by Camel Press
“Jesus, what’s your hurry?”
She was panting and took only a second to catch her breath. “Damien, what the hell was all of that back there in the clubhouse?”
“Cat, look, I don’t really want to deal with you.”
“Well that’s going to make our jobs hard, isn’t it?”
Damien didn’t respond. Suddenly Cat could read his mind: it would make her job hard to do, but his would go on without her.
“I don’t get it, why are you mad at me?” She had finally caught her breath. “You know better than anybody I didn’t have anything to do with that night.”
“I’m not mad at you. I’ve just got things to do.”
“It’s not like you’re even feeling the effect of that night. You’re the freaking hero of the game, while I’m trapped under an endless row of collapsing dominoes.”
He started walking toward the players’ reserved spots. “I gotta get out of here.”
She followed close on his heels and yanked at his sleeve. “That’s not good enough for me. Ignoring me during the postgame is completely out of line.” Her blood began to warm with each word. “You came to my house, remember? I didn’t invite you, I didn’t even participate in your little night of debauchery, yet I’m the one answering for all of it. You brought all this down on me, and then you humiliate me in front of my colleagues and jeopardize my job. How dare you?”
He spun around and jabbed a finger in her shoulder. “Look, I don’t owe you anything. If I don’t want to answer your little questions, I don’t have to.”
Cat reared back and then changed her tack, taking a step forward to get in his face. He was over six feet tall, but she was aided by her four-inch heels. “You’re right, you don’t, but I don’t owe you anything, either. You might want to remember that.”
His brown eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Well if I can’t fill my reports with interviews from you, then I’ll have to find something else to share with the fans. Like maybe how you never participate in charity drives.”
Damien heaved a sigh.
“Or they,” Cat persisted, “along with Roger Aiken, might be interested in hearing about the homophobic rant I overheard a couple of weeks ago when you were lifting weights and I accidentally left my recorder on after an interview with your trainer.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Nothing would give her more pleasure. She’d considered sharing it with Roger at the time, but was afraid she already knew what his answer would be. The general manager was a good guy, but when it came to his team, he cared far more about image than ethics.
“Better yet, I wonder how many people would want to know about the baseball Annies that you didn’t shoo away on the last road trip. I’ve got your wife’s email address …. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and forward her my first draft.” She wagged a forefinger. “Don’t mess with me.”
He smacked her finger out of his face. “Don’t you dare threaten me.”
“Threaten? I’m just telling you that while you bask in the role of conquering hero, I refuse to play the fall guy, and if you don’t show a little gratitude, I’m gonna look for a way to get the heat off of me. You might want to remember that snagging a line drive can’t erase everything.”
He took a step forward, shoulder-checking her on his way. She stumbled back but caught herself.
The car door slammed behind him and his Mercedes CL600 peeled out of the parking spot, the wide tires squealing against the pavement.
Cat waited until he was out of sight before going back inside the stadium. She’d definitely gotten his attention. Of course, she never would have gone through with it. It wasn’t a moral thing. She did feel the fans had a right to know that their beloved baseman felt that the team charities catered to the lazy. She truly believed that Roger should punish Damien for spreading hate in the clubhouse. She wanted more than anything to tell Melissa Staats that her husband treated road trips as all-you-can-cheat buffets. Instead, she had to keep his dirty secrets and was expected to make excuses for his absences at fundraisers, to praise him for being a role model, and to smile approvingly when his wife was on his arm. Not only would a breach of clubhouse confidentiality get her canned, but she’d never work in the industry again.
Cat closed the door behind her and hung her purse on the coat hook. “I’m home.”
“Soldiers win!” Benji emerged from the living room, meeting her in the hallway and giving her a kiss.
Cat savored the moment. He had the most crystalline blue eyes, but still, these pillowy lips were his best feature. She tore herself away from the kiss and grinned. “Did you watch the whole game or just the highlights?”
“Both, actually. I think I even saw your elbow in the corner of the screen when they showed the locker room celebrations.” He held up her elbow to the light and pretended to scrutinize it. “Yup, this is the one. I remember that freckle.”
She giggled and squirmed out of his grasp, walking into the living room. Quinn sat on the couch, his blank stare fixed on the television screen.
“Hey Quinn.”
He grunted, rose to his feet, shuffled into the kitchen and came back out holding another beer.
Cat turned to Benji with a frown. He shrugged. “He’s been like this since the game.”
Quinn dragged himself back to the couch and Cat joined him, plopping down and slapping his long leg.
“What’s wrong with you?” She smiled at Benji and added with a tinge of hope to her voice, “Homesick?”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Very nice. Just for that, I’m staying an extra month.” He took a swig of his beer. “I might have to anyway, now that I’m broke.”
“Broke? Didn’t you just take Adam Alvarez for an inning of work?”
That wasn’t true, actually. She’d crunched the numbers and at nine million a year, the closer made fifty-five thousand dollars a game. She wasn’t even sure if the four thousand Quinn had swindled would cover one of Adam’s pitches.
“I reinvested it.” He took another gulp from the bottle. “It backfired. Your game tonight cost me everything but my Harley.”
“You bet on the game?”
“Uh-oh,” Benji said. Proving he wasn’t just a set of pretty eyes and delicious lips, he took a step back.
“Why do you sound so shocked and disappointed?” Quinn asked. “You know I gamble. Hell, you’ve put scratchers in my birthday card.”
“You bet against my team,” Cat said. “How can you do that? That’s like betting against me.”
He scoffed. “Get over it. It’s not like you’re a player.”
“No, but if the team succeeds, it helps my career. More exposure, more readers, not to mention a heavy weight lifted off my shoulders in your little poker blame game.”
“I’m not a Buffalo fan. There was a time you would’ve chastised me for betting against Chicago.”
“Well, Chicago didn’t respond to my résumé. A steady paycheck can reroute your loyalty fairly quickly. Anyway, you shouldn’t bet against me. And you definitely shouldn’t bet against any team that has Damien Staats.”
“Tell me about it. His fast glove cost me five thousand bucks.”
“Five thousand bucks? Quinn, that’s a lot of money.” She raised an eyebrow at Benji. “Enough for, say … a hotel room for a month.”
“Oh, is it a lot of money? I didn’t realize that, Cat. Thank you for your brilliant accounting.” He downed the rest of his beer and slammed the bottle on the coffee table. “I’ll get it back.”
Cat picked up his bottle and pointedly placed it on a coaster a few inches away. “You might want to check the lines before you place your bet. I’d bet on the Soldiers tomorrow.”
“Psh. Betting on the underdog is how you make the real change.” He stood up. “I’m going out. Don’t wait up.” He ruffled her hair before exiting the living room. A few seconds later the front door slammed shut.
Cat turned to Benji. “Some big brothers teach
their sisters how to ride a bike or handle an unruly date. Quinn gives tips on pool hustling and sportslines."
Chapter 10
It was almost noon by the time Cat finally came out of her cubicle. She’d purposely come in early but once again was forced out of hiding by the fact that her ten by ten cave didn’t come with a bathroom.
Every cubicle was eerily empty. She cast about her to see if anyone was in the office and spotted her coworkers huddled in a clique toward the front of the room. The interns by the watercooler shushed their whispers when she walked past, only to pick up where they’d left off a few steps later.
Cat approached the open desk near the entrance, where the department assistant was reading a magazine. “Hi, Anne Marie.”
“Good morning.” The older woman rose from her chair. “Would you excuse me?” She walked away before Cat could reply and made her way over to another murmuring circle.
Cat’s shoulders fell. She hadn’t made many friends in her own office, even before the poker game heard ’round the world, but Anne Marie was her assistant—twenty-five percent, anyway, because she shared the efficient receptionist with three other members of the media team. Now she couldn’t even get her paid assistant to look her in the eye.
Cat contemplated the gossiping group. Discretion told her to keep quiet, but as the anger began to boil inside her, she put discretion on the back burner.
She clapped her hands to summon their attention. “You guys wanna talk, okay. Let’s get it all out in the open.”
The employees stopped whispering and looked up at her in shock.
“You heard me. You want to play this game, then at least have the guts to step up to the plate.” Her voice had started out shaky but she was beginning to find her confidence through this therapeutic broadcast. It was a relief to no longer be shunned, even if the alternative was forcing people to listen to her. “Yes, there was a poker game at my apartment. No, I wasn’t playing, nor did I even know it was occurring. I’ve explained my situation, I’ve even taken my lumps for it and you’re all still freezing me out.” Feeling her hackles rise, she took another step toward the group. “Sandy, no one said boo about it when you got a DUI last month. Gina, don’t get me started on the rumors about you and not one, but two players last season. You’ve all had your fair share of scandal so quit avoiding my eyes and whispering about me behind my back. You got something to say then please, just have the balls to say it to my face.” Cat took a deep breath. It felt pretty good to get that off her chest. She took satisfaction in their silent gapes.
Anne Marie looked around at her embarrassed colleagues and took a step forward. “Cat … didn’t you hear?”
“Hear?”
What now?
Cat felt a knot in the pit of her stomach as she wondered what they were saying about her now. With all the skeletons in her closet, just one reporter could nose around and end up with a week’s worth of nightly news segments. None of it had seemed newsworthy before, but now that she was Buffalo’s public enemy number one, sneaking expired coupons past the grocery cashier could provide an opening exposé for the six o’clock news.
Anne Marie pointed out the hallway. “Melissa Staats is in Roger’s office. Damien didn’t come home last night and he hasn’t showed up to practice.”
“What? That’s what you’ve all been hush-hush about?”
Anne Marie nodded. Cat looked around at the rest of the office staff, who all nodded in agreement. Gina and Sandy accompanied their nods of confirmation with scowls of disdain.
“Oh.” Though recovering from the shock, she felt her initial umbrage rearing up. “No one thought to tell me, the team reporter, about this piece of news?”
Their eyes dropped to the floor again.
Cat sighed. “Fine, keep looking at your shoes. I’ll just get the information myself.”
She pushed past them and made her way toward Roger Aiken’s office. It had been eleven months since she’d interviewed there and she still got nervous each time the double doors came into sight. She didn’t have a chance to pass through them before a voice stopped her.
“Ms. McDaniel? A word?”
The voice had a familiar ring but she couldn’t place it until she saw Detective Kahn standing by a field-view window.
She threw her head back and let out a small groan. She was almost afraid to ask how much worse this day could get.
“How do you do that?” She pretended to survey the walls. “Do you live in the ceiling? Is there some sort of trap door in this waiting room?”
He smiled appreciatively and pointed at the vinyl chair in the small waiting area in front of Roger’s office. “I was sitting right there. You probably didn’t see me because you’re in such a big hurry.”
“Busy day at work.” She sighed. “You know, if you like hanging out here so much, I could see if there’s an opening in security.”
Cat couldn’t help her attitude. Cops had always rubbed her the wrong way and it didn’t take years of therapy to pinpoint the reason. The officer who’d came to school for the D.A.R.E. program in her sixth grade class had given her the hairy eyeball, as though he knew it’d only be a matter of time before she’d follow in her father’s footsteps. When all the other little girls had gotten D.A.R.E. teddy bears, he’d given her a blood alcohol content calculator. Her thirteenth birthday party was interrupted when they’d dropped by to arrest her dad for the same crime which kept him incarcerated to this day. Not long after that, cops would bring Quinn home on late summer nights and chastise her sweet grandmother over her inability to control the wild seventeen-year-old. Even Otis Snow, though his stadium security badge was plastic and embossed with a casino showgirl, had strengthened her distrust of law enforcement by proving to be the muscle in the Las Vegas Chips’ conspiracy.
“I’m here on a different case. Seems yet another guest at your ill-fated party went missing.”
“What department do you work for?” His business card had only said Detective Kevin Kahn, Buffalo Police Department, but now she was curious.
“I generally work assaults. I just happen to be taking a special interest in this missing persons case.”
“Missing persons? He’s been gone twelve hours. I thought it had to be like, forty-eight hours before the police did anything.”
“Someone needs to borrow my box set of Without a Trace.” He smiled. “No, that’s a myth. No set amount of time must elapse before a person can be reported missing. In fact, we encourage immediate action if you feel that person is in danger.”
“Danger?” Cat shrugged. “Damien has been known to party hard after victories. It seems a little early to call in the cavalry.”
“I’m aware of Mr. Staats’ postgame proclivities. I’ve done my research on several members of the Soldiers. Even you.” His eyes probed hers as though determined to extract the truth.
“Me?”
“Well, not just you.” He pulled his notepad out of his pocket. “Michael McDaniel of Joliet, Illinois. Born October Second, 1960. Currently serving in his hometown for vehicular theft, repeat offender.” He smiled and waved the notepad at her, showcasing a blank page. “Notepad’s just a prop. That was a pretty easy one to remember.”
Cat started to open her mouth but he continued.
“Now Quinn McDaniel, on the other hand, is a little harder to get a read on, outside of a few misdemeanors. Seems he’s quite the world traveler. He’s being sought as a person of interest in a robbery in Chicago, an extortion scandal in Denver, an identity theft in Seattle, forgery back in Chicago again, phishing in Baltimore and assault in Key West.”
“I’m sure you know that a person of interest is not a suspect. Or do you need to borrow my box set of Cagney and Lacey?”
He ignored her. “Lest I not forget, there’s you. This first case in Chicago, the robbery. Seems the vic was your virtual paramour of sorts. His place gets robbed while he’s at work and he never hears from you again.”
“I was at class. The police verifi
ed it.”
“I read the report. Where was big bro?”
“Don’t know.”
He scrutinized her for several seconds and nodded. “After reading about your family, I thought, maybe the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Then it occurred to me, maybe the apple didn’t fall off the tree. Maybe it slid off because it’s even slicker.”
Cat fought to keep a lid on her irritation. She knew he wanted her to lose it; that was a sleazy journalism trick. Get your subject angry and on the defensive and they’ll say what you want and more. The only recourse was to turn the tables. “Look, Detective, I’ve tried to cooperate but I know my civil rights, specifically those protecting me against police harassment. You should watch it.”
He blinked at that but otherwise did not react. Reaching into his shoulder bag, he said, “Actually, I was hoping you’d watch yourself.”
He held a tablet PC directly in front of her face. “This is the security footage from the Soldiers’ parking lot last night. Looks like you and my missing person were having quite the heated conversation.”
A long, bony finger reached around the tablet and pressed play. There was no audio, but her interaction with Damien from the night before unfolded on screen. Cat swallowed hard. The clip continued to play through as she realized what was happening. Detective Kahn was at her workplace, questioning her about a missing person, but he’d just happened to bring along evidence that showed her with the person shortly before he’d gone missing. He wasn’t harassing her after all; she was a suspect.
She flinched as the on-camera Damien slapped her hand away from his face.
Detective Kahn took note of her reaction and leaned in. “That’s my favorite part, too.”
“We were just,” her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued watching the on-screen Damien walk away, “talking.”