by Karen Rock
Reese blew her nose. “We never played again at all.”
She uncapped a lip moisturizer stick and swept it over his dry lips. “I know you grieved in your own way. Work helped you forget the love you lost. I’m old enough to see that now. But Dad.” She screwed hot eyes shut and forced her next words from an aching throat. “You never lost me. I was still dancing around you. You just stopped seeing me.”
She leaned down, pressed her ear to his chest and draped his limp arm over her, holding it in place, as close to a hug as she could get. Her next breath dragged in the antiseptic smell of his soap and talcum powder. “Why did you put work ahead of me? I know without Mom’s income, we struggled, but I never cared about the labels on my jeans or where we lived. I just wanted the dad who woke me up every Sunday morning with a mound of chocolate chip pancakes, the one who made up the ending to my bedtime stories, the one who always, always said goodnight. I just wanted him back. And I wanted you to want me too.”
His heart thudded steadily beneath her ear. He was still alive, still in there…could he hear her? Would he wake in time to answer the questions stewing inside her since she’d spotted the casino picture?
“But you wanted the club more. Maybe it was easier to deal with. No reminders of Mom, like me. Is that why you let me go after the attack? Were you glad when I left? Because I wasn’t….” The blanket bunched in her clenched hand. “I was lonely. Miserable. I felt abandoned even though I walked out on you. You let that asshole get away with attempted rape. What other crimes do you look the other way about?”
Reese lifted her head and studied his face. No change. Not even an eyelash flutter. “I’m sticking by you no matter what. But I can’t find where the money in your account is going, or who or what you’re paying.” She stared down at her locket, to the key hidden inside. “And where’s the safe-deposit box? What’s inside it? I can’t find any records for it, and I need to know, Dad. Please wake up.”
She leveraged herself upright and brushed the thin strands of his gray comb-over to cover a bald patch. “The detective on the case seems sure you’re in on a steroids ring, and I’m afraid he’ll misconstrue some of your shortcuts…so even if you still don’t care about me, please open your eyes and defend the club you love.”
A redheaded nurse bustled into the room. She had a warm, genuine smile and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “How’s Mr. Landon doing?” she called out, briskly checking IV lines and recording blood pressure and heart rate data from a beeping screen beside his bed.
“The same.” Reese poured more water from the bedside pitcher into a Styrofoam cup. “Is the doctor stopping by?”
“I’m afraid you missed her.”
Reese’s shoulders slumped. After her crazy night, she’d fallen asleep on the car ride home and didn’t wake until the midday sun shone in her room. Blake left her a note, saying he had to check in at the station and would meet her back home after supper. He’d also reminded her to park close to the hospital and carry the phone he’d given her.
Shoot.
She patted her pockets, dug inside her purse, and came up empty. In her rush to get her daily update from the doctor, she’d left it behind. No matter. Reese had her regular phone; it really was major overkill for Blake to insist she carry two.
But then again, everything Blake did to ensure her safety was over the top. So very different from a father who’d treated her like an afterthought, a person not worth standing up for after her attack.
So why did she stand by him despite the mounting evidence?
Because she remembered Gorilla Dad and Sir Dance-A-Lot. The father who once made her believe in happily-ever-afters and the mother who’d never gotten the chance to live hers.
Dad had been her knight once. Her hero. And even if he’d abandoned her for a while, she’d stay by his side, especially now, when he needed her most. Unless she had concrete proof of her father’s involvement, not just coincidental events, she’d be his champion.
Which meant she stood against Blake, a position she very much wished she could reverse. He’d been incredible last night, fast-thinking, cool under pressure, and determined to unlock the next clue in his case. Unfortunately, his suspicions about her father had only ticked up after he’d glimpsed the casino picture. The image could be harmless though, the drop-off at the gambling establishment a fluke, Dixon’s dealing something her overworked father had missed…
Or was she just rationalizing everything to explain away her father’s possible guilt, hoping—needing him to be the same kind, generous man he was before her mother died?
The nurse lowered her electronic tablet at Reese’s groan. Blake’s right or wrong, good or bad thinking was getting to her. The world was too big to be viewed so narrowly. Such an unrealistic, rigid perspective fed Blake’s suspicious nature. Her father wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t a drug dealer. Not Gorilla Dad. Not Sir Dance-A-Lot.
“Reese!”
At her name, she glanced up to see Uncle Tom and Aunt Marisol beaming from the door. Tanned and windblown, his hair slightly disheveled and the top of his polo shirt unbuttoned, her uncle looked fresh off a golf course. In her flared green skirt, matching visor and sneakers, Aunt Marisol could have modeled for one. Reese jumped to her feet, hustled around the hospital bed, and hugged her aunt and uncle.
“Oof!” Her uncle exclaimed when she let him go. “You squeezed the stuffing out of me.”
She tried and failed to smile at their old joke. He tipped up her chin. “You okay?”
His warm voice sounded like another hug, and her clenched muscles loosened. At her wordless headshake, he led her to a hospital chair and sat her down. “You’re not okay.”
Her calm and cool vanished. Her mouth worked. There was so much she wanted to tell him but couldn’t because of her promise to Blake.
Uncle Tom dragged two other chairs close, sat and leaned forward. “Will you leave us, please?” he asked the nurse without turning.
“Of course, sir. Can I get you three anything?” The solicitous caregiver locked her hands behind her back and rocked up on her toes, eager to please like so many were around Reese’s uncle. He exuded power and congeniality. Aunt Marisol mentioned he was considering a congressional run, and Reese didn’t doubt he’d nab the seat.
“No, thanks, darlin’.” At her uncle’s wink, the nurse blushed as red as a fire hydrant. “Sure would appreciate you closing the door behind you, if that’s not too much trouble.”
When the door clicked shut, Aunt Marisol squeezed Reese’s hands. “You feel like ice.”
Reese glanced around the room, searching for any excuse but the truth, and her eyes landed on the vent along the window. It gushed musty, frigid air. “The air conditioning’s too high.”
“Something’s troubling you.” Uncle Tom followed her glance to stare at her comatose father. “No change?”
At her headshake, he winced. “I’ll give the chief of staff a call today and see if he can wrangle more answers from the attending doctor.”
Reese nodded, grateful, flipping her stinging eyes to the ceiling.
“What else is it, honey?” Aunt Marisol urged.
“I—I just have some questions about Daddy, but they can wait.” She was glad to see her aunt, but wished she had her uncle to herself right now.
“You can speak openly, darlin’.” Her uncle looped an arm around his wife. “She’s been my rock through all this.”
“We’re always here for you.” Aunt Marisol rubbed Reese’s hands between her own. “Go on, now. Tell us what’s concerning you. We’re family. And family sticks together.”
“Blood is thicker than water,” her uncle agreed. The couple exchanged a small, sad smile, then turned Reese’s way once more.
“Do you know if Daddy owed money to Aces Up Casino?”
Her uncle’s expression sharpened. “What do you k
now about Aces Up?”
Aunt Marisol’s ponytail swung as her head whipped between them. “What’s your father have to do with such a seedy place?”
“All the money disappearing from Dallas Heat’s books got me—uh—thinking about how he used to gamble at Aces Up.” She bit her lip, hating to lie to her family.
Uncle Tom let loose a long breath. “Honey. This is why I urged you to go home and let me handle the business. I don’t want you tangled up in all this.”
“You know something about the casino?”
Aunt Marisol gaped at her husband when he dropped his head then rolled his eyes up at her, hangdog. “I didn’t want to worry you over it, but your father owes them some money.” He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“How much?” When he didn’t answer, Reese lowered his hand and angled her face to meet his eyes. “How much, Uncle Tom? I’m not a little girl you have to shield anymore.”
“She’s right, Tom,” Aunt Marisol chided softly.
His tense expression faded. “Guess it’s me that hasn’t changed—always wanting to watch over you.”
“And you have. I don’t know what I would have done without you, either of you, growing up.” They exchanged a tender smile. “What’s the bottom line?”
“He owes over two hundred thousand in markers.”
His words were a chop straight to her windpipe. They knocked the breath out of her. “Two hundred…” It was an astronomical number. More than her father could ever repay. Enough to make him desperate enough to do business with the steroid-dealing casino?
“I started making inquiries after his shooting and found out about the debt. Wish he’d come to me before it got bad. I’m talking with Bill Wilson, the casino’s owner, about squaring things away.”
“So much money,” Reese breathed. Her uncle was the most generous man she knew, but even for him, this was a stretch.
“You’re not to worry yourself over it, honey,” insisted Aunt Marisol.
Her uncle shrugged. “He’s my brother.”
“Do you think they had anything to do with the shooting? Should we go to the police?”
Uncle Tom frowned. “No. No law enforcement. That’ll only open a can of worms your father doesn’t need on top of this. Bill swore no one on his end had anything to do with it, and I trust him.”
“Did you ever locate the bank for the safe-deposit key you found?” asked Aunt Marisol, out of the blue.
Uncle Tom whipped his head to stare at her, and she flushed. “You mentioned it after a phone call you two had,” she amended, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in her golf skirt.
Wow. Her uncle had told her aunt everything—which shouldn’t surprise Reese, given their loving relationship. “No.”
“Still think it’d be better off in my care,” her uncle added.
“I’ve got it covered,” she replied absently, her mind still on the casino owner. “Would you still believe Bill if you knew he—” She pressed her lips tight, stopping herself from confessing about the steroids drop.
“He what?” her uncle prompted, his thick brows drawn together.
“Forget it. Why didn’t Dad tell you about the gambling debt?”
Her uncle raked a hand through his hair. “He’s kept to himself ever since our falling out.”
“What’d you two fight over?”
The sparkle of Uncle Tom’s pinky ring caught the fluorescent light as he waved his hand. “Nothing important. Another one of his schemes he wanted to drag me into.”
“What kind of scheme?” Her nails dug into her palms.
“Tom,” Marisol warned, wagging a finger.
“Let’s just say, something a bit unethical and not best business practices. As a public figure, I have to be careful about what and whom I involve myself with.”
Reese twisted her hands in her lap. Should she warn her uncle the coach he’d recruited for TMU was part of a steroids ring?
“How friendly are you with Coach Lewis?”
Her uncle scratched his earlobe and studied her. “Pretty friendly. I see him when he drops off the students working at the ranchette. Also at collegiate affairs, games and fundraisers. Why?”
“I don’t know,” she fibbed. “He just kind of gave me a bad feeling.” She’d never lied to her uncle before. Every time she thought about how she’d deceived her family, withheld critical information about the steroid case, a sharp pain cramped her side.
“Sam Lewis? Salt of the earth,” her uncle declared staunchly. “If there were any skeletons in his closet, the hiring committee would have found them.”
What about recent ones? She massaged her aching temple, the beginnings of a migraine pulsing behind her right eye. Her loyalty to her family versus her promise to Blake warred in her brain. It didn’t sound like her uncle and Coach Lewis were close enough that he’d be embroiled in a scandal when Blake busted the ring. For now, she’d stay silent.
“Is he friends with my dad, too?”
Uncle Tom stretched and placed linked hands behind his head. “Don’t believe they’ve ever met, why?”
She thought of the picture featuring the three of them alongside the casino owner. Didn’t her uncle remember? Strange.
“Forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. Or thinking.”
“Honey, you’re worn through and through,” soothed Aunt Marisol. “How about coming home with us for supper? I put a roast on, and we’re expecting the girls. A family reunion might be just what you need.”
Reese smiled, imagining her lively cousins. “I miss them. Watching them grow up on Instagram isn’t the same.”
“They miss you, too,” Uncle Tom affirmed. “The club’s closed tonight. Take a night off.”
She nodded. It’d feel good to shut down and unwind from this roller coaster she’d ridden since arriving in Dallas. “I just need to make a call, then I’ll meet you at the house.”
They stood, and Uncle Tom swept her up in an Old Spice-scented embrace. “Don’t dally. You know how your aunt likes her food eaten hot.”
“Tom,” protested Aunt Marisol, kissing Reese on the cheek. “Oh, and invite your new friend. Blade, was it?”
Reese nodded. “I will. Bye, now.”
Uncle Tom stopped beside her father’s bed for a moment, patted his younger brother’s hand, then disappeared out the door with his wife.
Alone again, Reese pulled out her personal cell, scrolled through her contacts for Blake’s number and came up empty. Shoot. She’d never entered his information on this phone, and didn’t have the one he’d given her. He’d worry if he didn’t hear from her.
She began to dial the Dallas Police Headquarters, then stopped. The memory of Officer Bates’s voice crawled inside her ear, ordering her to stop moving or he’d kill her. Her nerveless fingers dropped the phone back in her bag. She’d leave right after grabbing a quick bite with her family to beat Blake home.
She hurried out to her Jeep beneath a cloudless sky. Despite the bright light, her eyes swept in all directions, her shoulders hunched, her fingers sunk in her purse and curled around her Glock.
She might be a target, but she was no victim…with or without protection.
Blake.
Should she tell him about her father’s debt to Aces Up? This could be a break in his case, but it might also directly tie her father to the drug group. And what about the promise she’d made him to stay in touch? How to explain the real reason behind her police phobia and why she couldn’t call the station directly, imagining—crazy as it sounded—Officer Bates answering the line?
She started up her Jeep, locked the doors, and dropped her head to the sun-warmed steering wheel. She wished Blake was with her. These past couple weeks, he’d been her rock, her protector, the person she’d turned to for comfort and answers.
But how could she open u
p to Blake when she needed to protect her family from him?
* * * *
“Hey, Hot Cop.”
At Cherie’s purr, Blake squatted, set down the barbell he’d deadlifted, and straightened. “Hey, yourself,” he replied, eyes automatically scanning Bulk Gym for cops who might have entered through a back entrance. Despite the prime-time early evening hour, it was mostly deserted save for Dixon, who raced on a treadmill, his sneakers thundering on the swishing conveyor belt.
Blake had been working hard all week to earn Dixon’s trust. Despite a long day spent coordinating with the DEA and Oklahoma law enforcement about Aces Up, and chasing down leads, he’d agreed to meet Dixon at the gym. The physical exertion was a welcome escape from hours of weeding through the case’s facts.
“Where’ve you been hiding yourself? You disappeared at the party, and I haven’t seen you on stage lately.”
He tried not to flinch as Cherie toweled off his steaming chest. She was central to his plan to identify the ring’s leaders. Background checks revealed Coach Lewis left his previous position just before his former college investigated reports he’d supplied his players with steroids.
As for Reese’s uncle, city councilman Tom Landon, he wasn’t much of a suspect, but Blake still thought him worth checking out. The guy turned out to be a freaking unicorn. A politician without a skeleton in his closet. Which brought Blake squarely back to Pete Landon as one of the drug ring’s leaders, right alongside Cherie and Coach Lewis. He glanced down at the redhead. “I’ve been busy. Did Dixon mention my proposal?”
Cherie dragged the scrap of terry cloth over his hip ridges. “I can think of a better proposition….”
“Better than me expanding your sales base into Houston?” He cocked an eyebrow and turned the temperature of his gaze up to “smolder,” playing his boy-toy grifter role to the hilt. Cherie swayed on her heels, devastated as expected.
Par for the course.
Undercover work came easily to Blake. Every detective had his bag of tricks. His was becoming a chameleon, blending with his environment, a skill he’d learned from a childhood spent pretending to fit in and transforming into the person his father expected. Yet with Reese, for the first time, he felt real. Authentic. Himself—whoever the hell that was.