Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cat
“Hunter I love you so much.” I wanted to weep with happiness, but I wouldn’t because I could barely breathe and my heart raced and all I could do was hold him as he held me.
The spiraling in my gut, the clenching orgasms subsided, but he was still inside me and every time he stirred, I felt that delicious clench all over again.
“Don’t ever leave, stay like this inside me forever.” I breathed the words into his ear, heard him half grunt, half laugh, felt the nibbling kisses along my shoulder and neck and shivered.
“You could make me come over and over and over again with just your kisses, your slightest move, your breath on my earlobe,” he said.
I’d never felt like this before and never knew what I’d been missing, never knew this was what I’d been longing for these past weeks, through all the self-denial, the stolen kisses, the phone sex. I never realized there would be this golden rainbow waiting.
“You’re like my golden rainbow,” I said, repeating my thought aloud, knowing I was talking nonsense.
He raised his head up then and looked at me with a skeptical smile and I knew he was thinking about what to say.
“You’re teasing, right?” He slid off me, in spite of my trying to hold him in place and protesting.
“I didn’t realize I’d fallen for a sex maniac. How lucky am I?” He grinned, his always gorgeous blue eyes twinkling in that heart-melting way he had.
“You know you could make me swoon with a look from those sinful eyes of yours. You should be against the law.”
“Swoon? Is that code for—”
“No.” I gave him a playful pout and realized I was giddy. Flat-out, no-holds-barred giddy in love. “I’m head over heels.” I was drop-dead serious now as the enormity of it all hit me. My dad.
His smile disappeared as if he’d read my mind. “If it’s any consolation, I’m right there with you, Cat. We’ll figure this out.”
I knew one of us would have to go. The nonfrat rule was ironclad and we’d obliterated it.
“I’ll quit my job,” I said. He scowled and held my face in his big, strong, sexy hands. I let the heat and strength of him charge me.
“No. You’ve worked too hard, wanted too much to work with your dad.”
I waved a hand. “Don’t worry about that.”
“I’ll find another team,” he said, his voice dark and low and I knew the words, the promise cost him.
I sat up. “No you won’t. Absolutely not. I forbid it.”
His face softened as he stared at my breasts, his eyes glazing over.
I’d count that as a win, but I knew we’d be talking about this again.
Maybe when we had our clothes on. As he reached up to stroke my nipple, I forgot what I was so adamant about, forgot everything but his touch and the molten adoring look in his beautiful eyes.
I found the woman who’d accused Hunter, getting the name and address from Rainey.
She shared it with me, trusting me to pay a visit though it would be risky.
Hunter had gone to Buffalo, though he didn’t play in the game.
Coach made a speech to the team about being innocent until proven guilty, had Hunter tell the team what happened.
Wyatt said his piece too. He’d been a witness to part of it.
Amazing that Hunter had forgotten about that small, but important piece of evidence. Rainey got Wyatt’s statement.
The Boston Militia won the game in Buffalo. Hunter saw his family. I stayed home with Rainey and we came up with a plan.
And Hunter and I made love long and sweet every night since he’d returned from Buffalo.
While Hunter went to practice, for the past two days I had done my research, Rainey too.
I combed through social media, my specialty, and found the woman and her questionable social history.
She was a known drunk, a known troublemaker with a big mouth.
I identified several friends-not-friends who I could talk to and get some information from, with any luck, maybe even the informational equivalent of a smoking gun.
Rainey found the girl’s questionable criminal and civil court history. She’d sued a half dozen people in the past year, had two DUIs and was recently served with an eviction. If I wanted to get to her at her current apartment, I’d have to hurry.
It was the Wednesday before the Militia’s Monday night Christmas Eve game. Christmas was in six days and I hadn’t even thought about it. I had no tree, had bought no gifts. And I didn’t care.
When I got there, I introduced myself as Hunter’s handler from the Militia organization.
I had a recorder in my pocket, knew it was strictly speaking against the law to record someone without their permission and it certainly couldn’t be used as proof in court.
But I was betting this woman didn’t know.
“I know who you are. Coach Marini’s daughter.” She nodded and let me inside.
We went into a tiny, disheveled living room and I knew she was thinking I intended to pay her off with money. Not likely, not without some serious justification. And I had no cash in my pocket, nothing she or the press could point to as a bribe.
I knew I might need another incentive, but for now my plan was to force the woman to come clean.
“Whose idea was it to set up Quintanna?” I sat down and smiled.
“What the hell are you talking about? He’s the guilty one here, not me.”
I gave her a once-over and said, “Hunter Quintanna doesn’t have a need to attack the likes of you when he’s feeling randy.
He doesn’t have the need to attack anyone.
In fact, it frequently happens the other way around, he’s quite often attacked by young women.
Some not so young women too,” I added, watching her steadily grow pinker, struggling to control herself.
I suspected the only reason she maintained any cool at all was that she didn’t want to hurt the golden goose before she got her scrawny hands on the golden egg.
“You have a lot of nerve. I have proof of what he did. It’s all on video.” She turned smug.
“About that video—I spoke to your videographer.”
“My what?”
“The woman who filmed the incident for you. Very interesting person.”
“What do you mean?” She looked suspicious.
“She said you’d promised to split the jackpot with her when I asked why she videoed your fall and subsequent scream. She also mentioned that she obligingly, at your suggestion, tore your dress and then filmed the tear afterwards. Very helpful friend.”
“She’s a liar.”
“I thought she was your star witness? You do know that the video won’t be allowed into evidence, right?
Did your lawyer not tell you?” I knew he wouldn’t have, knew he was doing this for the payoff as much as his client was, knew he’d claim he knew nothing about the setup as soon as his client was called on it and then he’d head back into the shit-pit he’d climbed out of.
The woman stood, losing her patience, but I still hadn’t gotten the confession, so I remained seated.
“Get the hell out of here. I shouldn’t have let you in anyway. My attorney will handle you, Miss Handler.”
“Call me Cat. I imagine your attorney will be asking whether or not we want to make a settlement in exchange for you dropping criminal charges. And the civil suit.”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
“I’m asking you. You’re the one who would have to take the stand and testify.
And then we’d bring your friend to the stand and she’d testify to a very different story.
” I let the reality hang in the air that she might not win the trial, that we weren’t afraid of taking the case to trial, and that she wouldn’t get a dime if we did.
She was smart, quick-minded when it came to matters of money.
I watched her calculate her way to the inevitable conclusion if she didn’t cooperate with me.
“Fine. What do you want? What are you going to give me to keep my mouth shut? Even if I can’t show the video in court, I can keep it out there on social media forever.”
“We’ll see. Mr. Quintanna’s attorney is looking into getting a court order for Twitter, Facebook and Instagram to block any distribution as prejudicial and slanderous.”
“What? Block—”
“Yes, possibly blocking your accounts with social media as well.” I examined my nails. “Are you finished making threats and ready to listen to how things are going to go?”
She looked angry, but she didn’t say anything, still hopeful that whatever I said might lead to money in her pocket.
“You will confess into this recorder.” I took it from my pocket. She scowled. “And I will square things with your landlord, stop the eviction.”
“Fat chance. I ain’t confessing to nothing. I’d be a fool. They’d arrest me.”
“No one’s going to arrest you. Not after you confess how you were facing homelessness, how your evil boyfriend talked you into it because he’s a high school football coach and he hates Quintanna for punching a coach.
How you didn’t really want to do it and so you told your boyfriend to go screw himself, and you needed to confess to clear your conscience. ”
“Nice story. What boyfriend?” she snorted.
“The one who lives here with you, the one who’s posted on Twitter and Instagram repeatedly how Quintanna ought to be prosecuted for assault and how he got away with it just because he’s a professional athlete, protected by the media. Is that an accurate quote?”
She sat back down, deflated and wary. “I can’t call him out. He—he’ll get mad, get back at me.”
I nodded. “In that case, maybe I won’t settle things with your landlord here. Maybe I ought to help you find a new, different place.”
She looked at me and I held my breath. This could go two ways.
She could defend the creep, insist he was a great guy and that she loved him and would never leave him.
Or she would jump at the chance to leave the creep behind with his threatening, bullying behavior.
I was warned repeatedly by Rainey that it was more likely she’d stay with the jerk and we’d have to present our case to the DA and hope he didn’t go forward with the case.