Triple Threat Page 10

  * * *

  Christian had been on the road for five straight days. Today’s practice would be light, and there was a home game tomorrow before having Saturday off and getting back on the road. The NBA schedule was the most grueling of all sports, and coming off an injury made it feel that much worse. The average person looked at the money they made without taking into account the toll that playing a sport professionally took on every aspect of a player’s life. Or that the average career span for a basketball player was less than five years. Was he complaining? No. Would he do everything he’d done to get here all over again? Absolutely. But there was a price to getting rich this way. Right now, his body was paying it.

  He pulled his pricey sports car in front of a brick building that stretched the length of a block in Port Washington, New York, where the Navigators practiced and where several lived. Boutiques and other customer-oriented businesses occupied the lower levels of the two-story building. The top floor was a series of offices, which was where Christian headed, his long legs allowing him to easily take the stairs two at a time. He entered the last door on the right, facing the hall, bypassed an empty receptionist desk, and entered the office behind it. Pete sat in one of two chairs, gave Christian a somber nod as he walked in.

  “Hey, fellas.” Christian returned the nod and stretched his hand toward the man sitting behind the desk. “Hello, Nick.”

  “Christian. Ready for the game on Saturday night?”

  Nick Bianchi, a private investigator, was a nice-looking man in a street-tough kind of way with a compact frame and intense black eyes. Christian knew that he and Pete had been friends for years.

  “Getting ready.” He looked at his watch. “Practice is in an hour. Pete says you have news?”

  “I do. From one of my guys with connections in Queens. He knows a lot of people. All levels. Gets a lot of intel from there, and it’s credible.”

  “And he got news on Danny, why he was shot?”

  Nick steepled his fingers as he leveled his eyes on Christian. “Drug deal gone wrong. Danny wasn’t the target. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “That’s not what I heard. Someone I know who’s probably closer to those streets and the drug game than your man’s man said it was an attempted execution. Was sure of it.”

  “He was shot in the back of the head. An easy assumption to make.”

  “Not just that. Danny had kicked the drugs and was out of the game.”

  “He was gunned down on the street, Christian,” Pete said. “In that area, the wrong guy gets shot every other day of the week.”

  “My guy’s info seemed fairly solid,” Nick said. “I believe him.”

  “I want to. Either way, getting shot is a bad situation, but drugs were involved, then at least we’d know why. Were you able to track him down?”

  “Not yet. The guy has relatives all over the country. He could be just about anywhere, and if he’s laying low it’ll take that much longer to find him.”

  “Keep looking.”

  “Why?” Pete asked.

  “Just want to talk to him, see for myself that he’s all right.”

  Christian stood, reached over to Nick for a handshake as he stood. “Thanks, man. We can always depend on you to find out the truth.”

  “We sure can.” Pete stood up, too. He placed a hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “Which is why there is someone else I had him check out.”

  “Who, DeVaughn?”

  Christian never understood Pete’s discomfort and dislike of a best friend he’d known since middle school. He’d never tried to figure it out, either, mainly because the feelings were mutual. DeVaughn felt that Pete used the organization to gain a high profile and impress the ladies. For the most part, they each stayed out of the other’s way.

  He chuckled and strolled toward the door. “I know you’ve never liked him. But I don’t think trying to pin Danny’s murder attempt on him is going to stick.”

  “Not thinking about him, but there’s an idea.” If Pete was joking, his face didn’t show it. “No, it’s Knight.”

  Christian had reached for the knob but turned around at Pete’s answer. “The reporter? Why?”

  “Because I believe there’s something up in why she switched from investigating murders to investigating you. I don’t buy her interest in the foundation or the kids for a second. Not with her background. And Nick agrees.”

  “So you’ve already checked her out?”

  “Just a simple background check so far,” Nick replied.

  “Seriously, Pete?”

  “Why not? Just about everything to know about you is at the fingertips of anyone with the internet. It’s only fair that we know as much about her.”

  “So you’ve conducted background checks on every reporter who’s ever interviewed me?”

  “Haven’t had to. Those other reporters were known sportscasters. They covered sports, not murder investigations. Something about her I don’t like, that I don’t trust.”

  “Whatever, man. Do whatever you feel you have to do. I’m going to take my own advice and head to the gym.”

  It was just after seven when Christian headed home. Two and a half hours of practice, another one watching film, and two spent in therapy had his body feeling better and his mind ready for Saturday’s game. He tapped his Bluetooth icon, glanced at missed calls, and dialed the first one back.

  “Hey, Emma.”

  “Hello, Christian.”

  “I missed your call?”

  “Yes.”

  “Everything all right?”

  “Fine. We met today on the expansion you wanted to do in both the math/science and media labs. A detailed report is being worked up to send over next week.”

  “What about the musical instruments?”

  “I have a friend who graduated from Juilliard who’s agreed to be a consultant. He’s requires a fee, but nothing crazy.”

  “A Julliard graduate’s knowledge is well worth the price. Go ahead and schedule that for sure.” Thinking of his earlier conversation with Pete, he changed directions. “How’d the tour go with Mallory?”

  “You didn’t read her column?”

  “No, haven’t had time.”

  “You should. It’s excellent. She’s a very skilled writer. As for the tour, it went very well. She met some of the kids and wrote their stories in a way that elevated it beyond the ‘hood makes good’ narrative often touted in papers. She highlighted their strengths and achievements while painting a backdrop with their background that made the things they’d accomplished an even greater feat. I’ll send you the link.”

  “Cool.”

  They talked a bit more, until Christian’s personal assistant, Andy, interrupted the call. He returned a couple more calls after that, including one to his mother confirming a luncheon date for them next week to make up for not seeing her sooner. When his indicator pinged, he tapped the message icon and clicked on the newspaper article link. Emma was right. Christian immediately liked her writing style. Direct. Engaging. He was the hook, but her focus was on the center and the difference a positive, nurturing environment made in the children’s lives. The way the article was written made it seem that she genuinely cared about their future, the same as he did. It made him think about last week and feel bad for setting up an appointment and then being a no-show. Then her being afraid or either too classy to call him out on his shit. He tapped on images. There were only a few. Zoey was right. She looked different at the gala than she did in these shots, with curly hair and no makeup. One showed her in jeans with a baggy sweater covering up all that deliciousness on display the other night.

  Even as the warnings about her from Zoey and Pete sounded in his mind, Christian scrolled to her number. Zoey may have misjudged the reporter’s motives. Pete might be off the mark, too. It was time to finally return her calls and draw his own conclusion.

  16

  When Mallory saw Christian’s number pop up on her phone, she almost di
dn’t answer. The article on him had been written and published. The remainder of the series would focus on the center and the children it served.

  She was a reporter, though. She was doing an article on his foundation. And looking for evidence to open Leigh’s case, maybe even catch her killer. Christian might have that evidence, hell, may be the evidence. Dammit, she hated when reason prevailed and she couldn’t justify acting as though she were two.

  “Mallory Knight.”

  “That was a good article.”

  “Thank you.”

  A span of silence followed. Mallory began counting in her mind, and much like the child who threatens to hold their breath until they die, she was holding.

  “I apologize for not returning your earlier phone calls. I’ve been on the road.”

  Your cell phone doesn’t work in those cities? “No worries. As you know from reading the article, I was able to pull together the info I needed.”

  “You did, and very well.” He paused. Mallory waited. “When is the last time you attended one of our games?”

  “I haven’t.”

  A longer pause. “Never?”

  Mallory chuckled. “Nothing personal. I’m not a huge sports fan.”

  “Then I’d like to invite you to our next game.”

  “Why? Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture,” she hurriedly added, realizing how her reaction may have sounded. “But it’s not necessary for the series I’m writing on you and the foundation. There’s plenty of writers reporting on your basketball. The focus of my series is on what happens off the field.”

  “Court.”

  “Right. Court.”

  Christian laughed out loud. “You really need to come to a game. At the very least you can learn the basics of the sport that funds the foundation at the heart of your series, whether you write about what you’ve learned or not.”

  Mallory couldn’t argue. He had a point. “Put that way, I guess it would be a good idea.”

  “Thursday night. In Philly. I’ll have a ticket left for you at will call.”

  “As in Pennsylvania? I’m not flying to Philadelphia for a basketball game.”

  “Don’t worry about your flight, hotel, and whatnot. I’m handling all that.”

  “What makes you think I’d drop everything to come watch you play?”

  “Because I have some information. What do you reporters call it . . . a scoop?”

  “About?”

  “Me, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “So are you coming or what?”

  Mallory was hesitant to accept his invitation. She really wanted to, and that worried her. For the first time since he’d come into her crosshairs, she understood Leigh’s attraction to him, and the fan’s adoration. His personality was magnetic and at the moment, she felt like steel.

  “This Thursday?”

  “Tomorrow. You’ll fly back on Friday. So that’s a yes, right?”

  “Sure, I’ll come see you play.”

  “My assistant will call you to schedule your flight. His name is Andy. You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you,” she answered.

  He’d already hung up. Mallory sat stunned, both at Christian’s effortless manipulation and her easy acquiescence. In hindsight, she recognized an assurance in his demeanor. An almost certainty that she’d say yes. And why not? It had probably been that way with every woman he’d ever met

  She walked over to the mantel, picked up the jigsaw puzzle piece, and contemplated how best to use this golden opportunity, possibly the one and only chance for a conversation away from cameras or other mics, or Zoey. Sending a group text to Sam and Ava, Mallory headed upstairs to her walk-in closet. What did one wear to a pro ball game? And the next day. The meeting. How should she dress then? Never much of a clotheshorse, she knew from conversations with Leigh that her appearance was important. Christian loved beautiful women, and while she’d never use that label to describe herself, she’d come as close as possible. She’d use every available weapon to disarm, charm and find out if Christian was Leigh’s secret friend.

  It seemed she’d hardly made it up the stairs before her doorbell rang. “What’d you guys do, hail a taxi?”

  “No,” Sam sweetly began as she entered, stomping snow-covered boots on the foyer’s rubber rug. “I just jumped on the back of Ava’s broom.”

  “Sam!” Mallory looked at her, then Ava.

  Ave shrugged. “She’s just mad because I called her out on her bullshit.”

  “Happily ever after isn’t bull,” Sam retorted, tapping her shoes while pulling off her coat and hanging it on a rack nearby. “Just because you’re jaded about the existence of true love doesn’t mean the rest of the world has to live with that cold, pessimistic point of view.” She turned to Mallory. “I told her that something heating up between you and Christian was not outside the realm of possibilities.”

  “On the other side of probabilities, though.” She followed her friends into the living room.

  “This is cool.”

  Mallory looked over to where Sam held the jigsaw puzzle piece. “That was in the bag of stuff that belonged to Leigh.”

  “Let me see it.” Ava ran her hands over the smooth metal. “Is it real gold?”

  Mallory shrugged. “I doubt it, but with the circles that Leigh liked to travel in, you never know.”

  Sam placed the puzzle piece back on the mantel. “Come on, guys. What are we doing? Fritz can’t handle baby duty for more than an hour.”

  “You guys are helping me dress for a game. Let’s go upstairs.” On the way, she relayed her conversation with Christian.

  “A round-trip flight. Hotel. Ticket at will call. Wow, all of that because you’re not a fan?”

  “I don’t know, Sam,” Ava said. “This trip might win her over. I may have discounted your romantic musings too quickly,”

  “Knock it off, you two. This is work. And I never mix business with pleasure.”

  Sam walked over to a pile of clothes on the bed. “This is nice.” She turned to Mallory and held up a black jumpsuit.

  “I like it but thought that it looked too plain.”

  Ava walked into Mallory’s closet. “Where are your accessories?”

  “In that jewelry box on the top shelf.”

  Ava pulled down a small, rectangular shaped box and opened it. “This is it?”

  “Afraid so.”

  Sam joined her in the closet. She saw a duffel bag on the floor, opened it, and pulled out a bright scarf. “Now we’re talking!” she exclaimed and walked out of the closet. “This is gorgeous and provides the pop of color you need. Ooh, and look at this purse! Doesn’t look like your style at all, Mal, but I love it.”

  “All of that belonged to Leigh.”

  Sam walked over to the bed and upended the bag. “Oh. My God.” She held up a pair of thigh-high boots. “You’ve got to wear these, Mal.”

  “Where, to the funeral? Because a few steps in those stilts and I’d surely break my neck.”

  “Those are funky,” Ava said, walking over to inspect the treasures found in Leigh’s bag. “Live a little. Try them on.”

  Mallory looked at the boots and knew that she shouldn’t, but in for a penny, in for a pound. She slipped them on, and after several attempts, Mallory gripped the footboard and stood up. Her mind told her legs to walk, but they were afraid to move. This had to have been what trying to walk felt like at ten months old. She did a tippy-toe waddle over to the mirror and . . . hot damn! She looked like a . . . well . . . she looked like a fool, to put it quite nicely. On Leigh, Mallory was sure the boots looked sexy. On her they looked like a bad idea. An unfortunate photo op waiting to happen. She could see the tabloid headline accompanying the picture. “Reporter Falls for Basketball Star.” Literally.

  “Okay, here’s what you’re doing.” Ava held up a gorgeous burgundy cropped fur coat. “This, for sure.”

  “That’s real mink,” Sam answered, shaking her head. “Totally
incorrect.”

  “You’re meeting Christian, not PETA. If someone asks, lie and tell them it’s fake. Wear it with the boots, a black turtleneck, and some skinny jeans.”

  “The top and jeans I can live with, but me and the boots are an unnegotiable no-go. Thanks, guys.”

  “You’re welcome.” Sam began putting items back in the oversized bag.

  “Leigh had great taste.” She held up small cream-colored purse with an adjustable strap. “Ava, feel the leather. This wasn’t bought at a discount store.”

  “Too small for me,” Ava said.

  Mallory looked around. “Do you want it?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure. It’s not something I’d use.”

  “I love it. Thanks.” Sam slipped the strap over her shoulder and opened the purse. There was something inside it. “What’s this?”

  Mallory walked over. Sam gave her the light blue envelope. Mallory looked at Sam and Ava, then sat on the bed. Sam and Ava leaned in. Mallory raised the flap and pulled out a card. When she opened it, two pictures fell out. One was with a smiling Leigh posed between two men. The other was her cuddled up with just one—Christian Graham.

  Sam gasped.

  Ava exclaimed. “Damn!”

  Mallory whispered, “Oh. My. God.”

  Ava sat next to Mallory who now held the card. The front read, Thinking of You.

  Her hand shook as she opened it. Inside said simply . . . Always.

  “Until next time,” was scribbled beneath the word, along with what looked like a name.

  Mallory handed the card to Ava. “Can you read that?’

  Ava studied the signature, slowly shaking her head. “Me . . . Mr . . .”

  “Are you sure that’s an M?” Sam asked, peering at the card from over Ava’s shoulder.

  Mallory picked up the picture of Christian and Leigh. “This picture doesn’t need decoding. I always thought there was more going on between them than friendship. This proves it.”