by Eve Langlais
When Moore picked up and said a deep “Hello,” her tummy fluttered, and she sounded a tad breathless as she said, “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“And?”
“Get him that invite to check out the academy.”
“When?”
“The sooner, the better. Before I change my mind.”
“Our next soccer practice has been cancelled due to the city putting some pesticide on the field. So, how’s tomorrow?”
Even sooner than expected, which was perfect. “Meet me at my place, and I’ll follow you.” They set a time, and she hung up.
Carla took a deep breath. Let’s see if trouble follows me out of town.
And if it did…then the gun she planned to pack would come in handy.
Chapter Seven
Arriving at Carla’s place, Philip found her outside cursing up a storm. It involved a mixture of English swear words and some Spanish ones. Pacing back and forth by her minivan, she was the epitome of an angry Latina, but with good reason.
Her newly fixed van was sitting on four flat tires.
When Philip exited his car, she whirled and took some of her rage out on him. Good thing he had shoulders broad enough to handle it.
“Look at what some motherfucking asshole did to my van! What the fuck is wrong with people?”
“They didn’t get hugged enough as a child?” Philip offered, which earned him a glare.
“I never even heard them doing it,” she hissed, seeming very offended. “And with the downpour we had overnight, my camera didn’t catch shit.”
“Even if you recognized the guys who did this, what could you do? Tire slashing is a petty crime. The cops won’t even bother booking them.”
“Do?” Her brow arched, and her smile turned wicked. “I’ll tell you what I’d do. Hunt their little bitch-assses down and hurt them until they cried for their mommies, that’s what I’d do.” Carla tossed her hair and ended with a humph sound.
There was probably something severely wrong with Philip because rather than be horrified by her words, he was strangely turned on by her feisty courage.
He waved a hand at her abused van. “I guess this means you want to cancel the trip.”
“Like hell,” she snarled. “Nico is still going on this trip, but it might take a few hours. I’ve put in a call to a guy who does onsite tire repair. Which will cost an arm and a leg. Motherfucking asshole!” She flung her hands into the air and stomped.
“Or you could just ride with me.” The suggestion made sense, so why did she turn such a surprised gaze on him?
“Ride with you? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? Using one vehicle will save on gas.” He appealed to her frugal side.
“I am already imposing enough by accepting your offer.”
“It’s not imposing since we’re going to the same place.”
“I’d rather wait for my van.” She stubbornly shook her head.
Nico, who’d been sitting quietly on the step this entire time came to Philip’s rescue. “We should ride with Coach, Mami. You’re too angry to drive.”
“Am not,” she huffed.
Nico arched a brow. “You used the f-word twenty-three times since you came outside.”
“Okay, maybe I’m a little mad. But I have a reason to be pissed.”
“You do,” Philip agreed. “However, you’re letting the little dipshits win.”
“They won when they destroyed my savings with this stunt.” She waved a hand at the flat rubber.
“Won’t your insurance cover it?”
She glared. “Only an idiot makes a useless claim.”
He blinked. “How is this useless? This is vandalism, which insurance covers.”
“It does, but if I claim it, I will pay three to four times the cost in increased premiums for the next few years. And, before you argue, I know this for a fact. I work for them.”
“Oh. Don’t you get a discount?”
“No.” She pursed her lips and glared a little more at her van. Softened her gaze when she glanced over at her son and finally sighed. “Fine. I’ll go with you, but only if we take turns driving.”
She stalked off, and he held in a laugh as her son mouthed, “Don’t let her, Coach.” Then the boy widened his eyes and whispered, “She’s scary behind the wheel.”
“I heard that!” she hollered. To which, Nico laughed.
The boy had a good attitude about him, which he’d obviously learned from his mom. Or so Philip assumed. Philip had yet to see anything but her prickly side. Then again, he’d mostly seen her under duress thus far. It made him wonder what she was really like when she relaxed and wasn’t being shot at or victimized.
She emerged from the house with a suitcase and a large purse.
“Can I grab that for you?” he politely offered. He didn’t expect her to say yes, so he was caught off guard by the case being thrust in his direction.
His arms sagged at the weight. “What did you pack? The kitchen sink?”
“Gun collection,” she said with a flat expression.
He laughed as he swung the suitcase into the trunk of his car.
“Careful,” she said. “Might set off the hand grenades.” She turned to Nico. “Put your stuff in the trunk, please.” The boy grabbed two knapsacks: one with his soccer gear, and the other, Philip assumed, filled with clothes. Nico packed lighter than his mom.
“We ready?” Philip asked.
“Almost,” Carla grumbled. “Let me just grab my laptop and lock up.”
Moments later, they were on the road, and not much was said as she tapped on her phone.
It was Nico who broke the stale silence. “Mami says I’m going to try out for the Yaguara Academy team.”
“You are.”
“Yay.” Nico beamed from his spot between the two front seats. “I’ve been following their best player, Kole. He just graduated and got drafted to Spain.”
“Negotiated a sweet contract, too,” Philip added.
“I want to be a soccer star when I grow up.”
“You already are, mijito,” Carla replied, finally looking away from her phone.
“I’m good, but I’m not as good as Kole. Yet,” Nico added.
“How did you get a tryout for Nico so quickly?” she asked.
“I happen to know the owner of the academy.” Understatement, but revealing more might see her demanding that he stop the car. He wouldn’t put it past her.
“You know Mr. Oliveira?” Nico’s awe was plain to hear.
“I do.”
Carla craned in her seat to glance at her son. “How do you know his name?”
“Because everyone knows about the academy.” Said in a duh tone of voice. “I read all about him. He had a son who was like this super soccer player until he died.”
“How sad,” Carla said by rote.
Philip took over the history lesson. “After Santos’s death, Mr. Oliveira started a foundation in his son’s memory. The Yaguara Academy and other schools around the world are the result.”
“He makes soccer stars,” Nico exclaimed.
“Not just stars,” Philip interjected. “He gives kids a chance to live up to their full potential. For some, it ends up meaning a contract in the big leagues. For others, a good education to give them a good start in life.”
“You make him sound like a philanthropist,” Carla said with a curled lip.
“Because he is.
Carla snorted. “More like the tax breaks are really worth his while.”
“Think what you like. You’ll probably end up meeting him, and then you can see for yourself.”
And maybe Philip would figure out why Oliveira had hired him to convince Carla to bring her son out for a visit. He just hoped Carla never found out about his ulterior motive in coaching her son’s team. She didn’t seem like the forgiving type.
They stopped for lunch on the road, with Carla insisting on a window seat. She spent more t
ime staring out the dirty glass that overlooked the busy parking lot than chatting. Philip and Nico managed to keep the conversation flowing, but when the boy left to use the washroom, Philip prodded Carla.
“Is something wrong? You keep staring out that window like you’re expecting someone to show up.”
She turned a dark gaze on Philip. “Not expecting anyone. Just people watching.”
“You look more like you’re plotting murder.”
At the statement, her lips quirked. “And if I am?”
“Seems kind of public for it.”
“Which is why you lure them to a spot out of sight.”
“Lure them how? Got some cookies hidden in your giant purse?”
“No treats. Guess I’ll have to rely on my feminine charms.”
At that, he snorted. “What charm?” He realized what he’d said too late, but she didn’t take offense.
“I can be nice when I like.”
“And how often does that happen?” Philip teased.
Carla uttered a small laugh. “Not much, I’ll give you that. Most people disappoint me.”
“And then you plot their murder?”
“If the price is right.” She met his riposte with quick wit.
“These people you murder, what did they do to deserve it?”
Carla leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “Does it matter if they’re guilty of a crime?”
“I think killing should always serve a purpose.” Having a deeper meaning helped with the guilt.
“Not always. I murder spiders in the house because I won’t suffer one to live.”
“You should kill spiders in your house. Only way to prevent them from crawling in your mouth when you sleep.”
She coughed and gagged. “Gross. No. Ew.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You did not just say that.”
“It’s a proven fact.”
“Know any other facts?” she asked, her expression glinting with humor.
“I know that you’re nervous about what happened to your van.”
“Starting to think the damned thing is cursed,” she grumbled. “First the windows, now the tires.”
“The way Fergus talked… Is vandalism not common?”
“I wouldn’t say it doesn’t happen, but usually not so close together.”
“Could someone be targeting you?” he asked offhandedly.
“Yes. No. Maybe.” She shrugged. “Do people really need much of a reason to commit a crime these days?”
“Could be someone pissed at you. Client. Someone you cut off in traffic. A person you might have shut out of your life.”
She snorted. “It’s not some ex-boyfriend if that’s what you’re hinting at. I already told you, I don’t date.”
“At all?”
“There a reason why you’re asking?”
Yeah, because he was mighty fascinated by her.
“You’re—” The words he might have foolishly spilled remained unspoken as Nico returned, eyes wide as he claimed, “They have a urinal that is like twenty feet long to pee in.”
“You better have washed your hands,” Carla admonished.
“I did.”
“Do I have to kill anyone for bothering you?” she asked.
“No, Mami.” Said with the eye-rolling disdain that only a tween could manage.
“We should get going. We still have quite a few hours of driving,” Carla remarked.
As they paid for their meal—with Carla insisting on covering her and Nico’s portions—Philip found himself thinking about their conversation. About the other side of Carla he’d briefly seen.
There was a woman of humor inside the tough shell. The sarcasm might be too much for some, but he found it a refreshing change from the women he’d met who simpered and pretended frailty. Not his type at all. He wanted an equal. A partner.
A lover…
Despite Carla’s claim that she wasn’t interested in dating, Philip couldn’t stop thinking about her. Lusting after her, and wondering how she’d taste.
However, he doubted anything would come of his desire. Especially once he read the next text from his boss.
No hotel. Bring them to me.
Philip tried to argue. I doubt she’ll agree.
The reply? Make it happen.
Chapter Eight
“Fucking hell.” By the time seven o’clock hit, Carla was cranky from too many hours in the car. A mood that didn’t improve as they discovered that not a single hotel or motel had rooms for rent.
Not. One.
Some conference that drew tens of thousands of people had come to town.
Philip had already apologized a dozen times. “Sorry. I didn’t know that was happening this week.”
Just her luck. “I guess we’ll have to drive to the next town over to find a place.”
“It’s late.”
“And? We can’t exactly sleep in the car,” she snapped, showing her irritation even if she was more annoyed with herself. She should have booked a room ahead of time. Never should have come.
“I have a better idea,” Philip stated. “We can stay at—”
She stopped him before he could say it. “I am not couch surfing at some stranger’s house.”
“First off, no couch. You’d get a bed. And Mr. Oliveira is not entirely a stranger.”
She leaned her head back and groaned. “You want to ask the owner of the academy a favor? How is that supposed to be a good thing?”
“Because he would be pissed if I didn’t offer. The guy is loaded with a house big enough for a dozen people to sleep and not get in each other’s way. It’s not a big deal. He hosts people all the time.”
“I told you, I don’t do charity.”
“Stop being so damned prickly. This isn’t charity. You seem to forget, Mr. Oliveira wants Nico to play for him.”
She snorted. “He’s never even seen him in action.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Oliveira knew about Nico before I even told him.”
“How?”
“The man knows his athletics. He’s been handpicking students for the academy for years, finding rising talent and then cultivating it. He watches videos all the time of games from teams all across the country.”
“So he preys on children.”
“Hardly.”
“Then what does he get out of it?”
He shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”
Lips pressed into a flat line, Carla looked out the window and didn’t speak for a few minutes.
Nico leaned between the seats. “I’m hungry, and I have to go.”
Carla sighed. “Fine. Call Oliveira. Ask if we can spend one night. Just one,” she admonished. “We will find somewhere else tomorrow.”
She regretted her choice the moment they drove through the gates, manned by a guard. While Nico smooshed his face to the glass and “oohed,” she noted the opulence of the grounds. Perfectly tended shrubs. An interlocked stone driveway that went on for at least half a mile. A roundabout in front of the mansion with a massive fountain.
A water feature almost big enough to swim in.
More cameras. Carla noted them strategically placed and would wager they had motion sensors. Kind of a positive thing given she still wondered if the problems plaguing her at home would follow. If they did, there should at least be a warning.
The house itself was bigger than many a motel she’d occupied—about three stories—and wide. The banks of windows would take an army of squeegee folks to clean. Only a few showed shining lights. She wondered how fast the electrical meter spun when everything was turned on. She was the cheap mother who put her Christmas lights on a two-hour timer. Lit just long enough to make her child smile, then off to keep the bill from climbing into digits that made her wince.
Having money offshore didn’t mean she was frivolous. She could pinch a penny with the best of them, which was why she frowned at the opulence she saw. So many wasted dollars in vases with perfectly cultiva
ted flowers spilling from them, lining a stone slab path leading to the massive front door. Tall enough for a giant and made of carved wood. She could probably pay off her mortgage with what those cost.
Even though the car was parked, she continued to stare and wonder what the fuck they were doing here. This wasn’t the kind of place Carla ever stepped foot into. Or if she did, it was through the back door with the servants.
She sat long enough that Philip made it around the car and opened her door like a gentleman. Problem being, Carla wasn’t a lady.
She grabbed for the handle, meaning to pull it shut.
He held on and kept it ajar. “What are you doing?”
“We can’t stay here.” The very idea of setting foot in the mansion filled her with an inexplicable panic.
“Why not?”
“Have you seen this place?” She waved a hand. “It’s way too fancy.”
“And?”
“I’m not,” she snapped. Carla was a girl most at home in worn jeans and T-shirts with rude sayings in a house that looked lived in. This place screamed, “don’t touch.”
“You don’t have to be fancy to enjoy someone’s hospitality.”
She gave him a side-eye. “Do you have a smartass answer for everything?”
A grin pulled his lips. “Yes. Are you going to keep arguing?”
“Probably.” Because she really didn’t want to be here. She felt out of her element, and it wasn’t just about the house. Philip, the nearness of him, had something to do with it, as well.
He leaned down and murmured, “Don’t be a pussy.”
Had he said anything else, she would have left. Calling her bravery into question, though?
“I’m not a fucking coward. I just don’t think we should be staying here.”
“Well, you don’t get a choice. My butt is killing me, I am starving, and you’re being a baby.”
Her mouth snapped shut, especially since Nico was snickering.
Philip arched a brow. “Well?”
“I think you suck.” A childish retort that had Nico outright laughing as Carla exited the car.
The front door opened, and a slim fellow emerged wearing dark gray slacks and a lighter gray shirt and vest. He came at them fast. Her hand dropped into her purse, curling around the grip of her pistol.