Against The Odds (Anna Dawson #1) (19 page)

He placed a finger on my horseshoe pendant, then slid his hand up and behind my neck, taking my nape in his strong grip. He pulled me close, my ear just below his mouth.

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” he said softly, then let me loose.

A
s I entered the lobby of the Omni Hotel, the Louisville basketball team was walking out, making their way over to the Omni Center for their afternoon game with Pitt.

Karl Richardson was trailing the rest of the team, holding what appeared to be an ice pack to his head.
 
His eyes were half closed, and a member of the team was helping to lead him through the lobby. He looked like death warmed over.
 

No forty points today, Karl.

I started to duck my head as we passed each other, but given the shape he was in, and the difference in my appearance, I just kept walking.
 

He didn’t even notice me.

I
found Jack at the gate for our flight. He rose when he saw me, and started walking toward me. “Flight’s delayed. They’re de-icing the plane. Let’s wait it out in the bar.” He said this all as he took my carry on from my shoulder, added it to his, swung me around and took my hand to lead me in the direction I’d just come from.

It felt so unusual to have someone else make a decision for me. I hated to admit it, but I kind of liked it. But I didn’t want Jack to get the idea he could do it too often, so I was about to balk, when we reached the bar and I saw the Louisville / Pitt game was on the television.

“Sounds good,” I said, taking a stool that gave me optimum viewing.

J
ack sat with a bourbon in front of him for most of the first half, not touching it. I noticed, but just barely, consumed with the game.

“You got money on this game?” he asked when he saw my interest.

“Some,” I said. He nodded, then seemed to retreat into his own staring match with his glass.

I drank several cups of coffee, it feeling like morning to me. The caffeine had nothing on the rush going through me from the game.

At halftime, Pitt was up by five, a stunning upset in the works. Karl Richardson had only played the first three minutes then went into the lockeroom. The announcers said he wasn’t expected back.

“Looking good?” Jack asked me, nodding toward the screen.

“Very good,” I said, and my body relaxed some.
 

He seemed to be waiting for that, because he turned to me then. “So, do we need to have the morning after talk?” he asked.

I took a deep breath, let it out. So, this was it. The “it was fun, but”…talk. I’d had it before, been on the giving and receiving end. I just didn’t want to have it with Jack Schiller. “It’s okay,” I said trying to head him off. “I’m cool.”

“Cool with what exactly?” he asked, studying me.

“With what happened last night.” I shrugged my shoulders—no big deal—and took another gulp of coffee.

“You’re…
cool
…with it?” He raised a brow at me.

“Yes,” I answered.
 

“Johanna, that room looked like a fucking cyclone went through it when we were done. I came three times. And you –”

I held a hand up, perfectly aware of what my body had gone through—I was still having after-shocks. “So, what are you saying, Jack?”

“That I want to see you again. I mean, with my schedule and yours it’s going to take some doing, but…”

“Oh,” I said, surprised.

“You seem surprised,” he said. “Do you have nights like that a lot?”

“No,” I said quickly—too quickly I realized as I saw his grin.

“It seems stupid to walk away from something like that.”

“So, what? You’re talking a relationship? Or a friends with benefits situation?”
 

He looked away from me. His hand traced the outside of his still-full glass of booze. “I’m not sure. I’m no prize in the relationship sweepstakes.” He tapped his glass, bringing my attention to it. I didn’t know if that was his intention or just his subconscious. He looked back at me, puzzlement in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure what he was asking of me.

Asking of himself.

“I’m not perfect, either,” I said, motioning to the television where the second-half of the game was just starting.

 
He took his hand off of his glass, put it on the bar, slid it toward mine, but stopped just short. “Listen, I don’t want to cure you. I don’t want to save you. Your demons are your issue. I like you just fine the way you are. Let your iceberg of vices stay afloat until Al Gore can save it.”

“You’re okay with my issues? Really?” I asked

“Hey, as long as they’re legal, and gambling is in Vegas, why should I care? You’re not breaking the law, right?”

I looked down at my carry-on resting on the floor between us, JoJo’s clothes buried inside. “Well, not homicide, anyway,” I said and laughed.
 

My laugh sounded nervous, forced, even to me. He looked at me just a moment too long and then chuckled also. He turned to his drink, lifting it to his lips, apparently content with our decision—vague as it was.

But I had a feeling nothing I did fooled Jack Schiller.

A
n hour later I sat at the stool, my gut churning as Louisville’s point guard was having the game of his life. Having previously been only an assist-maker for Karl Richardson, he was getting his time to shine, hitting one three-pointer after another.

With two minutes left, Louisville was up by seven. I was still clear as long as Pitt didn’t—

“Looks like Pitt’s going to have to start fouling to save the clock,” the announcer said on the television as Pitt did just that.

Jack got up from his seat. “I’m hitting the john,” he said. “Then I’m going to give Frank a call and see if there’s any news.” He put his hand on my back, and I bristled.

He looked at me, his eyes slid to my hands, which held my coffee cup in a death grip. He didn’t question me. Or assume it had anything to do with him. Jack Schiller had the good sense to look up at the television. He looked at the score, nodded, gave my shoulder a squeeze then left.

Maybe there was hope for something with him after all.

The last five minutes of the game took thirty, with Pitt fouling every time Louisville got the ball. Louisville made every free throw. And what was worse, Pitt missed every shot they took.

With five seconds left and Louisville up by fifteen, I looked out through the wall of windows from the bar to the hallway where Jack was on his phone, presumably with Detective Botz.

I wondered if I slid off the barstool, changed my flight to Puerto Rico and just disappeared if he’d notice?

If he’d come after me?

I knew Vince would, which is why I stayed in my seat. Or, if Vince didn’t come after me, he’d go after Ben and Lorelei—which was so much worse.

Jack met my eye. He pointed to the television set, gave a thumbs up and then a thumbs down, silently asking me how I’d done.

I almost gave him a thumbs up, but knew better than that. He’d know I was lying, and I figured between his drinking and my gambling there’d be plenty of half-truths in our future. Starting off whatever this was going to be with a lie didn’t seem the way to go.

I raised my thumb neutrally, like Caesar pronouncing judgment, and then turned it down. He mouthed the word “sorry” and I shrugged, like it happened everyday.

The truth was, this had never happened to me before. Every game JoJo had been…involved with…had gone the way it was supposed to. That’s why the need to involve players—and more of a chance of being caught—had never been necessary.

Jack started talking again, turning his body away from me.

I wondered if he liked chicks with limps.

J
ack had two bourbons during our flight. I had three. I wanted to be totally numb for what was to come, but instead I fell into a deep sleep and had to be shaken awake by Jack.

We got to the huge luggage pick-up area, though we both had only carry-ons.

“I’ll go get a patrol car to take you home.”

“My car’s in the parking deck,” I said. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

He shook his head. “Botz is going to pick me up. We’re heading to the station.”

So, this was our first goodbye. Would we kiss? Hug? Instead we were saved by Jack’s cell phone—at least momentarily. He took the call, then made a motion for me to stay where I was while he walked to a private alcove, out of my line of vision.

I stepped out of the way of a few people jostling for luggage retrieval position. I looked around, and saw Paulie enter the huge room on the same end that I stood.

My nerves must have been giving off a neon glow, because he saw me right away and started hustling toward me.

Every muscle in my body wanted to run, but I knew that was useless. I had ties here. A home. Ben. Lorelei. Gus, Jimmy and Saul. I couldn’t run. That’s what people like Vince counted on.

“Anna,” Paulie said, disgust in his voice. “You need to come with me.”

My eyes flew to the alcove that Jack would be appearing from any minute. “I know Paulie but now isn’t the best time. Tell Vince I’ll –”

Paulie grabbed my upper arm, squeezing hard. “I ain’t telling Vince nothing. You can tell him whatever lame excuse you came up with. Right now.”

He started pulling me, but I held firm. With all the craziness that was going on, I didn’t want Jack thinking I’d disappeared. But I didn’t want him seeing Paulie either.

“Listen, Paulie,” I started, my voice going to plead mode. “I’ll come with you. I will. But you have to give me a couple of minutes here. I’ll meet you–”

“Jesus Christ, Anna, do you think I’m an idiot?”

I pulled on my arm, trying to get loose, but Paulie didn’t budge.
 

“Excuse me,” I heard Jack’s voice from behind me. “Is there a problem here?”

Paulie kept hold of my arm, but pulled me close to him. “No problem. Just having a tiff with the girlfriend.”

Jack looked at me, no expression on his face. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

My voice cracked, but I managed to croak out, “Yes. Thank you, everything’s fine.”

He nodded, his eyes boring into mine, trying to see any hint of distress, but I only looked guilty. The guilt, I was sure, was all over my face. Not the guilt Jack would think—that I was involved with someone else when I’d slept with him—but guilt just the same.
 

But I needed to set that aside for now. I did not want Jack and Paulie to become better acquainted. “Really. It’s okay. But thanks for your concern.”

“You know how it is,” Paulie said to Jack, mano-a-mano style. “We got into a tiff, she goes away with out telling me. But she’s back now, and we’ll go talk it through. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Jack looked at me hard.
 
I needed to get him out of here. I put my arm around Paulie’s waist. I looked Jack square in his beautiful brown eyes. “That’s right. We really should get going.”

Paulie nodded at Jack who nodded back without looking at me again. He held his hands up, almost hold-up style, then dropped them. “My mistake,” he said, then turned and walked out of the airport.

Chapter Sixteen

“M
y car’s parked here,” I told Paulie, but he just herded me toward his, which sat at one of the meters in the short-term lot.

“I’ll bring you back for it,” he said and I clung to that. It meant I’d be driving again after my meeting with Vince. “If you’re able to drive,” he added and my stomach clenched.

“How’d you know what flight I was on?” I asked. He just looked at me like I’d insulted his intelligence. Of course Vince would have ways to find that out. And Lorelei had booked the flight in my real name.

The drive to meet Vince took a half hour during which I’d worked myself up into a full-blown panic. The thirty thousand I owed Vince wasn’t killing debt. It
was
bodily harm debt. But I had no idea how much of his own money Vince had bet on the Pitt game—he could be out some major change for which he’d hold me responsible.

Shit, he’d probably taken the under, too, to piss him off even more.

I’ve got to tell you, the idea of Paulie pounding on me, of that excruciating pop as my foot broke; I had to roll down the window to keep from hyperventilating.

But to have this happen now, when Ben and the boys needed me around—the shame overcame my fear, which was beyond potent.

Thoughts of Jack whistled past me, too. He knew I had baggage and seemed accepting of that, but even if he got over—or
 
beyond—that scene with Paulie at the airport, me showing up with bruises and broken bones might be more than he signed on for.

I wouldn’t be able to tell him anything. He wouldn’t be able to help in any way, and that would probably drive him crazy. He’d said he didn’t want to save me, but he was a cop after all.