Dangerous Moves

by Karen Rock

  She’d never let him go again.

  “Reese.” His voice emerged, reedy and thin.

  She bent closer to hear it. He smelled faintly of anesthetic. “I’m here.”

  He twitched his head back and forth. “No. Not here.”

  “I’ve been gone a long time, but I’m really here. You’re not dreaming.”

  “No.” Her father’s voice gained a bit of strength. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Her head drooped. He didn’t want her. A band of hurt tightened across her chest, constricting her breath. “I want to be with you, to tell you that—” The words stalled in her throat. “To tell you that I’m not mad anymore about what happened. That I forgive you. Love you.”

  Please, love me too.

  “You’re in danger.” His nostrils flared, and the pressure on her hand increased. A single tear slid down his cheek. “Leave.”

  The electronic beeps recording his heart sped and grew louder. “Dad. Calm down. I’m fine,” she insisted, alarmed. With most of the steroids ring now behind bars, the rest, according to Blake, going underground, traveling on her own seemed fairly safe. Besides, her dad needed her.

  And she’d never forsake him again, especially with their long-awaited reconciliation here at last. Was he worried the same person who’d shot him might do the same to her? Why? What was the connection? Blake said his laptop and phone contained no links to the steroids ring.

  “The key,” he rasped.

  Her pulse leapt. “The one under your desk?”

  He nodded. “Open the box.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Grand National Bank,” he gasped, his eyelids fluttering, another machine now buzzing. “You need to know. It’s not what you think…”

  A nurse barged in the room and Reese stumbled out of the way. “Mr. Landon? Pete?” the professional asked loudly, assessing his condition. She whisked a capped needle from her pocket, pulled off its covering and inserted it into his IV lock. “Sir, can you hear me?”

  Reese peeked over the nurse’s shoulder at her father’s closed eyes and slack mouth.

  No!

  “Is he okay?” Reese’s teeth chattered. She couldn’t lose him now, not when they finally had this chance.

  A woman wearing a white coat over a gray dress ducked inside. She peered at the monitor, clicked on a penlight and lifted each of her father’s lids to shine it in his eyes. “How long was Mr. Landon awake?”

  “Less than a minute this morning, Doctor Bolton, and then again when his daughter arrived for…” the nurse glanced at Reese, silently asking her how long her father had been conscious.

  “A few minutes,” she supplied, pacing to the other side of her father’s bed. She reached over the railing and slid her hand in his. “Did he slip back into his coma?”

  Dr. Bolton, a trim, middle-aged woman with spiky white hair, eyed her over red, square-framed glasses. “No. Just sleeping, it seems. We’ve been monitoring him the last couple of days for arrhythmia, however. Our monitor detected an irregular heart rhythm. It could be related to coming out of his coma, or an underlying condition we’ll need to treat down the line. The important thing is keeping him calm.”

  Reese nodded and released a shaky breath. “Should I wait outside?”

  Dr. Bolton studied the quieting monitor. “No. He seems to be stabilizing. But if you have errands to run, this might be a good time to do them, then you can check back on him later this afternoon.”

  Reese fiddled with her locket, thinking of the now-identified bank deposit box. What did it contain and why was it urgent? He’d told her to hurry. The faster she brought its contents back to her father to explain, the better. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Reese kissed her father’s cheek, then eased into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind her, and she turned to see a tall, dark-suited man striding down the hall. Her heart leapt.

  “Blake! I was going to call as soon as I—”

  He interrupted her with a brief, tender kiss. “How is he?”

  She tipped back her head and inhaled his clean, soapy scent and the subtle spice of his cologne. Her muscles unclenched for the first time since the hospital’s call. “He woke for a few minutes, but then he went back to sleep.”

  “He’s out of the coma?”

  “The doctor says so.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He took her hand and led her to one of the molded plastic chairs lining the tiled corridor. A PA system announced a code that sent a security guard scrambling down a stairwell. The aroma of beef broth and oatmeal, a strange combination for breakfast, drifted from a food cart wheeled by a shuffling worker.

  “He might have an irregular heartbeat. The doctor says they need more time to see if it’s related to the coma or an underlying condition.”

  “My father had a pacemaker put in for that.”

  She frowned, recalling Blake’s father had died of a heart attack.

  “Hey,” Blake laced his fingers in hers, as sensitive to her moods and thoughts as ever. “He’ll be okay. He’s in good hands here.”

  She returned his smile and sent a silent prayer of thanks to whoever’d sent her this gorgeous tower of solid support. She loved Blake with all her heart and couldn’t wait to tell him so. “How did you know to come here?”

  “The hospital has instructions to call me when your dad wakes.”

  Her smile fell. “You’re here to question him?”

  Wheels squeaked as an orderly pushed a sleeping child in a wheelchair toward the elevator, temporarily bringing their conversation to a halt.

  After a moment, Blake nodded, the corners of his mouth turned down. “If he IDs his shooter, it might lead me to the ring’s mastermind. We still haven’t gotten anyone to cooperate. Whoever it is must be powerful—someone they fear more than us.”

  Fear more than the police? Goose bumps rose on her skin. “Dad’s too fragile right now. Come back with me later this afternoon, we can ask him then.”

  Blake shook his head. “The news about the club shooting hit the morning news. We sent a team out to bring in Coach Lewis, but he’s already skipped town. I’m betting the rest of the ring is about to do the same, and I need to act fast. Your father couldn’t have woken at a better time.”

  “No. You can’t push him.”

  In the distance, laughter erupted from the nurses’ station. Reese’s eyes flashed to the spirited group. What could be so amusing in the ICU unit when her own world splintered beneath her feet?

  Blake’s brows met over his nose. “I’m just going to ask him a few questions. No pushing. Trust me.”

  She did…but there were limits. Besides, weren’t they supposed to be a team on this case? “The doctor said he needs to stay calm. Blake, please. I’m asking you. For my sake.”

  If you cared about me…

  “This is my job. I have no choice.”

  “Yes, you do, and it’s not just a job. It’s also about people—or do you still just care about your promotion?” she demanded, stung.

  When Blake reached to touch her face, she bolted from her seat. “You know the answer to that,” he said, his expression grave.

  “Do I?” She gulped down a breath of the hospital’s stale, antiseptic air. “If you cared about me, you wouldn’t push this.”

  No man will ever put you first.

  “I do care about you. I-I—” he broke off and scrubbed a hand over his face, rising to his feet. “That’s a conversation for another time. Not here. One I very much intend to have with you, but right now, I need answers to nab those lowlifes before I lose the chance.”

  “And gaining those extra minutes matters more than me?” She pressed her lips together, determined not to appear hurt that, once again, a man she loved put his work above her. But what had she expected, really? Her father, the one person in the entire world who w
as supposed to love her unconditionally, had done the same.

  And if her own father didn’t think she was worth it, she thought, her old insecurities rising, then what chance did she have of finding someone who did?

  But she didn’t want any old “someone;” she wanted Blake.

  “It’s about what’s right and wrong.” Blake cupped her elbow.

  Reese stopped pacing and whirled, leveling her eyes on him. “Things aren’t always so cut-and-dried.”

  That black-and-white perspective of his… Hadn’t it smudged after he’d hauled in the rogue cops? Yet Blake clung to his rigid beliefs despite everything they’d shared. Her sinking sense of disappointment felt like a backward free-fall into a bottomless abyss.

  “You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “I’m thinking very clearly.” She was practically breathing fire. If he said she was acting hysterical next, then she’d really wig out.

  And prove him right…. Was that another thing men taught each other to do? Part of the bro-code? If you really want to make a woman lose her shit, tell her she’s acting like she’s losing her shit. Works every damn time.

  A passing woman clutching a stuffed bear gaped at them and scuttled by.

  Reese counted backward from ten, then said, quieter this time, “You’re the one who’s not seeing the big picture. Please,” she entreated. “Don’t do this right now.”

  Blake shook his head slowly, his expression full of sorrow. “It’s my job,” he said heavily, the familiar words, excuses from her childhood, knocking the air out of her. Her father had said them to rationalize his absences at her dance recitals, school events…her life. How had she let herself fall for a career-driven man like Blake, a man who’d always put her last on his list, like her father?

  “Where are you going?” he called as she fled down the hall.

  “Come along if you want to know,” she challenged, hoping, praying, he’d take the bait. Instead, only her footsteps echoed in her ear, along with her thudding heart. Her legs trembled but held. She resisted the urge to turn and see if he was watching her walk away.

  A dead, empty space opened inside her. She should never have fooled herself into thinking Blake would put her ahead of his career when his entire identity, his need to prove himself, was wrapped up in it.

  It was more powerful than her love. Although technically—luckily—he’d been sleeping when she confessed those feelings last night.

  She collapsed behind her Jeep’s steering wheel and stared at it, waiting to leave until she was sure she could breathe normally and think straight. A low buzzing started up in the back of her head. Blake had said he’d be careful when questioning her father, but anything could set off his heart.

  She started the engine, backed out of the spot and headed to Grand National Bank, hurrying like her father asked. The sooner she retrieved the box’s contents, the quicker she’d return to support him during Blake’s interrogation.

  Thirty minutes later, she stood inside a sealed, noiseless, airless room, staring at an external hard drive and elastic-tied electronic cords. What on earth? She’d expected stacks of cash—the mysterious withdrawals from her father’s bank—spirited away in here to avoid taxes, not this. She needed to plug it into a computer, fast, and uncover the reason for her father’s urgency.

  Once a bank employee slid the box back and locked it with her, she dropped the drive into her bag and popped her key inside her locket. She strode outside, stopped on the busy sidewalk and blinked in the sweltering midday sun. Where to go that’d be quick?

  Her eyes landed on the public library across the street.

  Perfect.

  Dodging traffic, she raced across the main thoroughfare, up the tower of white stone steps and into an air-conditioned building cold enough to raise goose bumps on her bare arms.

  “Computers?” she asked a smiling librarian wrapped in a sweater over a turtleneck.

  Following the woman’s pointing finger, she located a mostly deserted row of old-school computers and seated herself a safe three seats away from a lone man pounding on a jumping keyboard.

  She inserted the cables, logged into the library’s system, then scanned the hard drive. One document was a business agreement between her father and uncle dated three years ago named Briarton LLC. The company listed itself as a real estate developer.

  Briarton…the company Blake suspected financed Cherie. Reese’s heart raced, rapid-fire, as she scanned through the document. Her uncle said he and her father hadn’t done business together in a long time…

  Another document confirmed the LLC rented a property to Cherie Drew. Reese studied the address.

  Bulk Gym. The main artery supplying most of the steroids ring’s dealers.

  A coincidence?

  Blake said he didn’t believe in coincidences, but was there a chance Briarton LLC was legit? That Cherie, Coach Lewis and Bill Wilson ran the steroids ring and leaned on her dad to launder money for them, front a business, when he fell into a debt he couldn’t repay?

  Or was she simply justifying his actions, making excuses again for a father she was too stubborn to let go of? With her mother in a grave, her father behind bars, she’d have no one. She’d truly be alone.

  Reese clicked through several more files, then stopped on login information, including a password, for an offshore account linked to Briarton LLC. After entering the password, she skimmed through the spreadsheet, her eyes taking in the deposits, large sums of money matching the amounts vanishing from Dallas Heat’s rolls. The seven-figure bank total reflected this activity had been going on for a long time.

  Despite Blake’s assurances yesterday, was her father involved in the ring after all?

  It seemed undeniable, and the thought clobbered her hard enough to make her ears ring.

  She pictured Blake, waiting to ask her father to ID his shooter. If she shared this damning information without first running it by her uncle for a reasonable explanation, Blake would hit her dad with an even more intense line of questioning. One his erratic heart might be unable to handle.

  Her father had said, “It’s not what you think,” so what was “it”? She needed answers, fast. She owed that to her dad, and herself.

  Innocent until proven guilty.

  After unplugging the drive, she headed back to her Jeep and dialed her uncle’s home number.

  “I’m glad you caught me,” Aunt Marisol said, after picking up on the third ring. She sounded slightly out of breath. “Your uncle just surprised me with a trip. We’re leaving in a couple of hours if I can locate our passports. Can you believe it?”

  “Yes,” Reese replied. Her uncle loved surprises. “Where are you going?”

  “Oh—ah—I’m not sure, exactly. You know how your uncle likes to keep people guessing.” A scraping sound came through the phone followed by Aunt Marisol exclaiming, “Get out from under there, you bugger!”

  “Aunt Marisol?”

  “Oh, sorry, honey,” she said, her voice clearer now. “Suitcase was stuck. Were you calling for a specific reason or just a chat? I can always put you on speaker while I toss in bathing suits. Or ski suits. Oh, drat that man for not telling me anything. I’ll pack three times what I need, and then he’ll complain about the extra-luggage charge.”

  “Actually, I was hoping to talk to Uncle Tom. Is he around?”

  “He’s at the ranchette working with cattle, or some such. Probably giving instructions to those kids who’ll be watching the place while we’re away. You won’t be able to get him on the landline, and the signal’s iffy out there, but I can have him call you when he returns. Even if it’s from the airport.”

  Reese swallowed her groan. She needed to hurry back and oversee Blake’s interrogation. He might push her father too hard, or her dad might say something incriminating. But she also needed answers. “Maybe I’ll head over there.”<
br />
  “Such a long drive on a hot day,” Aunt Marisol tutted. “Why don’t you come over and wait here instead? You can keep me sane while I try matching Tom’s socks. I swear that man must eat them.”

  Despite everything, Reese smiled. “Another time. Have fun on your trip.”

  “We will. You take care, now.”

  “I will. Bye.” Reese started up her Jeep, dialed her uncle, then ground her teeth when a robotic voice announced her call did not go through. Her reddened eyes stared back at her from the rearview mirror.

  “It’s not what you think,” she heard her father say again.

  She couldn’t return to the hospital with this evidence until she had more information. Yet she didn’t feel right about keeping it from Blake, either. They were a team, regardless of Blake’s actions today. She’d given her word when they made their pact and intended on keeping it.

  As a compromise, she’d drop off the hard drive at Blake’s precinct then head out to the ranchette. That way she’d do the right thing, and buy her father time before he had to respond to even more pointed questions that might tax his heart.

  If he was guilty, she’d accept the consequences. Better to have a father in jail than another parent in the grave.

  “Daddy, hold on,” she muttered, once she dropped off the hard drive with a frazzled-looking receptionist and hit the open road for the ranchette.

  What answers awaited her there?

  * * * *

  Blake stretched his stiff back and stood when a nurse bustled from Pete Landon’s room. “Any change?”

  She shook her head. “Still sleeping. If you don’t want to wait, we can call you when he wakes again.”

  His eyes slid to his watch. Ten a.m. He’d been here for over an hour, miserably going over his conversation with Reese and getting nowhere on the case. Time for some gumshoe detective work to drum up leads elsewhere.

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate it,” he told the nurse. He’d delay the questioning and return later with Reese as she’d asked.

  Lost in thought, he strode down the hall.

  Reese.

  He’d hurt her, and he couldn’t bear that. Why couldn’t she see he could both love her and care about his job?