Chapter 2
TWO
It was unseasonably cool for a late summer night in South Florida.
The breeze blew stronger than usual, tousling the palm trees and throwing sand clouds in the air.
Callum had the top down on his BMW, a new purchase he made during his latest bout of nostalgia.
He couldn’t think of anything better than a fast car and the wind against his face.
Well, maybe a beautiful woman.
He pulled out onto the empty causeway and dropped it in fifth gear.
The speedometer pushed a hair past ninety and Callum’s heart raced to keep up.
The moonless night gave no hints what lay before him and a weird energy zipped through his veins.
The blinder the better he figured as his hands clenched the wheel.
One hundred. One ten. His foot pushed harder on the pedal. At these speeds, one false move could mean death.
His lips contorted to a smile.
This was the edge of control, a fine line he had flirted with all his life. Like a tightrope walker in a circus, he loved tempting catastrophe. Some regarded it as a talent that made him a champion, others an addiction that cost him his career.
When he saw the lights lining the beachfront, he regretfully let up on the gas. The car purred as it slowed and something inside him released. Like a carnal need had been satisfied. It was a merciful relief from a feeling that had nagged him since his meeting with Brielle Riley.
Hot damn, was she incredible. A knockout of the rarest kind.
Great face, hellacious body. And that smile…
The first time he saw her outside of Giovanni’s he thought she was built for sex, and after seeing her at the court today, he was sure of it.
He shifted in his seat picturing her emerald eyes and the perfect pink lushness of her lips.
The mere thought of slipping himself into her was enough to send him careening off the road.
His research didn’t give much insight on her personality, but whatever he had expected, she wasn’t it. He had never met a woman who had as sharp a tongue as she had. He’d bet his last dollar it was soft, too, and as crafty and quick as the words it conjured.
He shook his head and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. What the hell was he thinking? Long-legged blondes with nice racks and sweet smiles were a dime a dozen. Besides, Big Frank Riley’s blood coursed through her veins. He couldn’t think of anything uglier than that.
The vibration of his phone hummed against his hip. He glanced at the dashboard screen and smiled. Perfect timing. He pressed the “answer” button.
“Harrison.”
“Hey Cal!” The hardy voice greeted. “I’m checking in. Are you with my daughter?”
Callum took a deep breath. In three years of practice, he still found it hard to play polite to his mortal enemy. “How ya’ doing, Frank?” He managed. “I was just on my way to her house.”
“Good, I like it when things move along. Look, I know she may not warm up to you right away, but keep on her. I don’t want her hiring some other numbskull who’ll just take her money.”
Callum didn’t want that either. The success of the operation hinged on his close proximity with Brielle and gaining her trust. Just like he had with her cretin father and the rest of the Riley gang. “Don’t worry, Frank, I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.”
“I know you can. Hey, why don’t you tell her about your big crash?” Frank chuckled. “She’ll respect the hell out of you for that.”
Blood pooled in Callum cheeks. The crash was the single reason why Callum had embarked on this whole vengeful crusade in the first place.
And the asshole thought it was funny.
“So whad’ya think of Brielle?”
“What do you mean?” Callum smiled. He knew exactly what Frank meant.
“Come on, Harrison. You know your way around good-looking women. You can’t tell me you didn’t look at my girl and think she was gorgeous.”
Frank was baiting him. He was telling Callum, “hands off.”
“She’s nice,” he said slowly, meaning to sound as vague as possible.
The old man chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear. You keep your mind on the business at hand.”
Frank could threaten all he wanted, but it would do nothing to change the strategy. Sex was a powerful weapon, one that had worked well for him in the past. He wasn’t above using it in this case. In fact, the possibility intrigued him.
“I shouldn’t have to warn you, Cal. I know we’ve had our disagreements in the past, but that’s history.
You and I are pals now, and a good friend to Brielle is a good friend to me.
Your job is to keep her safe and keep an eye on the investigation.
But that’s it. Remember, to respect me is to respect my daughter. ”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will, kid.”
Callum ended the call and refocused on the road. For now, he had Frank where he wanted him. It was his daughter who still needed convincing.
He turned into a private driveway and parked, then checked the address he had scribbled on his palm. Right place and hopefully right time. He smiled with anticipation. “Gentlemen start your engines,” he said to himself as he headed up toward the house.
Brielle pulled the toilet brush from the bowl and placed it back in its holder.
Cleaning wasn’t her favorite thing to do, but it passed time, especially on lonely nights when the quiet was too loud to ignore.
It didn’t take much to scrub top to bottom.
Two-bedroom condo. Ranch style. Simple. Adjacent to the training facility. Anything bigger just seemed…a waste.
Solitude never used to bother her. Growing up at a boarding school she was used to it, and not having family made her all the more self-reliant.
But there was something about fear that bred helplessness.
A feeling she hated and couldn’t seem to shake.
At least if she was cleaning she felt useful and her brain was otherwise occupied.
Pulling a rag from her sweatpants, she began her weekly ritual of dusting the living room shelves.
Picture frames were dust magnets she told herself, but in reality she enjoyed looking at the pictures.
They offered the illusion that there were people around her.
Even if most of the faces were nameless.
Hundreds of snapshots covered the room, spanning her quarter-century lifetime.
Her favorites were the old ones. Some so yellow and faded she could barely make out the little pig-tailed girl staring back.
Her with toothless grins, holding trophies she didn’t remember winning, sporting checks she couldn’t believe earning.
In a few her father stood next to her, a rigid hand on her shoulder sporting a smile so tight it looked painful.
This is how she remembered her childhood.
Incredibly lucky but incredibly cursed, never knowing if her father loved her, or loved what she could be worth.
She jumped when she heard the doorbell. A glance at her watch told her she should be suspicious.
No one she knew would drop by unannounced at this hour, even if sometimes she wouldn’t mind.
Chucking the rag across the room, she cautiously made her way to the foyer, smoothing down her frazzled hair as she went.
“Who is it?” she called with a crack in her voice.
“Asking will only ruin the surprise.”
In spite of herself she smiled, recognizing the enticing baritone. “What are you doing here, Mr. Harrison?”
“It was a nice night for a drive and I ended up here, what luck. Are you going to let me in, or what?”
“Fine. Hold on.” She sighed then methodically unlocked a half-dozen dead bolts before pulling the door open. “It’s a little late for a visit, don’t you think?”
He pulled his phone from his jean pocket and checked the time. “If I were a six-year-old, maybe. Why? Is eight-thirty past your bedtime?”
He showed himself into the living room, looking around the space.
He wore a grey collared button down over a white V-neck t shirt, dark jeans, and dark leather shoes she saw last week at Prada.
Casual, but somehow sophisticated. Even through the two layers Brielle could make out the lines of six pack abs.
“I thought I would stop by and tell you that after we parted ways this afternoon, I did a little legwork,” he said. “You’ll be happy to know I am now an expert on the life and times of Brielle Riley.”
“Really?”
“Would you like a brief rundown?”
“It looks like I don’t have a choice.” She followed him into the room and eyed him. “Go ahead Mr. Harrison. I’m listening.”
With a dramatic clearing of his throat, he sat down on the couch and produced a small pad of paper and a pen from his pocket.
“Well,” he began, “for one thing you weren’t lying when you said you were a decent tennis player.
Number one female in the world for over four years. Eleven Grand Slam titles.”
“Twelve,” she corrected.
“Most experts think you’re on par with the William sisters as far as talent. Maybe the best the sport has ever seen.” He looked up from his list. “Impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“I also took it upon myself to explore some of your business ventures.” He flipped through the pages, touching the end of his pen to his chin. “Contracts with Nike, Prince, Skechers, Pepsi, Mercedes, Revlon, and L’Oreal. Huh, and I had you pegged as a real blonde.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you finished?”
“Almost. I was also impressed by your immense collection of print work. Glamour, Vogue. You take one hell of a picture, by the way. And you also donate an exorbitant amount of money to an assortment of children’s charities.
” He stuffed the paper back in his pocket and flashed a smile.
“Over half your earnings. You’re a pretty generous person. ”
“You act like that shocks you.”
“It does, quite frankly. I was leaning toward ‘selfish princess.’”
“In that case, remind me not to trust your instincts.”