Chapter 20
DECLAN
Having multiple eyes and ears on Frank Castillo’s yacht turned out to be necessary.
After Oliver, Charlie, and I got off the prop plane back in Tampa on Sunday evening, we found out the photos I took of the ship schematics with my hidden camera and Charlie’s eye-glass frame recordings were all scrambled.
Ian said the entire system went down on Sunday morning because of the overload from multiple races going on at once.
The poor guy worked non-stop to try to recover it.
Ian has a work ethic like no one else I know.
At least we have a lead on where Castillo is headed thanks to Charlie.
The speed of the drip coffee is painful.
As I wait, someone calls my name. By the accent, I know who it is before I turn round.
“Declan,” Celine says with a smile. “How are you?” Her sugar-sweet perfume invades my nostrils as she stands too close.
The scent is chemical and reminds me of my grandmother.
“Tired,” I respond. I don’t mean to be rude, but I learned a long time ago that if I reciprocated pleasantries with Celine, she would take it as an opening. And I have no romantic interest in her.
Yes, she is tall and leggy and beautiful. I’m sure men fall over her all the time. But a bully, even a glamorous one, is never going to be my type.
“Well, a run might help wake you up.” Celine grins.
It’s a fantastic bright smile. But it is such a shame she only uses it with me, with Oliver, with Finn.
Come to think of it, she and Frank Castillo might be a perfect match.
Although I’m not sure it would be fair to either of them to make that introduction.
Trey, Ahmed, and our athlete development manager enter the room. They’re all chatting about the event they’ll be at this upcoming weekend. We exchange hellos and I hope their presence will be enough to distract Celine.
It’s not.
“The sponsorship team is organizing a friendly race to Sunnyside Brewery after work. It’s four miles down the road. We’ll all get a ride back after a few beers,” Celine offers, her invitation directed at me.
“Today?” I ask. Because while I am exhausted, I know that a run would be amazing. A chance to think. To cross-train.
“Yeah, man. Last one to arrive has to buy the first round,” Trey calls over. The room is small, so it’s not unrealistic that he would overhear. But unconcealed eavesdropping never sits well with me.
I pour the fresh coffee into my thermos and turn when I hear another set of heels hit the tile.
It’s Charlie. Immediately, my shoulders relax, the tightness in my forehead abates. I don’t take the time to analyze how her presence put me at ease. Maybe it’s because I now have a buffer for this conversation with Celine.
“Ross, Celine is telling me about a team run this evening. You in?” I ask.
Charlie startles; her blue eyes widen until she stammers out a response. “A run, huh? This afternoon?” she stalls by repeating the information I already told her.
She heads to the cabinet with the mushroom coffee for Oliver.
Even though she is wearing her low heels, she pops up on her toes to reach the new box of Sprout on the top shelf.
My eyes travel north and it is clear that Charlie does not skip glutes day at the gym.
I remind myself to stop checking her out and lean over to help her, ignoring the death glare Celine is shooting me. And Charlie.
“Thanks,” Charlie says, averting her eyes. She straightens her white and blue button-down. She looks much more like herself in her work attire, but the image of her in that bathing suit and wrap is something I can’t forget.
“What do you say, Charlie?” Celine asks, calling our attention back to her. “Will you run with us?” I can hear the dare in Celine’s words.
“Yeah, we gotta see if you hang with us,” Ahmed goads her, because daring someone to race by implying they aren’t as fast as you is typically effective. He crosses his arms and his biceps pop out. I know what he’s doing, but does Charlie see through it?
“Oh, I wish I could, but I have plans tonight. Maybe next time,” Charlie says as she busies herself with fixing Oliver’s coffee.
Plans? It’s Monday. Must be nice to have time to make plans.
“Too bad, we’ll have to run again another time,” Celine mutters as she stalks to the break room exit. “See you later, Declan.” She offers a little wave and disappears. The others file out as well, snacks and beverages in hand.
“What plans do you have?” I ask, not caring how direct or rude I might be.
Charlie double-checks that everyone else has left before turning to me. “Oh, I don’t have any plans. I just don’t want to go to the run.” She grins as she shares this little lie with me.
I’m shocked by her deception. Then again, she did skillfully let Frank Castillo think he was charming her when she told Oliver she didn’t like him at all.
“Didn’t you used to be some hotshot runner?” I ask, watching Charlie expertly prepare Oliver’s drink.
“Yeah, used to be,” Charlie corrects me.
She finishes her task and we walk back to our corner of the office together.
“Well, I’m sure you can put a few people in this office in their place,” I tell her. “They might need it.” I picture Charlie running past Celine, giving that woman a dose of humility.
The mental image is clear: Charlie in running shorts and a sports bra, cheeks flush from the run, her stomach bare, her legs tired. She leans down to do a post-run stretch. I might be able to help her aching muscles. I push those thoughts away to focus on Charlie’s response.
She shrugs. “Eh, some things are more important than team bonding or sticking it to people on high horses.”
I have to bite back a laugh. “Like what?”
“My health.” Charlie’s answer is sharp; she is trying to cut off this line of questioning.
She seems perfectly healthy to me. I think of what I’ve seen other runners go through. “ACL, MCL, or meniscus?”
She adjusts her glasses but doesn’t answer. We’re nearly back at my office.
“Shin splints from hell?”
Charlie is quiet, one of the first times she isn’t chattering on. She’s on the receiving end of the questioning this time. Maybe because it’s her business and she doesn’t want to run with us. Or maybe she does have plans to divulge information to someone in the Order.
“Achilles?”
Charlie turns to me, tight-lipped. “Nope.” And ducks into Oliver’s office with his mushroom coffee. She emerges and sits at her desk, ignoring the fact that I am still standing there.
Turns out Charlie Ross does have secrets. Are they what I think they are? Or something else?
“I’m glad to see you can keep a secret, Charlie,” I say, willing her to look up at me. “But sometimes honesty is the best policy. We have to trust each other.”
At this, she glances up at me and drops the envelope in her hand to her desk. “That goes both ways,” she says.
She’s right. I haven’t been able to give her that trust. Still, I wait for her to elaborate further.
After a beat, she nods for us to go into my office.
“I’m allowed to not want to run,” Charlie begins as soon as the door is closed.
“Some people assume being the daughter of Tom Ross, ‘legendary running coach’ –” she adds air quotes – “would come with a lot of pressure. It did. In a good way . . .” She hesitates before continuing.
“Pressure to push myself, to compete against who I was yesterday and the day before. It didn’t hurt that I was a natural, or perhaps a lifetime of subtle coaching from Dad turned me into the best runner.
A machine. Perfect form. Perfect timing. ”
Charlie takes a breath. Her cheeks grow pink; she is agitated and trying not to show it. “But I retired from running and from being his assistant coach for a reason. I need you to respect that.”
“OK,” I tell her, still turning over her words in my head. I get it, I think. She has her reasons to not want to run. Little Miss Sunshine has some dark and brooding thoughts, some mental block here. My quick judgments, my snap reactions, have led me so wrong.
Charlie leaves my office and returns to her desk. She begins to sort the mail again.
I know I should get to work. Force her from my mind. But now I have a new mystery to solve: Charlie Ross.