job offer. But if she accepted, she wouldn’t have to actually talk with Carelli ever again, a huge selling point. If he would only follow that old maxim for children, to be seen but not heard, there’d be no problems. But he always had to open that sexy mouth.

  She shrugged. “I’m a normal woman. If I see something halfway appealing, I might look a little.” Turning on her heel, she walked down the small grassy hill and headed back to the path. “But at least I don’t go out of my way to stalk anyone.”

  David’s shoulder brushed against hers as he kept pace. “I’m not stalking you,” he growled. “I was…teaching one of my employee’s sons how to throw a baseball correctly.”

  She didn’t bother to respond to that other than to roll her eyes.

  “Besides,” he continued, “I wanted to talk to you.”

  She paused. “About hiring my firm to be your legal representation? Because after our last conversation, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  He looked down and frowned. Dropping to one knee, David picked up the loose shoelace that had been slapping against the ground and tied her sneaker. “I want to hire you, not the firm, and it is an excellent idea.” He double knotted the lace and stood. “But that’s not what I want to talk to you about. I want you to come see my Bohannon development.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m building a shopping mall over in Parker. We’re using a lot of the same materials that we’re going to use on the new animal shelter.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. “Maybe.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, every golden lock falling right back into place. “What do you mean maybe? Maybe you’ll go?”

  She started walking again. “I mean maybe you’ll build the animal shelter.” Glancing at him over her shoulder, she shrugged. “But maybe not.”

  He followed, shaking his head in pity. “It’s going to get built. But keep telling yourself you have a chance. It’s cute.”