Moonlighter

22. Eric

ERIC

I watch Alex leave the suite, because I can’t help myself. Her body is rounded in the middle. But it only makes her look more lush. She’s all curves and shiny hair. And the scent of her perfume is addling my brain.

The bodyguard gallops after her, holding the door, and then they disappear.

Fuck. I wish she hadn’t come tonight. While I’m sitting on my ass in a chair instead of down on that ice where I belong? It’s literally adding insult to my injury. I’m just off my crutches. There’s a cane on the floor beneath my seat. I can’t stand the sight of it.

Doc Herberts won’t even make a guess about when I can return to practice. And he still wants to talk about a second surgery on the other knee. But that one might be much worse. A month on crutches instead of a week. I’d lose the whole season.

Herberts hinted that I might want to consider retirement. I told him I’d retire when I was dead.

He didn’t laugh.

Alone now, I drop a hand to my right knee, which aches all the time. I grab the bottle of ibuprofen out of my pocket and dry swallow two of them.

When Alex returns, Nate buttonholes her. He asks her a question about a factory fire, and then asks her to sit with him.

Nobody distracts me during the third period. We eke out a win, which ought to make me happy. But I’m a grumpy bastard anyway, and not in the mood to celebrate with my teammates.

I wait in my seat as Alex and Nate leave the suite together. Can you blame me for not wanting to limp past Alex? When I finally walk out, the VIP mezzanine is mostly empty.

I’ve almost made it to the elevator when I hear the tapping of high heels coming my way. “Next time I come to the game, I’m sure you’ll be on skates.”

“You bet,” I mutter, hitting the elevator button.

We get into the elevator together. “Can I drop you somewhere?” Alex asks. “I could ask the driver to take the Manhattan bridge after we swing past your place.”

The truth is I don’t have a car lined up. And even if the circumstances suck, I don’t mind more time with Alex. “Can I hitch a ride to Manhattan?” I ask her. “I’m staying at my dad’s place for a few days.”

“How come?” Her forehead creases with concern. “Is he okay?”

“The old coot is fine, I promise.” It’s me with all the issues. “My apartment has a loft bed and my doctor doesn’t want me climbing stairs. I’m sick of my pull-out sofa.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Of course I’ll drop you at your father’s place. He lives in the West 70s, right?”

“Yeah, thanks.” We step into the elevator and I clear my throat. “No news tonight?”

Alex pulls her phone out and unlocks it. “Here. I got a call a few minutes ago but I didn’t look. Tell me who it’s from.”

I take the phone. “Uh oh. I’m sorry to say that your ex called again. No voice message.” I notice her caller ID reads: Asshole Tatum. “I’m afraid to ask how my number displays on your phone?”

“Well, you’re not in there at all.”

“Let’s fix that.” I open her contacts list and add my number myself. I title it Eric Babe-yer. Then I hand it back.

“Subtle.” She gives me a smile as she leaves the elevator and heads for the exit. “I can see the car waiting right outside.”

“Dude!” the young bodyguard says as he holds open the back door of a glossy BMW 5 Series. “It’s an honor, man.”

“Thanks.” I swear he makes me feel about a hundred years old. “I’m headed to Seventy-ninth and Broadway, if you wouldn’t mind. The Apthorp.”

“No way?” He squints at me. “Say, you’re not related to—”

“Carl Bayer? He’s my dad. Max is my brother.”

“Shut the front door! I knew you were cool.”

“Uh, thanks. I think.”

Luckily for my grumpy ass, Alex’s car has a partition between the driver and our seat. “Now tell me,” I ask as soon as we’re in motion. “How are you feeling?”

“Busy. Large. It’s a strange moment for me.”

“How so?”

“I have so much on the line at work. My whole career rides on this expensive project launch. But I also have a baby to plan for. I’m usually all about work. I feel guilty when my mind is on other things.”

“Ah.” I dig my fingers into the muscles at the sides of my knee again. “I’ve been all about work for just as long as you have. But it isn’t going that well right now, and I don’t know where that leaves me.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Alex asks. “I mean that literally.”

“My contract isn’t renewed in the spring, and nobody picks me up. I’ll be teamless. This isn’t my favorite subject.”

“Ouch,” Alex says. “I’m in the same boat, really.”

“What? You run the place.”

“For now. If my new product fails, the board could fire me. Dad’s vote isn’t enough to save me. That would be extreme, but my general counsel would love to make it happen,” she says.

“Whitbread, right?” I remember that dude from Hawaii.

“Nice memory. That’s the guy. He’s been plotting my destruction since the day I took over the C-Suite.”

We sit in silence for a moment. I reach a hand across the leather and take her smoother one in it. She lets me. Her hand feels so smooth against mine. “Listen, Engels. You’ll outmaneuver him. I have no doubt.”

“I probably will,” she says quietly. “But that isn’t even my biggest problem. What will I do if Tatum won’t relinquish? I can’t make him sign away his rights.”

“You’ll still be okay,” I promise. “Max and my dad are pretty resourceful. They won’t let you or your daughter feel unsafe.”

“I trust them. And I know better than to complain. I have nearly unlimited resources. Can you imagine what most women go through if they need to steer clear of a man?”

I shake my head. Because I can’t. I’m used to feeling strong and pretty much in control of everything around me. “I’m just glad you don’t have to find out.”

Her fingers close around mine. “Me too.”

We sit quietly while the car glides over the East River and into Manhattan. “Do me a favor?” I ask as the car approaches my dad’s neighborhood. “Return my call this time? I need to know what happens.”

“Okay. Absolutely,” Alex says.

I give her a sideways glance.

“No, I mean it this time.” She smiles at me in the glow of the streetlamps. Then she pulls her hand from mine and places it on her belly, between the halves of her coat. “Good grief, kid. Take a break already.”

“There’s kicking?”

“So much kicking. Always at night, if I’m sitting down.”

Curious, I move my hand up to her belly. And sure enough, something—somebody—nudges my palm a moment later. I let out a hoot of surprise. “Okay, that’s wild. The baby could only be the size of a kitten, right?”

“The books always compare them to fruits and vegetables. I believe we’ve reached the butternut squash stage.”

She. A very small little girl just kicked me. “Did you paint her room pink?”

“No! Cornflower.”

“What’s cornflower? Is that yellow?”

Alex laughs. “It’s a shade of purply blue.”

“If you say so.” My hand is still on Alex’s belly. We turn at the same time and look into each other’s eyes.

The silence thickens. I need to kiss her. So badly. And she doesn’t hate the idea, either. I see it in her eyes. So I lean down and brush my lips against hers, asking permission.

Her chin tilts upward.

“Excuse me!” The glass partition descends as we jerk apart. “I’m gonna have to pass your corner, man. It’s not a good time to stop.” Duff’s voice sounds a little tight.

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“Got someone following us on a motorcycle since the stadium. At first, I thought it could be a coincidence. I don’t like sounding paranoid, but he’s still back there.”

I turn around and squint out of the window. The glass is darkly tinted, but I can just make out a Triumph riding two cars back. “From where in Brooklyn?”

“Right outside the stadium. Then I lost him for a while, but he reappeared on my tail on the bridge. Three cars back.”

At least the kid is observant. “You call it in?”

“Yeah. Five minutes ago. They’re sending backup, but you might be in for a bumpy ride.”

I reach over Alex’s head for her seatbelt and stretch it low, under her belly, clicking it into place. Then I take care of my own. Then I pull out my phone and text my dad. 911 You home?

Duff turns sharply onto seventy-ninth, heading for the West Side Highway. That’s a good impulse, since New York City stoplights make us vulnerable.

No. Why? Dad replies immediately.

Bummer. If he were home, he might’ve extracted Alex from this car himself. I’m in a Company car with Alex on your block. We might have a tail. Young driver is trying to figure out how to play it.

Head downtown. I’m calling Max.

Roger.

“Go south to headquarters,” I tell Duff. “That comes from Carl.”

“Okay,” Duff says. “Light’s turning red. Damn it.”

The car in front of us decelerates, leaving Duff no choice but to stop. I tuck Alex against my body and slide down a few inches, taking her with me. There’s probably no reason to panic. But there’s no reason to be an easy target, either.

“He stopping?” I ask.

“Not sure,” he says, voice calm as he watches the mirrors.

“Give me your piece. I want both your hands on the wheel.”

He only hesitates for a second. Then he unholsters a Glock and passes it back to me.

Alex’s eyes widen as I check the gun and then stash it in the seat pocket, the handle where I can reach it. “Hey now, we’re just being paranoid.”

But the red light seems to last all year. I hear the motorcycle rev. And then the sound begins to edge closer, as if the bike is idling forward past the other stopped cars. In two seconds he’ll be right here beside the car…

Duff jerks the car out into the empty oncoming lane, shoots past the car in front of us and brings us across West End Avenue before the bike manages to overtake us.

“Jesus Christ and mother Mary,” Alex gasps as the acceleration pushes us back against the seat.

But I’m strangely exhilarated. Duff wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t have a clear path. And the kid happens to handle this car with the finesse of a racetrack veteran.

Nice hire, Max.

The car leaps forward the short distance to Riverside, where Duff runs a yellow light to beat feet onto the West Side Highway onramp.

Then we’re flying. “Is he still with us?” I ask.

“I don’t see him. Yet.”

The radio squawks. “Duff—your backup is Scout in a black Mercedes. Two minutes until she’s on your six.”

“Copy.” At this hour, the West Side Highway is clear. He keeps us at high speed until he sees Scout on our tail. Unfortunately, the highway slows down as we approach the midtown traffic lights.

“You hanging in there?” I ask Alex, who’s pasted to my chest.

“Sure. But I’ve had easier days.”

I chuckle as Duff brings the car through a traffic light, scanning for trouble. “ETA five minutes.”

“We’re good back here,” I say, lifting Alex’s hand and bringing it to my lips.

Duff rolls along at a speed that’s calibrated to hit each light when it’s green. Scout’s voice crackles through the radio. “I have a motorcycle at seven o’clock. Black helmet. Black jacket. Triumph. That your guy?”

“Sounds like him,” Duff says.

“Okay. Falling back.”

Now this I have to see. I straighten up and turn around just as Scout executes a plodding lane change.

She drives the Mercedes like a pokey elephant.

So the motorcycle has to slow down momentarily.

Then, anticipating his next move, Scout does a snappy lane change back in the other direction, boxing the guy again.

To free himself, he pulls up beside her. But now he’s stuck behind a minivan. So he reverses his plan, falling back and moving in behind her.

She brakes. Then jumps forward. And then anticipates his next lane change.

Scout is a badass. She slowly maneuvers him toward the far right lane, and then Duff peels off to the left, leaving Twelfth Avenue and the motorcycle behind.

“That was fun to watch,” I say, turning around again.

“I am sorry I couldn’t watch,” Duff says, turning sharply down Twentieth Street.

“You both have a strange idea of fun,” Alex murmurs.

Duff makes a succession of quick turns as we head for the secret rear entrance to my brother’s building.

“The van behind you is also friendly,” someone says into the radio.

“Copy.”

“We’re ready for you at the back door.”

And then we’re there. A metal door rolls open just before Duff can pull inside. I hear it rolling closed again immediately behind us.

The car stops. Someone knocks on the window, and Duff disengages the locks.

The side door opens, revealing my brother’s smiling face. “Didn’t know you’d be dropping by tonight. Come on upstairs.”