Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Callum leaned against the chain link fence straining to get a glimpse of Brielle when she entered the practice courts.
In the week since she’d left his house, he’d been reduced to this.
Peering through a fence like a puppy dog awaiting its master.
Maintaining his cover as her bodyguard was essential to the case, and so far, he had managed by hovering out of her view, and obvious in everyone else’s.
But he couldn’t do that forever. If her father caught wind he wasn’t around for her practices, he’d wonder why.
Somehow, he would have to patch things up with her.
Already, he’d taken a few liberties he shouldn’t have.
Any good agent would have brought Brielle in.
Then again, no detached agent would have revealed his identity as an agent in the first place.
But if he had bent the rules, he was convinced he had good reason.
Taking her into custody would mean she’d miss the Citrus Tournament, and even if she could compete, it would be marred with scandal.
She might even face charges. There was no way in hell he would let her take the fall for something her father was responsible for.
He knew too well how that went.
Callum glanced at his watch. As the days passed, practices ran later and the Pavilion was much busier now that the Citrus drew closer.
It was great for the sport, but a security nightmare.
He was thankful the USTF had posted their own security for the weeks leading up to the match. The more backup, the better.
“Well, well, well. So, I finally caught up with you.”
Callum cringed when he heard Leslie’s voice.
She came up beside him and leaned against the fence. “If I didn’t know better, Callum Harrison, I’d think you were avoiding me.”
“I’ve tried, kid, but you’re hard to shake.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She took off her sunglasses and cleaned them on the sleeve of her black blouse. “We haven’t spoken in a while. I thought I’d give you some time to recoup. What happened with Brielle after I left your place the other day? She didn’t go to her father, did she?”
“Leslie, why would she do that? That would be just as dangerous for her as it would be for the rest of us.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure. Brielle doesn’t want revenge. She just wants out.”
“Unlike some people we know.” Leslie smiled. “Unless your priorities have changed.”
Callum shook his head. As much as he respected the hell out of her, her by-the-books- tactics drove him crazy sometimes. “My priorities are still the same. Frank is still in my sights. I just have to go to ‘Plan B’ is all.”
They both paused when they heard Brielle’s name announced over the loudspeaker summoning her to the practice court. Peering through fence, he could see her as she marched out. Her long hair was fastened in a braid and she wore his favorite baby blue tennis dress.
“You need a sponge to soak up that drool?”
“Save it, Les.”
The crowd clustered like ants around her court, eager to see her in action. She smiled and waved, even posing for the photographers. She was every bit the reigning queen the tennis world loved to tag her. And he was beginning to realize he was her biggest fan.
“You know you can’t lose your cover as her bodyguard.”
“I know,” Callum said. “But, I hurt her, and one thing I’ve learned about Brielle is that breaking trust is the something she doesn’t forgive.”
“Well, she better get over it by this weekend. Frank will get suspicious if you two aren’t there together for the festivities as well as the big party at Vitalie’s.”
“God, the Citrus Ball. I’ve got to figure that out.” He felt Leslie’s hand rest on his shoulder. It was familiar and sincere, and he smiled in return. “Look, I’m sorry about all this. But I promised I’d do right by her.”
“I believe in you. We all want this case to pan out as much as you, you know.” She motioned toward the parking lot and pulled her shades down over her eyes. “Why don’t you disappear for a while and let me talk to her. I’ll call you later.”
“You mean you’d be willing to plead my case for me?”
“What are partners for?”
He pushed off the fence and looked down at her. For as much of a pain as she could be, there was no denying she was a decent friend. “She’s probably going to rip your head off.”
“Let me worry about that. You just pull yourself together.”
She didn’t give him time to respond. He watched as she made her way through the crowd to the courts. Everything now hinged on Leslie’s powers of persuasion. He cast a gaze heavenward before heading out in the other direction.
Brielle loved practicing in front of a crowd.
The mood was light, and she could get away with kidding around with the fans.
But recently there’d been a strange expectant vibe.
Like clouds signaling a building storm. The Citrus Tournament was less than a week away and the world wanted to know if she was ready.
Practices like these were an invitation for scrutiny.
Not that she minded. In fact, she relished the challenge.
Each player had their own personal practice routines.
Some liked to rally, others started right with the volleys.
She always liked to begin with a few minutes of easy serving.
Standing behind the baseline, she would smile and wave at the fans, winking at the boys who cat-called when her skirt crawled up her leg.
This was what Geoffrey called “Money PR,” Being personable with spectators was what made fans, fans.
And fans spent money which was the key factor in Geoffrey’s equations.
After a hopper or two of balls, she’d grab some water then scan the crowd for familiar faces.
Special guests, celebrities. Rarely anyone specific.
Except recently her brain seemed highly focused on finding Callum among the gallery.
He was never there, and if she tried hard enough, she didn’t let it bother her.
Across the court, her hitting partner Steve served a few short balls, warming her up with easy rallies.
Crouching in a ready position, she looked past him through the fence.
A steady stream of people walked by, nameless faces and obvious tourists all with wonderful smiles.
From inside the blur of tennis whites and light pastels emerged a tall, dark-haired woman in the black power suit.
Leslie.
Brielle checked the clock overhead. Practice was minutes from over so she wrapped up with a crowd pleasing overhead. Smiling, she waved to the fans, doing her little spin/wave/curtsy combination before snagging a towel and heading out the exit to the balcony.
“I’ve never seen live tennis before.” Leslie stood and greeted her. “Looks like a lot of fun.”
The woman looked out of place around the players and staff, but Brielle suspected she looked like that no matter where she was. She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, then extended her hand to shake.
Brielle ignored her gesture. “What are you doing here, Leslie?”
“I was wondering if you had a minute to talk.”
“It depends. What about?”
Leslie looked around as if wary of who was listening. “Look, no big deal, we chat then you can leave.”
Brielle sighed as she slung the towel around her neck. If this was the FBI’s way to take her in, she was surprised it wasn’t more elaborate. Reluctantly, she pulled two waters from the ice bin handed her one, and showed her to a courtside table.
“Look,” Leslie began. “Callum is a good friend of mine, and he’s worked very hard for a very long time on this case. It seems to me a part of you wouldn’t mind if Frank Riley was taken off the street.”
“No kidding.”
“You aren’t the only one who’s been hurt by your father, you know. So far, you’ve been part of the problem. Why not be part of the solution?”
“Part of the problem? Are you serious?”
Brielle leaned back in her chair. Something told her Leslie didn’t believe in victims of circumstance.
She was the type of person who saw things as either black or white.
The ball was either in or out, never on the line.
It was also obvious she had already drawn her own conclusions and Brielle wasn’t interested in defending herself anymore.
“If insulting me is your key to effective persuasion, I would suggest you try another tactic.”
“If you were smart you would come in and give a deposition.”
“Yeah, right,” she replied. “And tell me what happens when my father catches wind of my cooperation.”
“Well…”
“He’d kill me. Sorry, not interested.”
“You know I could arrest you, but Callum told me not to. He’s the superior on this operation so I am forced to defer.” Leslie scowled as if disgusted with a child. “He’s risking a lot for you.”
“He lied to me. He had me believing I could trust him, and he took advantage of me. Come on, Leslie, woman to woman. Tell me you can at least relate to that.”
Leslie flinched as a blush colored the apples of her cheeks. For a moment, she looked vulnerable. Fragile even. And Brielle knew she’d made her point.
Leslie stared at her folded hands on the table. “He cares about you,” she said. “More than he should, and as things stand now, he’s in just as much danger as you are. How does Callum know you won’t run to your father and blow his cover just to save yourself?”
“I wouldn’t do that to him.”
Leslie sighed. “He said the same thing.”
Heads started to turn their way, the confrontation probably looking too intense for a casual courtside visit.
Brielle smiled at the onlookers as Leslie stood and lowered her voice.
“Look, Callum is one of the best organized crime undercover operatives in the country. He’s been working for three years on Frank.
He’s close, but he needs you to help him.
Please let him at least keep his cover as your bodyguard. ”