How to score, p.13
How to Score, page 13
Some things never changed. Sammi laughed and opened the car door. “As if I could stop you.”
Paul’s eyes rounded with incredulity as he sat beside Chase on the bench at the back of the indoor firing range two days later. “This babe was in your bed all night, and nothing happened?”
“That’s right.” Chase pulled his eye shield, ear protection, and handgun out of his equipment bag and eyed the torso target at the end of the range.
Paul shook his graying head. “You’re losing your touch, man. How am I supposed to live vicariously through you if you’re not even gonna try?”
Chase rolled his eyes. Paul was forty-two, married to a terrific woman, and the father of a little boy he adored. There was no way he envied Chase’s single lifestyle, but it was a running shtick between them. Chase started to put the sunglasses-style eye-gear on top of his head, then winced at he hit his bandaged wound. “We both had head injuries.”
“Man, you must have been practically unconscious.”
He wished to hell he had been. Then he never would have kissed her—or had she kissed him? He wasn’t entirely clear how it had happened—and he wouldn’t be obsessing about it now. Not that he was going to share that with Paul. “It wouldn’t have been right.”
“Because she’s too much of a flake?”
“She’s not really all that flaky.” Even to his own ears, he sounded strangely defensive. He put the headphones around his neck and pulled out his Glock 22. “She made sure her sister inventoried everything in your booth against my list and brought by the money. She even called Bubba and made arrangements for you to pick up your dad’s stuff later this week. And she drove a hard bargain negotiating for her sister’s hubcaps.” Although Paul would never know how hard a bargain, since Chase had put the difference in the lockbox before he’d handed it off to Paul earlier in the day.
Paul shoved his eye shield on his nose and glanced at Chase curiously. “So what’s this girl like when she’s not beating you up?”
“Smart. Funny. Passionate about all things art deco.” He turned his handgun, checking to make sure the safety was on, then pulled out the extended magazine. “Beautiful. Energetic. And kindhearted.” He thought about the way she’d empathized with her boss and landlord. “Too kindhearted, actually. She needs to stop letting people take advantage of her.”
Paul shook his burly head. “She lets people take advantage of her, and you let her lie in your bed untouched? Man, you’re losing your mojo.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “I can’t get involved with her while I’m coaching her.”
“So resign and date her.”
Chase shook his head. “I think I’m really helping her.”
“Well, then, coach her and forget about dating her.”
“That’s complicated, too.” Never mind that the complication was of his own making, since he’d given her the assignment of going out with him. What the hell had he been thinking? “I don’t want her to think she’s run me off by hurting me.”
Paul pulled his gun out of his equipment bag. “So what are you going to do?”
“Date her therapeutically.”
Paul roared.
“I’m serious. I’m going to prove to her that she can go out with a guy and not hurt him.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“I’ll take her out three times, and when nothing happens, she’ll realize it’s all in her head.”
“What if something happens?”
“It won’t. I’ll control the situation.”
Paul blew out a snort. “You have a lot to learn about women if you really think you have any control where they’re concerned.”
“Hey, it’s just three dates. I can handle it. I’ll have her straightened out before my brother gets back.”
“Any word on how he’s doing?”
Chase dropped a forty-five into his magazine. “I talked to the regional commander Friday, and he says Luke’s fine. Anxious to come home.” And no doubt worried about whether or not Chase was taking good care of his clients.
“Any new developments on the Lambino trial while I was out with Dad?”
“Yeah.” Chase loaded another bullet into the magazine chamber. “Forensics matched a rubber burn at the crime scene with the tires on Gianno Lambino’s car, so with Luke’s testimony, it should be a cut-and-dried case.”
“They still think the only shooter out there is the dimwit nephew?”
Chase nodded. “And the DA’s certain one or both of his uncles will implicate him in exchange for a lighter sentence.”
“That’s good news for Luke.” Paul wiped the barrel of his gun with a chamois cloth. “So after the trial, your brother will be a free man, ready to get back to coaching loonies.”
“I’ll be glad to turn them over to him, that’s for sure.”
“Except for Calamity Jane. Because you’re going to have her cured by then.” The sardonic note in Paul’s voice wasn’t lost on Chase. “So where’re you taking her for these three dates?”
Chase loaded another bullet. “I figured I’d start with lunch. That ought to be a nice, safe activity.”
“Maybe you should rethink that.” Paul’s mouth pulled in a dry smile. “Steaming trays of food, chairs that can topple, sharp knives—it doesn’t sound too safe to me.”
“I meant from a not-getting-too-involved standpoint.”
Chase kept his eye on his gun, but he could feel Paul’s gaze. “So that’s an issue, is it?”
“Hey, I just want to keep things platonic,” Chase said, feeling inexplicably defensive. “I don’t want to lead her on or anything.”
“Because there’s some serious sizzle between you two.” Paul’s eyes held an irritatingly amused glint.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“I just want to keep things light.” Chase clicked another bullet into the magazine. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“From what I’m hearing, you’re the one who’d better watch out. You’ve gotten more injuries from this gal in a week than you’ve gotten from ten years on the job.”
Chase pulled on his ear protectors, mercifully ending the conversation. “Just shut up and shoot, why don’t you?”
He hated to admit it, but Paul was right.
Streaks of pink and orange colored the sunset sky as Walter Landry rang the doorbell of his rental house. Through the door, he could hear that Marmaduke of a dog announcing his arrival.
A light clicked on in the living room, then Sammi’s face appeared at the side window. Her brow furrowed when she saw him. Walter’s fingers tightened on the legal papers in his hand. It had been a long while since anyone’s face had lit up when he’d darkened their door, but Sammi looked like the grim reaper had come to call.
Hell, he shouldn’t be surprised; she was overly attached to the house, and she knew he never came around with good news. Still, she was an awfully sweet girl—she’d even brought him soup a few months back when he’d had the flu—and it bothered him that her immediate response to him was dismay.
The locks clicked and clattered, then the door squeaked open. The dog’s muzzle nudged out the door. Sammi grabbed his thick red collar. “Hello, Mr. Landry.” She sounded cordial enough, but her eyes looked wary.
“Evenin’, Sammi. Evenin’, pup.”
Walter started to pet the dog, but the moment he reached out his hand, the beast growled. The dog probably sensed that Sammi wasn’t happy to see him. “Can I come in a moment?”
“Sure.” She stepped to the other side of the dog, allowing him in. Her gaze locked on the papers in his hand. She bit her bottom lip. “Do you want to sit down?”
“No, this will just take a moment.” He stood there awkwardly, trying to figure out a way to break the news to her.
Sammi spared him the effort. “You sold it, didn’t you?”
His late wife, Helen, had always said he had a terrible poker face. Not that she really would have known, since he’d never played poker. Truth was, he never played much of anything. He’d always been too busy working.
Walter grimly nodded.
Sammi’s eyes welled. “No one came by and asked to see inside.”
Walter fastened his gaze on his old brown Bass Weejuns.
“Which means the buyer’s going to tear it down.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Now, Sammi… ”
A tear streaked down her cheek. “I’m right, aren’t I? You’ve sold it to someone who’s going to tear it down.” Her voice choked on the last word.
Oh, hell—he hated that he’d made her cry. Walter shifted the papers to his other hand. “It’s the way of the world, Sammi. You can’t stop progress.”
“It’s not progress to destroy a treasure.” The dog beside her growled. Still holding his collar with one hand, she wiped her cheek with the other. “Can’t you wait just a few more months?” Her hazel eyes made a heart-wrenching plea.
He shook his head. “The paperwork’s already signed. The sale’s going to close in six weeks. I’m afraid you’ll have to be out by then.” He handed her the papers.
She glanced down at them, then looked at him as if he’d handed her a dead kitten. “Is this an eviction notice?”
“Well, it’s a written notice to vacate the premises in five weeks.”
Another tear snaked down her face. With one hand on the dog’s collar and the other clutching the papers, she couldn’t even wipe it away. Walter felt a ridiculous urge to do it for her, the way he used to wipe his daughter’s tears when she skinned her knee.
Damn it, it was business. Why did she have to make him feel like an ogre? “It more than meets the terms of a month-to-month lease, Sammi.” He moved toward the door and opened it.
She followed him onto the porch, her hand still on the dog’s collar. “Who’s the buyer?”
If he told her, she’d just go pester him. He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that.”
Her mouth tightened. “Can’t, or won’t?”
“Guess it’s kind of the same thing.” He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug, gave her an apologetic smile, and walked outside.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this!” Sammi called as he walked down the sidewalk. The dog barked loudly.
He felt like a heel, but what was he supposed to do? The property was a liability, and he needed to get rid of it. He paused under the whispering leaves of the sweetgum and turned around. “I’ll tell you what, Sammi. You’ve been a really good tenant, so I’ll waive your last month’s rent, and I’ll give you back your deposit.”
“Money can’t fix this!”
It couldn’t fix most things, he thought sadly—leastwise, not the things that really mattered. Why hadn’t he known that earlier? Why was he figuring it out only now, when it was too late to do anything about it?
It turned out that life was a series of choices, and he’d made a lot of bad ones. I’ll just work half an hour more; Anne won’t care if I miss her band concert; Helen will understand if I don’t go to the church potluck. Funny how at the time he hadn’t seen how important all those little choices were. Taken together, they’d added up to a life.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Helen as the star-shaped leaves of her sweetgum waved overhead.
He turned to apologize to Sammi again, but when he looked at the house, she’d already closed the door.
Chapter Ten
Mother went through everything in my room while I was at work today,” Horace moaned. “I know, because I placed a hair on a drawer so I could tell if it had been opened, and it was gone.”
“How did that make you feel?” After three weeks, Chase had learned that the odious phrase covered just about anything any of his clients said. He stood up and paced his living room, leaving Horace’s folder on the kitchen counter.
“Violated.”
“Did you talk to her about it?”
“Oh, no! She’d want to know how I knew, and then she’d trick me into telling her, and then she’d be furious that I’d set her up.”
Chase drew in a deep breath as he circled his sofa. The glacial pace of his brother’s methods was growing more and more irritating. His other clients were progressing just as slowly, and Chase was losing patience. “Horace, does this situation make you happy?”
“Of course not!”
“Well, then, why don’t you change it?”
“I-I am,” Horace sputtered. “I mean, I’m trying, Coach. But Mother has done so much for me. I-I can’t just walk out and abandon her. She needs me.”
“Does she?” he pressed. “Or does she just want to control you?”
“She-she says it would kill her if I left.”
Chase blew out a sigh. Regardless of his personal feelings on the matter, he’d promised Luke he’d follow his instructions. Chase strode back to the kitchen and flipped open the file. Don’t pressure him into doing anything he’s not ready to do, Chase read for the millionth time. Horace was obviously not ready to move out of his mother’s house.
Chase closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Let’s talk about your assignment. Did you call about an apartment?”
“Yes.” Horace spent the next five minutes explaining in excruciating detail how terrifying the experience was. “But the fourth place I called, I only hung up four times before I worked up the nerve to talk.”
“That’s great, Horace. What did you say?”
“I said, ‘You have an apartment for rent?’ and he said, ‘Yes.’ And I said, ‘Great.’ And I hung up.”
Oh, brother. Celebrate small steps of progress, Luke had instructed. “That’s good, Horace. That’s a move in the right direction.”
“The next call, I only hung up three times. And by the last one, I spoke the second time I dialed.”
Man, this was pathetic. Beyond pathetic. “Good going. You’re making real headway. Now, the next time you call about a place, I want you to ask some more questions.”
“I have to call again?” Anxiety shot his voice into the soprano range.
“Yes, you do. And I want you to drive by and look at some complexes.”
“Drive by?” Panic tinged his voice.
“Yes.”
“I-I don’t have to get out of the car and go in, do I?”
“Not if you don’t think you can.”
“But—but… ” He sputtered in alarm. “When would I find time to do that?”
“I’m sure you can figure it out. On your lunch hour, or after work… ”
“That would make me late getting home, and Mother wouldn’t like that.”
Of course she wouldn’t. “You’ll manage, Horace. I have confidence in you. And this time next week, you can tell me all about it.”
“I-I’ll try.”
“Atta boy. Now—do you have a new rap for me?”
“Yeah, I do.” Horace’s voice cheered up. “It’s a fantasy rap.” He cleared his throat, made a few beat-box mouth noises, then lowered his voice to a hip-hop jive:
I was in the elevator at the end of the day
When the babe from Escrow looked my way.
I said, ‘Hey, honey, want to boogie on down?
There’s a hot dance club on the other side of town.’
More beat-box noises emanated through the phone, and then Horace continued.
She said, ‘Why wait? I’m feelin’ pretty loose—
Why don’t we get down and do the wild watoose?’
She reached out and punched the elevator button,
Then got all over me like mint jelly on mutton.
More beat-box noises ensued.
Uh-huh, mint jelly, uh-huh, on your belly.
Uh-huh, I’ll lick it off, then uh-huh, we’ll boff.
Chase’s stomach hurt from laughing. “Wow,” he said when he could catch his breath. “Horace, that was amazing.”
“You liked it?” he asked eagerly.
“I loved it. You’re awesome, dude.”
Chase hung up and shook his head. Horace became an entirely different person when he rapped. If he would channel that passion and energy into standing up to his mother, he’d be living the life of his dreams in no time.
Same with Sammi. Once she let a man see the passion and energy hiding behind her insecurity, she’d be in a hot-and-heavy, altar-bound relationship before she knew it.
The thought made Chase’s stomach tighten with something that felt disturbingly like jealousy. He tried to reason away the emotion as he headed for the kitchen. She was a coaching client, not a potential girlfriend, for Pete’s sake. Besides, he didn’t want to get involved with a havoc-wreaking nut job.
Although she wasn’t nearly as nutty as he’d first thought. He absently opened the fridge and pulled out a Coke. In fact, compared to her sister, she actually seemed almost sane. But then, she was a far cry from SCABHOG material.
Or was she?
Popping the top, he strode to the terrace window and thoughtfully gazed out at the city lights. She was smart—no doubt about that. And she was extremely capable, judging from the way she’d steamrolled him into going to the hospital and following doctor’s orders. She was active—he’d met her while jogging, after all. And she was definitely beautiful; when he looked at her, he didn’t just feel sparks—he felt a whole power plant download.
From the way she’d renovated the house, she was indisputably hardworking. And from the sounds of all the projects she was managing at work, she had to be organized and goal-oriented.
But she was still a walking disaster. A smart, capable, active, beautiful, hardworking, organized, goal-oriented disaster, but a disaster nonetheless. She wasn’t logical. She wasn’t rational. She followed her heart instead of her head and expected things to just magically work out. He needed a woman who was calm, orderly, predictable, and reasonable, and Sammi was a wrecking ball.
So why couldn’t he get her out of his head?
The phone rang. Once again, there was that weird electric zap of anticipation at just the thought of talking to her. Scowling at himself, he crossed the room and answered it.
“I’m losing my mind,” Sammi said promptly.
“Over what?”
