RUNNING GAME (A SECOND CHANCE SPORTS ROMANCE) (51 page)

But that was then, and this is now. The girl he’d deflowered on his big beautiful desk had grown up, and Nathaniel Hale stayed exactly the same. He didn’t understand what it was like to have the responsibilities I was saddled with. Everything was just given to him, and I started to realize that I was just another of his little toys. What we had… It wasn’t even exclusive. When I broke things off he didn’t have an argument for me. There was no declaration of love or boom box held aloft at my shitty apartment window.

For whatever it was worth, I’d have been happy to
never
see him again.

I closed my eyes and felt a hot trickle of summer sweat roll down the back of my neck. I wasn’t that girl anymore. I didn’t need some rich and dominant asshole to validate me. I am a detective now, and I should be dealing with
real
police work. How had this man-child become my responsibility?

All I could do was knock again, louder this time.

I knew the answer, of course. Nathan had unwittingly engaged in some business dealings with the Irish mob and was our only chance at cutting off the head of the snake, Peter Wallace. Wallace was a ruthless son of a bitch, even as far as the mob went. He had no problem trafficking young women and girls to all corners of the globe, and we had reason to believe he’d even moved a few shipments through our very own bay. When the Coast Guard tried to intercept one of the containers, they pushed it overboard and straight into the Pacific Ocean. It wasn’t airtight. Sank like a stone, and took all those poor girls with it.

That was where Nathan Hale came in. His testimony would put Wallace behind bars for good this time. There was just one problem: Nathan Hale wasn’t so keen on testifying against a known killer. Especially not one with a history of beating the system, one dead witness at a time.

How do you convince a self-important yuppie that there’s a bigger picture to think about? How do you make a man like that care about something other than himself?

I opened my eyes and pressed hard on the doorbell. Self-preservation—that was my angle. That was the way I’d convince Nathan to put himself on the line in order to save dozens, if not hundreds of people. Rich men felt very strongly about their belongings. If I could convince him that everything he held dear, including his own life, was at stake, surely he’d come around.

But as I jammed my thumb into the button a second time, I wondered if I was just fooling myself. After all, it wouldn’t be the first case I’d wasted my time on, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time I thought I could change Nathaniel Hale.

You can lead a horse to water…

I was just about to drift into that dark place where all my failures lived when I heard the sound of steel bolts unlatching from the other side of the massive double doors. I took a deep breath, composing myself before Nathan Hale opened the door, inflicting another one of his cocky grins on me.

“Officer Williams,” he said, his eyes scanning every curve of my body. He leaned on the doorframe. “Fancy seeing you here again.”

I stared at him for a long moment, chewing on what I would say next. His gilt hair glistened in the blinding sunlight streaming through the old trees riddled with Spanish moss. It was that time of year when the heat became unbearable around here, when even ducking into the shade meant enduring matted hair and clingy, sweat-stained clothes. I had only been out of my car a few minutes, yet my skin was already prickling with the late summer swelter.

But the longer I looked at him, the more I wondered if it was really the sun making me hot. Objectively, the guy was gorgeous.

His shoulders were broad and his chest was vast, hard, and unyielding beneath his surprisingly low-key t-shirt. It was loose near his stomach, the fabric pooling above his belt and jeans, but I was sure the parts of his body hidden beneath it were just as taut as the rest of him. Clearly, he’d been working out quite a bit since the last time I’d torn his clothes off…

Nathan Hale would have been quite the catch if not for his selfishness.

Then again, that kind of thing seemed standard for rich boys with too much time on their hands. He’d never known a day of hard work in his life—I was pretty sure the title of CEO at his father’s old company was just for show—which meant that he had no empathy for anyone who had to do their jobs to keep food on the table. He was a spoiled brat, and all the good looks and money in the world couldn’t make up for that. Standing here now, I wondered what I ever saw in him…

He had no idea what it was like to be a cop, and a female cop at that. He had no idea what failing to convince him to testify would do to my career. It was no coincidence that I’d been chosen for this task. The Chief knew I had some bad blood with Nathaniel Hale, and setting me up to fail meant that I’d be easier to write off in the future.

And that wasn’t fair.

I’d clawed my way into this detective position, but the Chief seemed determined to keep me from going any higher. For all the talk of equality, the upper echelons of the force were as much of a good old boys club as they ever were… Everything I’d earned up until now hinged on Nathan seeing the light. It made me sick to my stomach to think that he might be holding the future of my career in his hands.

“It’s
detective
now
,
” I said, pulling myself out of the doomsday spiral I’d sent myself into. “May I come in?”

Nathan shrugged. He opened the door wider, gesturing into the atrium. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I tried not to roll my eyes as I stepped past him and into his mansion. Sunlight glinted off the crystal chandelier above us, spraying fragments of light across the dark wood paneling of the walls. I caught a few Technicolor prisms dancing on Nathan’s skin as he closed and locked the door.

“It’s certainly been awhile,” he said, his voice a thick, honeyed purr that, despite my best efforts to resist, made my skin ripple with goosebumps. “If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve prepared the good stuff.”

“I’m here on business, Mr. Hale,” I corrected him as gently as I could. There was no use ruining my chances by bruising his ego. “And I think you know exactly what kind of business I’m talking about.”

I looked around, taking in the vastness of our surroundings. I didn’t like being out in the open like this, even within the relative safety of Nathan’s house.

“Is there someplace we can sit and talk?” I asked him.

Nathan nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets. His grin was gone, and the light in his eyes had faded like the setting sun giving way to twilight. He gestured up the flight of wooden stairs run through with a strip of plush red carpet.

“Come up to my office,” he said, though he let me mount the stairs first. I glanced up as I began to climb, remembering my first trip up these stairs. Fitting that we would talk there… Knowing Nathan, he was just doing this to make me uncomfortable.

But it wouldn’t be the only thing making me feel uncomfortable right now.

Nathan’s home was big, but it felt hollow. Every step I took on the hardwood floors echoed throughout each chamber like an errant round ricocheting in the dark. It was empty, cavernous, and though from the outside it was truly an enviable estate, traversing its innards like this made me shiver.

Most houses had some kind of life built right into them, the product of the people who lived there spilling their energy and warmth right into the walls. Hell, even in the worst cases, you could still feel something below the surface, some vibrating remnant of what the house had seen.

Nathan’s mansion was barren, devoid of life.

Despite all those parties I’d had to interrupt, and all the times I’d let myself get lured inside, there was not a single spark to be found. It was like I was walking a museum for a relationship that never was, and never would be.

I turned over my shoulder to him, only to find his gaze glued firmly to the steady sway of my ass. I rolled my eyes. No wonder he’d let me go up first.

We reached the landing, and I felt him lay his hand every so lightly on the small of my back. A chill shot up my spine, then a rush of heat as he guided me toward a door at the end of the hall.

It’s not a big deal,
I told myself as Nathan’s fingers sent little electric arcs to play across the flesh beneath my blouse.
Stay focused. I have a job to do.

I waited as Nathan opened the door for me, ushering me into his private study. I raised my eyebrows as I looked around. I’d expected the cold, sleek and heartless room where Mr. Hale had taken my virginity, but what I found instead was the only room in the whole house that seemed to have a pulse.

He must have hired an interior decorator… Or maybe it was some small sign that Mr. Hale was finally starting to act his age.

We were surrounded by bookshelves. They ran from floor to ceiling, each one brimming with the colorful spines of dozens of books. There were too many of them to count, their subjects so varied that this one room could have doubled as a public library.

I spotted some classics, like
Moby Dick
and
The Wizard of Oz,
and more contemporary titles, like
Gone Girl
and
The Life of Pi.
He had a wide selection of Asimov’s works near his desk, an executive-style Louis XVI reproduction that very nearly looked real, and on a small end table near a hulking stone fireplace, I saw a copy of Machiavelli’s
The Prince.

That hardly surprised me. It was practically required reading for opportunistic capitalists everywhere. What I
was
surprised by was how every book in Nathan’s tremendous collection seemed worn enough to have been read through at least once. I hadn’t pegged him for a reader, and I’d certainly never seen him pining for books in the times we’d spent together. He didn’t seem like he had the patience.

I turned as he closed the doors behind us and crossed the room to the small seating area near to the fireplace. “Have a seat,
detective
. If you’re here for business instead of pleasure, we might as well get comfortable.”

As he draped himself lazily across a tufted leather settee, I sunk into one of the high-backed armchairs across from him. I felt like royalty just sitting there, but Nathan didn’t seem to share my perception. He lounged like a bored lion, his muscular limbs dangling almost petulantly off the edges of his seat.

“If you’re not here to fuck, you’re here about Peter Wallace, aren’t you?”

“I am,” I admitted. “His trial’s coming up soon, you know.”

“I’m aware,” he answered in a tone that was half a sigh, half a groan. “I watch the news. I hear the prosecution’s built a decent case this time around, too.”

“
Decent
isn’t going to cut it,” I interrupted, “and you know that. This is
Peter Wallace
we’re talking about—the same guy who’s weaseled his way out of prison a dozen times before. And he’ll do it again, unless someone could, say, provide testimony about the particulars of his business in our fair city.”

Despite the oppressive heat lurking just outside, I felt a distinct chill in the air. It was blowing in gusts from Nathan’s side of the room and got stronger with every mention of Peter Wallace’s name. I almost wanted him to turn on the fireplace just to drive it out.

“Sounds like you know a lot about this guy,” he said at last, though he was staring at his bookshelves and not at me. “If you do, then you know what he does to witnesses who agree to testify.”

I nodded solemnly. “I do. And I also know what he does to witnesses who don’t. Last I checked the only difference is how pretty the corpse looks.”

Nathan went quiet, his eyes finally meeting mine. I scooted to the edge of my chair, holding his gaze. “I expect we’ll keep this talk off the record for now?”

“I understand your concerns, Mr. Hale,” I replied, trying to keep my mind off the dark little desires that kept bubbling up inside me.

“Off the record, you’re right. Wallace is not a man to be trifled with. He’s got connections. He’s got ways of making everybody miserable. But that all stops if we put him behind bars, and I’m afraid the only way for us to do that is with your help.”

“And what do I get in return?” he asked me, raising an eyebrow that made it clear he was being coy. As I gave him the death stare, he sat up straighter, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “I mean, sure, there’s some satisfaction in watching this guy get put behind bars for the rest of his life. And from what I understand, he deserves it. It’s not like I don’t want to have a hand in putting him there. But you have to understand,
detective
—the price I’d pay for that… it could be steep. What guarantee can the police offer me that
I’m
not going to end up in one of those shipping containers?”

I frowned. I didn’t think we’d released that detail yet, but men as powerful and rich as Nathan had a way of getting information. Some jaded beat cop had probably forked it over for a small fee. I counted my blessings that at least the culprit hadn’t talked to the media—as far as I knew, anyway.

“You don’t have any family, no wife, no real
girlfriend,
” I said, watching as he grimaced, “so there’s only you we’ve got to worry about. We’ll move you to a safe house, someplace that Wallace’s men won’t be looking for you.”

Nathan shook his head. “I’m staying here.”

“You can’t. This place—well, I’m sorry to say it, but compared to the rest of the city, it stands out like a sore thumb. Your address isn’t exactly private information these days, either. I’m pretty sure half the population’s been to one of your parties, which means if the mob is looking for you, you’re making yourself damn easy for them to find. And if they do…”

I trailed off, hoping Nathan’s imagination would fill in the blanks. He stood up, turned his back on me, and visited the bar at the far end of the room, prying a tumbler from the other side along with a bottle of what looked like whiskey.

“This is my home,” he said as if I’d somehow forgotten. “But I’m not going to pretend like Wallace’s men don’t scare me, because they do. I’m not the fighter type. I guess you’d call me more of a lover.”