Tomorrow she would attempt to qualify in her final event, the 100-meter breaststroke. As the plane touched down, CJ breathed a sigh of relief. Just one more day and she would be able to concentrate on training for the Olympic trials. No more worrying about Rush or Malloy finding her. No more stressful qualifying races. Furthermore, after finishing her event at the meet in Mission Viejo, she would spend the next three days with her husband in LA—at least part of the time.
Matt and his team would fly into Los Angeles early the next morning for a three-game series against the Dodgers. CJ even had tickets for one of the games, and she looked forward to relaxing for a few days—or, rather, a few hours between practices—before focusing again on training for the Olympics.
Pete had arranged for practice time each day while she was in California, but that seemed a small price to pay for some time with her husband.
In the seat next to her, Tara checked her watch. The instant the fasten seat belt sign turned off, Tara jumped out of her seat and grabbed their bags from the overhead compartment. “Let’s go.”
CJ knew she should be used to special treatment by now, but she was still amazed by the way she was shepherded off the plane through the rear service exit before the main doors were opened for the rest of the passengers. She and Tara descended a set of moveable metal stairs down to the tarmac. Once on the ground, she only had to take a dozen steps to reach the car waiting for them.
The car pulled away from the airplane before any of the other passengers were permitted to deplane. Within minutes they were clear of the airport, negotiating their way out of San Diego.
CJ didn’t know what time they finally made it to the hotel in Mission Viejo, but she slept like a stone the moment her head hit the pillow. She woke early, her body still not quite sure what time zone she was in.
Everything seemed normal enough as she grabbed a bite to eat and drove over to the meet with Pete and Tara. When they arrived, however, she immediately noticed the extra security. Not just the security for the facility and the meet, but extra security for her.
She recognized three U.S. Marshals in the shade near the registration table, and Keith Toblin from the FBI was hovering near the entrance to the pool. No one had alerted her to any perceived danger at this meet, yet something was clearly amiss. CJ turned to the marshal beside her. “Did I forget anything?”
Already identifying the other marshals, Tara asked, “Do you have your cell phone?”
Realizing Tara probably wondered if there was a message from Doug on her phone, CJ reached into her swim bag and retrieved it. After checking for messages, she turned back to Tara. “Yeah, but there aren’t any messages.”
Sensing their concern, Pete put a hand on CJ’s shoulder and looked at Tara. “I’ll get her checked in.”
Tara nodded and moved away from the entrance to check on the reason for the extra personnel.
Despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach, CJ methodically completed the check-in process with Pete’s help. They were heading for the pool area when Tara pulled them aside.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” she assured them. “Doug is just being cautious.”
“Would you tell me if I should worry?” CJ asked warily.
“Probably not,” Tara admitted. “But in this case, it’s true. Besides, it’s our job to cover you. We haven’t let you down yet.”
CJ nodded, appreciating the validity of Tara’s statement while trying not to remember how many times Rush’s men had gotten too close for comfort. Pushing aside the fact that somebody wanted her dead, CJ found an open space on deck and began stretching. A few minutes later, Pete sent her to the competition pool to warm up.
Three guys stood in the water in the lane next to her, chatting away as though there was nothing better to do as the sun rose steadily in the sky. On the other side of her, a girl held onto the edge of the pool listening to her coach’s instructions.
CJ pushed off and started her warm-up. She had only finished three hundred meters when she approached the wall to do her turn and found the wall hidden behind bodies. She pulled up short and lifted her head, waiting for the swimmers to clear the way. Apparently unaware of CJ’s presence, the four new arrivals continued their conversation while effectively blocking the wall.
Frustrated, CJ reversed direction and began swimming the other way without the benefit of a wall to push off of. The pool got even more crowded until she finally gave up, planning to warm up right before her race. Climbing out of the pool, CJ passed one marshal as she went into the locker room. Tara was just inside the locker room door surveying the athletes as they came and went.
By the time CJ proceeded to warm up for the preliminaries of the 100-meter breaststroke, she felt smothered by the extra security. She managed to find a lane in the warm-up pool with only three people in it, but she struggled to settle down and concentrate on the upcoming race. Stress continued to build, and for once swimming didn’t diminish its effect.
When CJ finally reported behind the blocks, she just wanted the whole thing over. She reached one arm across her chest, trying to relieve some of the tension, then repeated the process with her other arm. When she glanced at the swimmer to her left, she noticed the girl two lanes down staring at her, a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. CJ returned her stare for a moment, wondering why she looked familiar.
Suddenly she placed the face, and she quickly averted her eyes back to the pool. The girl staring at her was Allison Harris, who had been expected to win the 100-meter breaststroke in the high school state championships during their senior year. Instead, CJ had captured the gold medal, edging out Allison by only a few hundredths of a second.
CJ swallowed hard, barely aware of the race just finishing. Allison can identify me, she thought numbly. They had been rivals throughout high school as well as in year-round swimming. CJ glanced up at the scoreboard. The huge, black display board illuminated the lane number and name of each contestant, and then their time when the race ended. In just moments, CJ’s alias would be displayed in lights for everyone—including Allison—to see. Would Allison notice that CJ was not using her own name?
Questions continued to run through CJ’s mind as the score board was cleared and the names for the upcoming heat were listed. What should she do if Allison approached her after they swam? Could the marshals get her out of the building quickly enough?
The heat before them cleared the pool, and CJ fumbled with her goggles as she moved to the starting block. She glanced over at Allison once more, just in time to see her study the scoreboard and then glance questioningly in CJ’s direction. CJ looked out over the pool, quickly pressing her goggles into place as the whistle signaled for the swimmers to step onto the blocks.
Her mind raced even as she took her starting position, balancing on the balls of her feet as she prepared to spring forward. Struggling to steady her breathing, she tried to force Allison from her mind. The starter held them in the starting position a second longer than expected, and CJ rocked forward a moment to soon. She tried to stop her momentum unsuccessfully. Unable to regain her balance, she fell off of the block, opening her body into a simple dive.
The other swimmers remained on the blocks, looking down at CJ. It was over; her false start disqualified her, removing any opportunity to qualify for the 100-meter breaststroke in this meet. Banking down on the swirl of emotions trying to surface, CJ stroked to the side of the pool and pulled herself out as the referee approached to officially inform her that she was disqualified.
When Pete appeared with her swim bag, CJ had barely pulled her sweats on. He didn’t say anything, but CJ could feel his disappointment. They had worked so hard, and now . . . She couldn’t even finish the thought before Lacey and Tara appeared and whisked her away from the starting area and out a side gate.
“What’s wrong?” CJ managed as tears threatened.
“Just a precaution,” Tara answered calmly. “There’s no reason to keep you here now that you’re done.”
<
br /> “One of the girls there knows me,” CJ stated in a trembling voice.
“We were afraid of that,” Tara replied.
“You knew?” CJ asked incredulously. “Why didn’t you do something? You could have at least warned me.”
“We were told that she had pulled out of the meet because of an injury,” Tara explained matter-of-factly.
“I think she figured out my alias on the scoreboard,” CJ retorted, frustration evident in her voice.
“Don’t worry. She’ll probably just assume someone made a mistake typing in your name,” Tara suggested. “And since you false started, she won’t even see your name on the results. You solved the problem without even knowing it.”
CJ stopped walking. “My name will still be listed. It will be even more obvious now, since I’ll be the only DQ.”
Tara sighed and put an arm around CJ’s shoulders. “It’s probably not a big deal. It’s not like she shouted out your name or anything. Besides, when we realized Allison had shown up, we kept a close eye on her.”
“But what if she goes out and tells everyone I was here?”
“CJ, I doubt she would go to the media with the fact that you used an alias. Besides, Malloy and his thugs already know you’re doing that. By the time Allison got to a reporter, you’d be long gone anyway. And remember, we use a different alias at every meet.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m probably just being paranoid,” CJ said, breathing in deeply. She didn’t want to think about why she had to be cautious. When she considered how many times Rush and Malloy had tried to kill her, she felt like she might drown from her own fears. What could she have done if Allison had called out her name or brought attention to her at the meet? The wrong people could have identified her too easily. With another deep breath, she realized that Allison probably wouldn’t have made a big deal about knowing her, even if her protectors hadn’t whisked her away.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tara said, breaking into CJ’s thoughts. “It’s better to be paranoid than sorry.” Giving CJ a squeeze, she flipped open her cell phone. “Toblin, you’ve got some work to do. Just to be safe, let’s make sure no one figures out CJ was here.”
CJ listened to Tara’s side of the conversation, hopeful that Toblin could work a miracle. After witnessing firsthand the photographer’s misfortune in Texas, she didn’t doubt that her entry card would somehow mysteriously disappear so that all record of her presence would be eliminated. She doubted that her name on the results would cause a problem, but by eliminating that possibility, at least Rush’s men wouldn’t have a starting point from which to track her down.
She could just envision Toblin walking up to the scorer’s table, probably wearing the standard white shirt and pants that all of the referees and judges wore. He would insist that he needed to double check her disqualification. Then he would pick up her entry card and walk away as though to go confer with the head referee. Undoubtedly he would just keep walking out of the building, taking the evidence with him.
She smiled when she thought of Toblin impersonating a swimming official. But when they arrived at the car, the reality of her situation came crashing in on her once again.
She dropped her head into her hands as the first tear spilled over. After all of her planning and training, she had blown her one chance to qualify in her best event, the event she was the most optimistic about swimming in the Olympics. With only six weeks left until the Olympic trials, she was running out of opportunities.
Although there were still a couple of big meets in which she could compete, talking Doug into allowing her to do so was another matter. Would Rush’s men connect the dots and figure out that she was using several aliases?
“I can’t believe I blew it.” CJ shook her head as tears continued to fall.
“Kid, there’s one thing I have known about you from the start,” Tara said as they merged onto the freeway. “You don’t do anything the easy way.”
“You can say that again,” Pete agreed, the gruffness in his voice more soothing than kind words would have been.
CJ looked up, her tears slowing as her lips quirked up. “Do you think Doug will let me try again?”
“We’ll talk him into it,” Tara assured her. “Besides, I like a challenge.”
Chapter 18
Wyatt Murphy strolled down the hallway of the elegant Pasadena hotel, then entered his room using a keycard. He dropped his luggage on the bed and moved straight to the window, grinning at the view. This is perfect, he thought to himself, pleased at his good fortune.
Murphy considered himself beyond lucky to have wheedled the necessary information out of one of the hotel clerks. Now he knew the layout of the building across from him, and he knew the room number of his victims. Security at the hotel was fairly efficient, and Murphy had approached three different front-desk clerks before he found one willing to cooperate.
Like many in his field, Murphy was adept at using human nature to get the facts he wanted. He had mastered the art of gossip, dropping a tidbit of information so that his informant would reveal the rest. On other occasions, he had to rely on his charm, and sometimes he fell back on the easiest method: cold, hard cash.
Murphy also appreciated his ability to blend in. He was average in height and build, and he kept his dark hair short. When he maintained his clean-shaven look, he could blend in at most high-society functions without a second glance. Of course, when it served his purposes, he could just as easily sport a mustache and shaggy beard to give him a seedier look.
After taking a few minutes to identify the window belonging to his targets, Murphy moved back across the room. He pushed aside his suitcase and flipped open the hard-sided case that contained the tool of his livelihood. All it would take was one perfect shot, and he could move into the big time.
He froze when he noticed movement behind one of the curtains in his victims’ room. Seeing it was just a maid preparing the room, Murphy pulled up a chair and settled in for a long wait.
* * *
Security was tighter than Matt had seen it in a long time. He spotted one undercover agent in the parking lot and two more in the hotel lobby. That didn’t include the hotel security personnel that were present because of the team’s arrival. Matt entered the elevator with several of his teammates, realizing that he had two hours before the team would have to leave for Dodger Stadium for their first game. He found his room, inserted the electronic key, and was only two steps inside the door when he realized someone had been there.
The ice bucket was full of partially melted ice, and one of the water glasses had been used. A paperback novel had been tossed on the king-sized bed, while a pair of women’s sandals lay haphazardly just inside the door. For a moment, Matt worried that he had been given the wrong room—or, even worse, that he would have a repeat of the incident in St. Louis—then he noticed the curtains billowing in the breeze by the balcony door.
CJ was sitting on a lounge chair on the balcony, a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. One foot was tapping, apparently to the beat of music coming through the earpieces of her iPod. It was then that Matt realized she couldn’t hear him.
For several moments he just stood at the door watching her. The wind teased her sable hair, strands of it dancing in the breeze. Her normally fair skin was a shade darker than usual. She looked content, though he knew better, since Doug had already told him about her failure to qualify in her favorite event.
He opened the screen door and stepped onto the balcony just as she turned. An instant later her notebook was on the floor.
“Matt!” She started toward him even as he moved to embrace her.
He felt her tremble, and he knew that she was fighting back tears. His own throat closed up, and he didn’t trust his voice to speak. Instead he just breathed her in, taking comfort in the familiar scent of her raspberry shampoo and the lingering smell of chlorine she could never completely eliminate from her hair.
Clinging to one another, they stood in
silence until Matt finally leaned back to look into his wife’s face. He wiped away a tear that had escaped and caressed her cheek. She looked vulnerable again, and he hated knowing that she had been forced to face her fears alone over the past few weeks.
His voice was husky when he finally spoke. “I missed you.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” Matt closed the distance between them, and his lips found hers. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, offering and accepting comfort at the same time. He could feel the tension subside as her fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt.
He drew back and watched CJ’s troubled gray eyes flutter open. He skimmed his hands down her arms, linking his fingers with hers.
“How are you doing?” Matt asked, taking a step back so he could see her clearly.
CJ shrugged. “Okay, I guess, considering that I completely messed up.”
“Nobody’s perfect, CJ.”
“I don’t have enough chances not to be,” CJ insisted.
“You need to just forget about that meet. Concentrate on the events you did qualify in.”
“Every time I close my eyes, I feel myself falling into that pool.” CJ shook her head. “It’s like I can’t stop reliving it.”
“Maybe I should help you think about something else.” A smile spread slowly across his face, his eyes sparking with mischief.
CJ tightened her grip on his hands. “Don’t even think about it.”
His grin widened and he managed to free one hand, but she blocked him before he could tickle her. “Think about what?”
“You are not going to tickle me,” she declared, humor lacing her voice.
Matt evaluated the situation for about two seconds, pleased that her mood had improved. “Okay,” he said. “I’m not going to tickle you.”
A myriad of expressions crossed her face, from disbelief to cautious acceptance. The moment she relaxed, he scooped her into his arms. She squealed in surprise, her arms automatically encircling his neck. “You’re crazy.”
Matt gave her a quick, teasing kiss. “Definitely,” he said laughingly. “But you love me anyway.”
The Deep End Page 14