Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
She’d called Ralph instead and he told her where to park and which entrance to come in and promised he’d give security her name. But Ralph didn’t know the cover story Trent was going to give to the coaches and the media to explain her presence.
That would be Trent’s problem. She’d let him handle that one from his end.
She was too busy protecting the confidentiality of their research from her end.
And protecting her career while she was at it.
A bubble of acid rose in her throat at all she risked.
She reminded herself it was worth it. If she couldn’t help her own mother and sister then what else was the miracle drug for?
Would it be worth spending her entire career and risking everything for anything less?
Two security guards stood at the unmarked double doors recessed in the side of the stadium.
She walked toward them, her too-high heels clicking on the pavement and her strides shortened by the narrow dark skirt she wore.
She didn’t usually dress like this for work and knew she was behaving like the kind of woman she claimed she was above, the kind of woman who wanted to impress men, who cared about romance.
She was giving Trent the wrong impression about her. She truly was all about her work. Romance had been a distant third behind her career and family all her life. Then how did she explain her ridiculous behavior yesterday and dressing the way she did today?
Looking around, the only reason she found the entrance was because Ralph told her to look for the TV9 van parked nearby.
The stadium facility was enormous and surrounded on two sides by parking garages that went up and down underground.
The other sides looked over the harbor. A passenger jet roared low overhead, flying in for a landing at Logan International Airport barely a stone’s throw away.
The two men at the door looked at her driver’s license and opened the door for her without a word, not even instructions about where she was heading.
So she walked straight down the long, well-lit cement corridor, trusting that she’d eventually end up on the field and find Ralph waiting for her.
She hoped her quick freshening up in the gas station ladies’ room hid the fact that she’d been crying.
She hoped to God Ralph was the first person she encountered.
She didn’t know what to say to anyone else.
Especially not Trent. She carried her black medical bag and walked until she literally saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
Trent stood in the cold pretending his shoulder was fine after refusing to be examined by the team’s physician. He’d had to finesse it so they wouldn’t insist. He dreaded the day they did insist. But Charlie’s miracle drug could stop it from ever happening.
Ralph trotted toward him and took him aside, away from the huddle of players.
“Charline called. She’s on her way in. I told security to let her through, but what do we tell Coach or anyone else who asks what the hell she’s doing here? She said you were covering that with a story. Mind telling me what it is?” Ralph’s words were low and urgent.
The last thing Trent needed was for Ralph to panic. “Don’t worry, Charlie is right. I have it covered.”
“Well?”
“When you need a cover story, Ralph, the first rule of success is to keep it simple and go with the obvious.”
“She’s your personal doctor?”
“That was an option, but I don’t want to give anyone the impression there’s anything wrong with me.”
“Then what?”
“She’s my girlfriend. We’re an item.”
“Did you check with her first?”
“No need.”
“You’re sure—wait a minute—you’re not—”
Trent put his hands up. “Whoa, slow down. No, we’re not. Not that I wouldn’t want to. Charlie is special.” He looked at Ralph, remembering his history with Charlie. “But then you already know that.”
Ralph’s mouth compressed to a line, but he nodded his head.
“Let’s go head her off.” They turned and walked toward the mouth of the tunnel in time to see her step out into the cool sunshine of the December morning and onto the turf of the field. Trent knew he’d made the right decision for his cover story.
She stumbled when her heels sunk in, dropping her bag. Coach Parker, standing nearby, hustled to her side to help her keep her balance and retrieve her bag.
“Shit,” Trent said.
“You ain’t shittin’,” Nunley added.
Trent picked up his pace to a trot to get to her before she said anything.
He stopped at her side and threw an arm carelessly around her shoulder.
She turned up to him with her expressive, innocent Snow White face, wide brown eyes that melted his soul, and long velvety lashes that she didn’t need to flutter to make his heart nearly stop and then drum like he was on speed.
Her perfect lush lips parted slightly in surprise.
He smiled and leaned in, bent his head and kissed her, claiming her lips and lingering so there was no question about the nature of their relationship.
Not even in his own mind. Memories of the taste of her and smell of her flooded his head and caused an instant reaction that would have made him laugh if it weren’t for their earlier resolve to keep this professional.
He pulled back from her and turned to the coach, avoiding her eyes. But he felt the stiffness in her, the reluctance to be held by him. He loosened his arm but didn’t drop it from her shoulder.
“Coach, meet my girl, Dr. Charline Morneau. Charlie, this is Coach Paul Parker, QB coach for the team.” Trent turned to her, preparing to be slammed with a rebuff in her expression, feeling the edge of anticipation as if a linebacker was about to slam him to the ground.
She looked up at him with that same part-shocked, part-confused, part-melted look. He heaved a breath then leaned in and kissed her forehead to reassure her everything would work out fine. He’d see to it.
“Nice to meet you, uh, Dr. Morneau? Well, what’s the occasion, Trent? Big date after practice?”
“Please, call me Charlie.” She put her hand out for Parker to shake and he did. Trent knew that brittle smile on Coach’s face.
“No occasion, Coach. Charlie wanted to see me practice. It’s not a problem, is it? She can be trusted to not have a clue about what’s going on-–wouldn’t be able to give away team secrets even if she were tortured.”
Coach chuckled. His look turned speculative and he nodded. “Enjoy. Trent—be ready in ten for drills. We’ll start with the three-cone crossover drill with passing.” He turned with his clipboard in hand and went to confer with a knot of coaches.
“What the hell—?” Charlie whispered.
“Nice to see you too. Come on over here and have a seat.” Trent ushered her over to an area behind the bench where some visitor chairs had been placed.
He frowned when he realized that was where some of the media sometimes sat.
He might have to put her up in the stands where assorted family and friends usually sat in the first couple of rows.
“Where can we go to do the testing and give you the injection? We’ll do it in the mornings, before practice or physical activity. I should get here earlier next time.”
Ralph came over from the bench and gave Charlie a small hug. Trent noticed Nunley was awkward but Charlie was warm and glad to see him.
“We need to use your training room—inner office,” she said.
“Sure. That’s what we figured.” Nunley smiled.
“Now,” Trent said. Nunley’s smile disappeared.
“I got a session scheduled—”
“Clear it for us.” Trent swept a hand through the waves of his hair and puffed a breath in the cold air. “It’s important. We’ll need it every morning first thing.” He looked at Charlie. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Once a week after practice, Thursdays. We’ll need to do more extensive testing and measurements.”
“Can’t you do that back at the clinic?” Ralph asked.
“No.” He and Charlie spoke at the same time.
She continued in a tight whisper, “John Doe needs to remain John Doe. His identity may be compromised at the clinic since he’s . . . recognizable.”
Ralph nodded. “Give me a minute.” Then Nunley looked past Trent’s shoulder and said, “Media swooping in at ten o’clock.” He trotted off.
Charlie looked up at him. He wanted to sweep her away and swallow her up. If that urge showed, then this was a brilliant cover. But it would be hell on his dick.
Trent pulled her in again for a possessive hug and said under his breath, “Just follow my lead. We’ll be fine.” Then he faced Mike Foley, a long-time Channel 9 sports reporter, and put a hand out to shake his.
“How are you this morning, Mike?”
“I should be asking you that.” The man smiled pointedly at Charlie and her little black medicine bag. She smiled tentatively with her heart-melting eyes and then turned to Trent and looked up at him.
“This is Charline Morneau.” He squeezed her, hoping to reassure her and to impress upon Mike what her status was.
“You dating a doctor, Trent? Are you that banged up you need free treatment on the side?” Mike laughed at his own joke. Charlie looked down at the black bag she’d held in one hand since she’d arrived.
“We’re more than casually dating.” Trent held his breath and felt Charlie stiffen at his side and snap her head up. Mike looked at her, surprised and impressed. But Charlie’s smile was forced. Damn if she wasn’t the most guileless woman he’d ever met.
“You finally throwing out the little black book and settling down? Not you? You son of a gun.”
“Little black book? Really? That’s old-school even for you. You’re dating yourself, Foley.”
“So what else is new? We both know I could have changed your diapers.” The man looked at Charlie with more interest and respect. “You know what you’re getting yourself into? You look like you’re too smart and too nice a young lady to get stuck with this—”
“Oh, he’s not so bad once you get to know him,” she said.
Damn if there wasn’t amusement in her voice.