Chapter 1 #2
“Well, you don’t have a choice. I’ve been dying to get involved with this investigation of yours all along, but I know how stubborn you are. Just like your daddy.”
Any trait of Frank’s that was apparent in her, she regarded as a cancer. If she could cut it out, she would. “Daddy, I know you probably don’t need my suggestions on how to handle everything, but I’m comfortable just letting the authorities handle it.”
“Geoffrey says the cops have come up dry, and now that he’s out of town, you’ve got no one around to keep an eye on you.”
“I have a staff.”
“I mean twenty-four-hour protection. Someone that sticks to you like fly paper. And someone who can look into your case. Geoffrey says this fruit loop is sending you some threatening mail?”
“In the beginning law enforcement thought they found some suspicious postcards.”
“I’ll have him look into that.”
Brielle took a sip of her juice then placed the glass back down. “Excuse me, Daddy. ‘Him’ who?”
“I know a guy.” Frank pulled the napkin from his shirt, then dabbed the corners of his mouth. “He’s a good friend of mine. He used to be an athlete like you, but now he works as an investigator. His name is Callum Harrison.”
“Is he a bodyguard?”
“He’s any damn thing I tell him to be. I’ve set the whole thing up. He’ll contact you sometime this week.”
Brielle watched as he rubbed a spot off his teaspoon. He inspected it in the light then dipped it in the sugar.
And that was that. End of discussion. Forks clanked against the china as the rest of the diners fed their bloated faces. She glanced around at her father’s closest friends, each one capable of unspeakable crimes. Her gaze dropped to her lap. Her harnessed arm hung limp against her.
She’d learned her lesson. There was no saying “no” to Big Frank Riley.
The redheaded waitress reappeared, her lipstick reapplied and her hair smoothed down.
She went around the table topping off the men’s coffee cups but skipped over Brielle.
Typical. It amazed her how easy it was for her to make enemies.
She never meant to insult or alienate. In fact, she craved connection.
Something she had always wished her father wanted with her.
As if hearing her thoughts, Frank turned to her and smiled, his calloused hand taking hers with the compassion of a real, loving father. “Look honey, I know you’re afraid, but you don’t have to be. Trust me, as long as you have this guy around you can breathe a little easier.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Daddy.”
“Give this guy a chance. From where I am sitting, it looks like you’ve run out of options.”
Brielle looked at him a moment, recognizing his kindness as his newest weapon of manipulation.
It amazed her that even as an adult she could be reduced to the pliable motherless six-year-old who craved her father’s love, no matter what pain he might inflict.
“Okay, Daddy,” she heard herself say. “I’ll do what you want. ”
And she hated that she meant it.
If the Vitalie Tennis Academy’s pavilion was Brielle’s place of business, court seven was her office. Cooled by the shade but bright enough to spot the balls, it was the perfect place to watch a tennis match. It was also conveniently close to the kitchen.
Everyday just before noon Henry, the chef, would personally deliver a Greek salad, lemon ice-water, and strawberries to her private table on the first level landing of the bleachers.
It was there she would watch the children’s practices.
Attending these sessions was what got her out of bed some mornings.
She loved little kids and if there was any reason she would look forward to retirement, it would be to have a family.
But that would all have to wait. The only thing that mattered now was making her way back to the circuit.
Whatever may be lurking out there didn’t scare her half as much as her career slipping away.
“Excuse me, are you Brielle?”
She jumped, startled by the deep male voice at the top of the bleachers. “Who wants to know?”
“My name is Callum Harrison. I was told I could find Brielle Riley here.”
“Well, you found her.” She watched the man come toward her.
He sounded familiar but the distance and the glare of the sun made him impossible to place.
He was tall with short dark hair, solidly built like an athlete, but with a swagger and posture of a man who played athletes in movies.
The view got better and better with each step, his broad shoulders doing wonders for the line of his Brioni suit.
“Can I help you?” she asked, raising her hand to shield the sun.
“You tell me. Your father said you needed some help with a criminal investigation.” He extended his hand for her to shake. “Looks like we meet again, Miss Riley.”
Recognition hit her when she saw the smile. He was the smart ass with that waitress outside Giovanni’s. She ignored the hand he still held in front of her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I thought you were expecting me. Your father didn’t tell you I was coming?”
“Depends. Are you with the police?”
“No.”
“F.B.I.?”
“No.”
“Private investigator?”
He smiled. “Sort of.”
She shook her head. Like Frank would ever send someone legitimate. “I knew it. You’re just one of my father’s hired hands, aren’t you?”
“You make it sound like a bad thing.” When he sat down across from her the breeze delivered a good whiff of him. He smelled as good as he looked. Calvin Klein mixed with pure man.
“Nice day for tennis,” he said after a moment, nodding to the two giggling girls rallying on the court below. He lifted his sunglasses to his head, revealing the most intensely blue eyes Brielle had ever seen. “That little brunette with the pigtails looks like she’s pretty good.”
Brielle was still staring. “Huh?”
“That little girl.” He pointed to the far end of the court.
She followed his finger to the little girl drawing circles in the clay with her sneaker. “That’s Ashley Tanner. She’s one of my favorites. She’s learning a kick serve. She cried about it for an hour yesterday. But so far today, no tears. On the other side of the court is Courtney Casey. Rivals.”
He turned back to her, his incredible eyes reflecting the sun like prisms. “Sounds like you know these little ones pretty well. You must watch them a lot.”
“That’s about all I can do nowadays. Sit and watch. The little ones like the attention. It’s hard being young and living away from home. I just think it’s nice to let them know someone is around to look out for them.”
What the heck was she babbling about? The guy was a punk.
Not a friend to shoot the shit with. She straightened in her chair then tossed her braid over her shoulder with a snap.
“Look Mr. Whoever-You-Are, if you are truly here to help, then help. But, otherwise, would you leave my table and head back to whatever thug convention my father found you at?” She was harsher than she intended, but impressed she had the guts to say anything at all.
She braced herself for an angry reaction but he just smiled and reached across the table for the water pitcher.
“So what did you do to your arm?” he asked gesturing to her with his empty glass. “Fall off your throne or something?”
“You’re kidding right? You really don’t know what happened to me?”
“Should I?”
“It’s the whole reason why you’re here in the first place.” She flipped her fork onto the table and their eyes locked as if in a challenge. “You aren’t kidding, are you? You honestly have no clue who I am?”
“You’re Frank Riley’s daughter.”
“Yeah, and world class athlete, model, spokeswoman, celebrity.” She stared at his blank face. ”Brielle Riley the tennis star! How can you not know me?”
He laughed. “Well, unless you play for the Marlins or the Dolphins I wouldn’t know you from Jack.”
“You don’t know who I am or why you’re here.
Perfect.” She hated snobbery, and with any luck so did he.
It occurred to her that maybe if she was unbearable enough he would refuse to work for her and her father would give up on her all together.
It was worth a try, and if this guy was as brain dead as the rest of her father’s stooges, she may have more than a fighting chance.
“Listen sweetheart, if you’re trying to scare me off it’s not going to work.
I got a call from Big Frank telling me he wanted me to meet with his daughter about an assault investigation and that she needed a bodyguard.
Instead of a ‘thank you,’ I get attitude and a lecture on women’s tennis from a woman who’s clearly freaked out by something because she keeps looking around like she waiting for it to jump up and get her. ”
She wasn’t sure if she was impressed by his perception or shocked by his accuracy. Either way, she wanted no part of him. “That’s it,” her voice cracked. “If you aren’t going to leave, I will.”
“Wait!” he reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “I think we both know ditching me wouldn’t be in your best interest.”
His touch sent her rational thoughts scattering.
What was it about him that scared and stirred her all at once?
But maybe that was his plan. Dealing with Big Frank was like navigating in a fog.
You never knew where you stood, blind to where danger lurked until you were trapped by it.
She pulled her hand away, his fingers slipping over hers.
“Look honey, I realize I might have made a bad first impression, but you should think twice about blowing me off. I would think a nice girl like you would like to please her daddy.” He produced a business card from his breast pocket.
He held it in front of her a moment before sliding it across the table.
“Make sure you take care of yourself, Ms. Riley.”
She watched him go, his stride as confident as it had been when he first walked up to her. The view was just as good, too. His slender hips and tight butt made her remember why she had always admired the Brioni men’s line.