Chapter 12 #2
“Please, just listen to me!”
“Why? So you can hand me some line about how you are going to protect me. All for a good lay, right? I can’t believe I trusted you!”
Her gaze settling on the gun strapped around his chest. To his credit, he slipped it off and tossed it aside. “You can trust me, I swear it.”
“I bet you’ve slept with Leslie, too, right? Just for fun, of course. I bet you made her feel like the only woman in the world. A real Prince Charming.”
“Please, don’t go there about Leslie.”
“No worries. I’m not going anywhere with you!” She grabbed her bag and pushed passed him. She made it all the way to the front door before he jumped in front of her and held it shut.
“Brielle, you need to listen to me!”
“No, you listen to me!” she screamed, shoving him hard against his chest. “I didn’t ask for this. You can’t possibly know what it's like to be Frank Riley’s daughter. My whole life I’ve been running from this man. I’m supposed to be his child! But that doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t care.”
“But he’s not going to hurt you!”
“You want to know why I don’t like guns?
Because I’ve seen what they can do. Why do you think he shipped me away so young?
Because I could bear witness, Callum.” The words flew out of her like an eruption.
She couldn’t stop. She could barely see now that tears flooded her eyes.
“He hurts people. Kills them. He’s a monster!
I literally know where the bodies are buried! ”
“Don’t say any more!”
“What?” She snapped, feeling breathless from her flurry of words. “You can’t take someone trashing your boss?”
She lunged at the front door and threw it open, but Callum held her back before slamming it shut.
“Let me go!” she cried.
“I can’t, sweetheart.”
She struggled with all her strength against him.
Punching, kicking. A few times even landing blows that freed her.
But in the end, he was too strong. With her arms held behind her, he shoved her face-first against the door frame, his full weight crashing against her with an echoing thud.
“Damn it, Brielle, you need to listen to me.”
“You’re hurting me!” she whimpered, barely finding the breath to speak. It occurred to her that in all time she’d spent with Callum, she had never been acutely afraid of him. But at this moment, she was terrified.
He spun her around and she gasped, her eyes closing in fearful protest. A part of her still believed in the passion they shared the night before. She didn’t want to see the coldness now.
“Brielle, I told you I’m not here to hurt you and I’m not. I want to show you something. Look.”
The distinct scent of worn leather filled her nose. When she opened her eyes, they met his face in a photo, next to the official looking font reading “FBI.”
Taking it from his hands she slid to the ground, bringing her knees to her chest.
“I don’t work for your father. I work for the federal government.”
It was as if all the air was sucked from the room. Her legs locked and chest heaved with a gasp. He was lying. Had to be. Just like he’d lied about everything else. “Great, so now he’s got the government in his back pocket?”
“No, I was doing my legit job. This is part of a sting. We’re trying to get your father, not you.” He took the badge from her then jammed it back in his pocket. “He’s the one who should be afraid.”
Nothing made sense. His words were like another language. She shook her head, hoping to knock something into place. “Wait a minute. If you work for the FBI, who does Leslie work for?”
“Leslie works with me, not Frank. So does Diggs.” His staccato breath told her he was as worked up as she was. He knelt down in front of her and smiled. “We’re all on your side, here. Really.”
That’s right. There were sides. And fine lines between right and wrong. She pursed her lips when she realized he was the judge if she’d crossed any. “The things I said,” she stammered. “You’re an agent…”
“That’s why I wanted you to be quiet. I can’t hold something against you I don’t know.”
She dragged her hand across her tear-soaked cheek. “I’m not supposed to know who you are, am I?”
He frowned and shook his head. “No.”
Brielle swallowed hard. She had never felt more connected to anyone than she had last night when she thought he had worked for her father.
But now that she knew this man was Frank’s enemy, she wanted nothing to do with him.
“I heard you tell Leslie about the arrangement with my dad. What’s going to happen to me now? ”
He stared at his hand as he caressed her knee. “They want to bring you in for questioning. They have a few things they want to talk to you about.”
“I heard Leslie say something about the saliva on envelopes. They think I sent myself threatening mail to derail the investigation, don’t they?”
He looked away from her like it hurt to ask the intended question. “You don’t have anything you want to tell me, do you?”
The question alone was enough to hate him.
Suddenly the fighter instinct collected inside her, drying her tears and recouping her resolve.
Picking her bag off the floor, she slung it over her shoulder and opened the front door.
“I suppose since I haven’t been arrested, I’m free to tell you to stay the hell away from me.
I don’t need you hanging around reminding me how stupid I’ve been. I’ve got a match to train for.”
“Brielle, wait.”
She tore down the marble stairs, his heavy steps echoing behind her.
When she got to the car he jumped in front of her, blocking her reach for the door handle.
“Let me go, Callum!” she told him. “Please, just let me go.” The words felt weird falling out of her mouth.
The night before she never wanted to leave his arms.
“Sweetheart, I just need you to know one thing.”
Curiosity stilled her. “What?”
“The fact I told you who I am and what I do should tell you that last night meant more to me than you think. One way or another, I’m going to see you through this. I promise.”
He rested his hand on her shoulder and the touch confused her resolve. The click of the lock disengaged reminded her. She had to leave. Now.
She piled into her Porche like a thief making a getaway. When she reached for the ignition she cursed, then slammed her fist on the wheel.
“You need these to start the car. First rule of NASCAR.”
He dangled the keys in front of her, and when she didn’t take them, he tossed them on her lap. In seconds, the engine roared and Callum was nothing more than a cloud of dust in her rearview.
She was a good ten miles from the beach house when the pounding in her chest slowed to a steady beat.
She’d never had her heart broken, but she suspected this was what it felt like.
Callum made her believe he cared. She trusted him, and he used her.
She was like every other blonde bimbo he’d ever shared his bed with.
What a fool.
The only consolation she could think of was maybe it wasn’t so bad the FBI was following her.
At least they wouldn’t kill her like her father would.
But if he was eager enough, Callum could make a case against her.
She had told him she agreed to take part in a federal crime.
It might not be enough to criminally charge her, but the Tennis Federation could ban her from the sport.
She wrapped her hands tighter around the wheel, leaning forward in her seat.
A life without tennis would be the worst prison she could think of.
A bullet in the head might be an easier punishment.
The way she looked at it, she was down two sets and a break. The current game plan certainly wasn’t working. She couldn’t trust her father, and there was no way she was trusting Callum. She had to come up with something big. Something out of nothing.
Finally, she turned into the Vitalie Pavilion VIP lot.
Geoffrey’s black Jaguar was parked near the back, just like she counted on.
She scaled the back stairs in a jog and scanned the giant patio when she got to the landing.
Geoffrey was by himself at a courtside table.
He was early. Just as he always was for everything.
So damn reliable and perfectly predictable.
He in his red velour suit with the “G” stitched on the front.
Non-threatening, loyal. Just what she needed.
“Where is your racquet bag?” He asked, not even looking up from the pile of papers in front of him. “You’re on court in ten minutes.”
Brielle pulled the chair out across from him, scrapping the stone with a deafening squeak. “I haven’t been in the locker room yet.”
“Where is your friend Harrison?”
She didn’t know how to answer so she didn’t. Instead she pulled the pencil from his fingers then took his hands in hers. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Geoffrey looked up. His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What is it, darling? Is something wrong?”
“I want to elope. Like, immediately. I want…us to be married.”
Her body went tight, bracing for resistance, questions, objections, alarms. After all it was out of nowhere and even to her own ears completely insincere. Instead, he simply stared at her, one eyebrow lifting in stunned silence.
“I know it’s sudden,” she rushed on. “And the Citrus Tournament is only two weeks away, but I really, really want to…”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
She blinked, her mouth snapping shut. Somehow, she’d prepared for every outcome except his immediate agreement.
“Granted,” he continued smoothly, “I’ll be busy right up until the tournament. But what if we do it the night of your match? You play Saturday. We could fly to Vegas afterward.”
“How about Switzerland?” The suggestion came quickly, instinctively. Distance felt like safety. “I’d love to see your homeland. They have the Finisée tennis facility there. I could train, and we could have an extended honeymoon.”
Geoffrey studied her now, something calculating flickering behind his eyes. “You’ve clearly thought this through.”
She smiled, careful and composed. “I have. I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About commitment. About what it really means, not just to the game, but to the people you choose.” She squeezed his hands. “I’ve spent my whole life chasing wins. I want something more…settled. Something solid.”
He nodded slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I’m glad,” he said. “I couldn’t be happier.”
The cool efficiency in his voice sounded less like romance and more like a deal being finalized. That was fine. She would have to accept that. “I really am happy about this, Geoffrey,” she said. And a small part of her meant it. A very small part.
“Wait.” He lifted a finger and reached into his briefcase.
She watched as he rummaged, then pulled out a small velvet box and slid it across the table. With a practiced motion, he flipped it open.
The diamond caught the sunlight, brilliant and undeniable.
“Wow,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
“I would have given it to you sooner,” he said mildly, “but it never quite seemed like the right time.” He took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger. “I know we’re an unconventional match. But I think this is a good arrangement. For people like us. For the careers we have.”
She stared at the ring, its weight grounding her. He wasn’t the man who made her pulse race. But he was real and more importantly, he was safe.
“I hope I can make you happy, Brielle,” he said.
The words caught in her chest as she looked down at her hand. “Believe me,” she replied softly. “You already have.”