Big Leagues (24 page)

“Ugh, time flies. We better make our way back
to the fourth floor dungeon. First pitch is in a couple of
hours.”

As they walked through the front doors and into
the first floor lobby, they passed the large clear windows that
encased the stadium’s abundant security headquarters. Kiara sidled
up to her. “Just between us, that place gives me the
creeps.”

Cat pushed the elevator call and looked over
her shoulder at the sterile office. “I definitely know what you
mean.” Behind the glass, a receptionist filed her nails and yawned.
Cat stole another glance before the elevator doors shut.

A maze of cubicles loomed behind the
receptionist and a seemingly endless hallway to the side. She
guessed it led to the holding cells generally used for inebriated
fans, but part of her wondered what else hid beyond the icy
glass.

The entire fourth floor staff received the
e-mail from Hohenschwangau Stadium Security Department at two p.m.
It wasn’t a message that many would give much thought to, but
behind the fancy brass nameplate of the corner office, Cat McDaniel
gnawed on her bottom lip and re-read each word.

Attention Front Office Employees:

Please take a moment to review the Las Vegas
Chips’ policy on Internet and Intranet usage.

Internet use, on Chips’ time, is authorized for
conducting team business. Additionally, under no circumstances may
computers or other electronic equipment be used to obtain, view or
reach any private, unethical or non-business-related Internet
sites, as well as unauthorized material located on the Chips’
Intranet. The Chips own any communication sent via e-mail or stored
on company equipment. Management and other authorized staff have
the right to access any material in your e-mail or on your computer
at any time. Please do not consider your electronic communication,
storage or access to be private if it is created or stored at work.
Again, any violation of these policies will lead to disciplinary
action, up to and including termination.

The memo stung like a bean to the backside and,
just like an unsuspecting batter, Cat was unsure if the hit was
deliberate. Before she took her base and moved on, she rationalized
with herself.

You’ve only been here a few weeks. It’s
entirely possible this is simply corporate blather that is spewed
out annually, quarterly and maybe even monthly. Nothing personal.
Nothing to do with your research as of late. Nothing but a
coincidence.

Cat’s eyes wandered to the screen once
more.

Yeah. Probably.

She scrolled her mouse around the last
sentence, highlighting the last five words with the cursor, “… up
to and including termination.”

I guess they just forgot to add “of
employment.”

* * *

“Hey, Dustin.”

Dustin raised his head from the computer, eyes
as cold as ever behind the thick lenses. Cat studied the frames
closely.

I bet they’re not even prescription. He
probably wears them to distract from his beady little
eyes.

“Gimme a break. I’m about done with the
matchups for tonight’s game.”

She swiped her hand through the air in an
attempt at a nonchalant wave. “Oh, don’t sweat it. No rush. I was
just wondering about, uh, the e-mail that went out from security.
Is that something they do a lot, you know, to r-remind people of
policies and stuff?”

Dustin’s shifty eyes darted around. Leaning
back in his chair, he put his arms behind his head. “Actually, no.
I’ve been here for three years and it’s the first one I’ve seen.
Kinda made me wonder what the fuss is about. Sounds like somebody’s
been snooping around where they shouldn’t, getting on the boss’ bad
side.”

“It d-didn’t sound that nasty to
me.”

Dustin let out an exaggerated whistle. “Are you
kidding? They take confidentiality very seriously here. They fired
the first clubhouse attendant just because he accessed the system
to find out a player’s birthday.” He gave her a twisted smile.
“Dude wanted to bring in a cake.”

Cat scrutinized the junior reporter up and down
to determine if he was playing her. “That’s awful.”

He shrugged. “What is it they say? Curiosity
will kill you, Cat?” He leaned in toward her. “Oops. I guess I mean
the
cat.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Clever, Dustin. Once
again, I find myself as the hapless underdog in your rousing game
of wit.”

“Well, you asked for it.” He swung his feet up
on his desk, narrowly missing her legs by inches. He took a long
swig of his bottled water, swishing it around before swallowing.
“All I know is we have a strict whistle-blowing policy here in the
Chips family. For the sake of the team, if a staff member sees
someone violating the rules, we do what we must to protect the
organization. I take that, and all our policies, extremely
seriously. The perpetrator had better hope I don’t catch him.”
Dustin paused and smiled. “Or her.”

Cat held her hand up and signaled for him to
stop. Then she backed away from his desk, muttering to
herself.

Why, why, why do I talk to this
cretin?

“Cat, you’re still here.”

Cat turned to see Kiara standing next to the
filing cabinets.

“Where else would I be? Got a game in just a
bit.”

She giggled. “Nowhere, I guess. I just took a
smoke break with Lydie and didn’t see your Jeep in the parking
lot.”

Cat walked alongside the intern back to her
office, still frazzled from her encounter with Dustin. “No, I
walked to work this morning.”

“Awesome. I wish I could do that, but I live on
campus.”

Cat shrugged and gave Key a curt smile before
entering her office. As she shut the mahogany door, she caught
Dustin’s knowing smirk. Leaning against the door to rest her head,
she saw the memo on the computer screen and sighed.

At nine that morning, a leisurely walk to work
had seemed like a swell idea. It was going on a month since she’d
moved to Las Vegas, and Cat hadn’t yet taken advantage of her
apartment’s close proximity to Hohenschwangau Stadium. She’d taken
the uncharacteristically cool July morning as a hint to keep her
tattered Jeep parked in its spot and embrace its well-intentioned
There is no Planet B
bumper sticker. Tossing her
gas-guzzler’s keys into her bag, she’d strolled down the sidewalk
and actually enjoyed the crisp start to the day. Now, however,
walking home at ten o’clock at night on the Vegas pavement that had
been soaking up the desert sun for a scorching twelve hours, Cat
wiped the sweat off her brow and remembered why she drove the
pillaging behemoth three blocks every day.

The forty thousand Chips fans who’d flooded the
neighborhood only four hours earlier were now long gone, or at
least adding another drink to their tally at one of the bars on the
north side of the stadium. Surrounding the other three sides of the
stadium were shops, parking garages and the residential real estate
that had refused to surrender to the strong arms of König
Development. Cat walked toward the latter and enjoyed the
tranquility of the peaceful night. A warm breeze brushed her face
and whipped her hair off her neck.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after
all.

The light vehicular and foot traffic allowed
her to sort out her thoughts about the game—unfortunately another
Chips loss. Cat looked up at the night sky and, for a second,
thought she saw a star or two.

Or a helicopter or two.

The twinkles vanished beyond the haze of the
Strip’s bright lights as she rounded the corner and entered the
residential subdivision. A large figure emerged from a palm tree’s
shadow. Cat flinched and hopped back, banging her back into a
property gate. Gasping and clutching her chest, she waited for the
“Excuse me, miss” the man would surely offer, expecting to
experience the embarrassment that came with a gasping overreaction.
Seconds passed and Cat realized with horror that her response
hadn’t been excessive.

She stepped to the side as she examined the
figure. In the ninety-degree weather, he wore a black leather
jacket, black driving gloves and a wool ski mask. The figure—a man,
she guessed from his linebacker mass—snatched her bare arm with a
gloved hand and yanked her so hard she lost her footing. He shoved
her against the tall iron fence, where the hard metal prodded her
spine. She opened her mouth to alert the neighborshood with a
scream, in case the shadows concealed yet another unseen figure in
the night. Before the cry could escape, his hand clamped over her
mouth, forcing her to struggle for air. His leather glove smelled
like an ashtray and filled her mouth with the taste of stale
menthol.

“Gimme your goddamn purse.”

She stood still and blinked fat tears that
rolled down his glove.

His free hand pulled at the bag under her arm.
“Now! Or I swear you’re going from the byline to the headline, ball
bitch!”

She grasped the strap crossed over her chest,
and he released his hand from her mouth. Gulping the thick night
air in panting breaths, she pulled the bag over her head. He
snatched it as soon as the strap passed her ears, taking a few
strands of her hair with his grab. He held the bag in his left hand
and shoved her into the iron fence with his right. She shrunk into
the gate and whimpered. She heard her heart pounding in her ears
and wondered if he could hear the thumps, too. He ripped her right
wrist up to his face, dropped it and looked down to her
left.

“The watch. Where’s your watch?”

“I don’t— I’m not wearing it today.”

His hand lunged out and grabbed her gold Celtic
pendant. She stilled as the crisp leather scraped the top of her
breasts. Her eyes dropped to the logo on the top of the gloves
before he ripped his clenched fist back; the chain dug into her
throat and snapped at the back of her neck.

“If you say one word—”

The purr of an approaching engine cut off his
threat, as they both focused on the road.

Headlights!

The attacker pushed her back once more, then
leaped over the top of the gate. She fell to the ground, her knees
scraping the hard cement. She crouched on the sidewalk, unsure if
it was safe to move. The car sped by without a single flash of its
brake lights. She stood up. Her trembling hands felt her shoulder
for the purse strap before realization sunk in. She had no purse.
No cell phone. No computer. No wallet. No keys to her apartment. No
keys to her office. Her entire life was in the hands of a masked
crook. She looked down at her secondhand dress and cheap shoes, the
only possessions she had left. She’d never been so grateful to have
just the clothes on her back.

Cat shook off the haunting ‘what-ifs’ that
could have resulted from the situation, turned from the scene and
ran as fast as her wobbling legs would carry her.

“Winston! Winston, thank God.”

Cat ducked under the parking lot gate and ran
around to the guard booth’s entrance. The guard jumped off his
chair and opened the door for her.

“Ms. McDaniel? Heavens to Betsy, you look—oh,
never mind that. If I’ve learned one thing in my sixty-plus years
on God’s green earth it’s that you never tell a pretty woman she
looks terrible.” His jovial smile dropped when she passed through
the doorway and stood under the florescent scrutiny of the guard
shack. “My dear, what’s happened?”

Between gasps, she choked out, “I— I guess— I
w— I was just m-mugged.”

“Mugged?” He led her to his well-worn chair and
helped her sit. She clung to his comforting arm as his eyes fell to
her bloodied legs. “Oh my. This is just unthinkable. Are you hurt?
Let me call the police. Do you need an ambulance?”

She shook her head from side to side, stopped,
and then wobbled it up and down. “No. I mean, y-yes, I’m okay. I
think. No ambulance. He took my purse, my computer, my
everything.”

Winston nodded sympathetically. “Well, none of
those things matter now. The only thing that can’t be replaced is
you.” He ran his hand over his perspiring brow. “I can’t believe
this. You poor thing.”

Tears began to form in Cat’s eyes as her pulse
steadied.

Winston picked up his phone. “Mr. Snow, our
reporter was just mugged. Right outside the stadium … No, she’s not
injured ... Uh, her purse, I believe … Okay … Yes sir.”

Winston slammed the phone down and draped his
jacket over her shoulders.

“All righty, dearie, I’m going to walk you down
to the security office. They’re gonna make a report and notify the
police. We’ll get you all taken care of.”

Cat gave him her best attempt at a smile and
followed him to the tunnel.

“Ow!” Cat winced and pulled her leg
back.

“I’m sorry, Catriona. I know this must sting,
but it’s important to clean the wound.”

She glared at Dr. Goodall, whose kind words
didn’t soothe the burn of antiseptic on her skinned kneecaps. He
chided her with a teasing wink.