Bigger Than Beckham (32 page)

Not that she wanted to completely burn her
bridges with Tony. Besides the fact that she had a major crush on
him, dammit, he was the only human on the planet with a hope of
getting Colton’s ex to break her silence about the abuse she’d
suffered. The inescapable and unpleasant truth was that Martha
needed Tony’s cooperation on Ginny more than Tony needed her
cooperation on the Thunder. In fact, he now had a free hand to bide
his time and pick up the pieces if and when she could no longer
keep the team alive. She, on the other hand, had no hope of writing
a truly blockbuster Colton-Ginny story without Tony’s committed
help.

Good luck with that one now, girl.

She glanced at the clock on the bedside table
and decided she could safely call Martin James at this hour.
Martin, a devout Christian and unfailing churchgoer, would have
finished his weekly post-service brunch with his wife. And she
could sure use to hear a friendly voice right about now.

Martin answered his cell phone on the first
ring. “Hey, it’s pretty early over there, sunshine. Are you in the
hospital or something? Or are more riots breaking out in the
street?”

“Hell, the morning’s already half gone, Papa
Bear,” Martha said in the brightest voice she could manage. “And
all is calm and well in London Town if we are to believe the
television news, which of course no respectable print journalist
ever would.”

Martin chuckled. “Tell me something I don’t
know, and make it fast. I’ve got a mani-pedi booked this
afternoon.”

Now it was Martha’s turn to chuckle. She knew
for a certified fact that Martin James had never set foot in a spa
in all his grumpy years. No one with nicotine-stained nails that
looked like they’d been chewed by a pack of starving rats could
possibly have done so. “Okay, then, here’s something you don’t
know, my esteemed editor and mentor. I am calling to tell you that
I’m leaning toward accepting the Colton Butler feature assignment
you so graciously offered me, bless your crusted-over, ancient
heart.”

Martin exhaled a long whistle. “Ah, Colton
impressed you, did he?”

She grimaced at the phone. “Yeah, he’s as
charming as a water snake. But I have to say he was more
cooperative than I’d expected. Maybe it’s all that new age woo-woo
he claims to be into these days.”

“Colton cooperative?” Martin scoffed. “He
must be on new meds.”

Martha wasn’t about to fess up about Colton’s
not-so-hidden agenda to seduce her. Her editor and friend was so
protective of her that revealing any such intent on the golfer’s
part might even make Martin toss the whole feature idea in the
dumpster.

She fidgeted with her coffee spoon for a few
seconds, and then decided to go for it. “Martin, hon, I did a
little digging around about Colton the past couple of days.”

“Why am I not surprised? So?”

Martha was venturing onto dangerous ground,
but she knew she could trust Martin to keep his mouth firmly shut
until something could be proven about Colton, or not. “So, there’s
a very strong chance that his blissful marriage and amicable
divorce hid a disgusting, despicable truth that had been going on
behind closed doors.” Even now her stomach churned at the cruel
images her mind kept conjuring up. “The son of a bitch is a wife
beater, Martin.”

The line went silent for five seconds or
more. “And you know this how?” Martin finally said in a low voice
devoid of his previous bantering tone.

Even though he couldn’t see her, she waved
her hand as if batting his question away. “I don’t know enough yet
to tell you much more.” Martin might guess her source, but she
wasn’t going to blurt it out herself. “All I can say now is that my
source claims Ginny Cross spent years fanatically hiding Colton’s
abuse from discovery. All the while they were both pretending to
have a normal marriage.”

She mustered up her courage to say what she’d
decided was her bottom line. “I need to try to dig down to the
truth about these allegations. Honestly, hon, I can’t write a
feature article about Colton Butler without knowing whether or not
he’s a scum-sucking criminal. So, if you’ve got a problem with
that, we’d better thrash it out now.”

“What are the odds that the wife will open
up?” Martin said in the skeptical editor voice she knew so well.
“Especially after she’s kept it under wraps for years?”

“I’m cautiously optimistic,” Martha said even
though she had no cause to be.

“Well, you could talk a grizzly bear out of
his pelt,” Martin said, “so I guess it isn’t a
completely
harebrained idea.”

That was as close to a vote of confidence as
she could expect. “Thanks, Papa Bear.”

“But this better not mean you won’t get the
article done on time. Colton made the timing a clear condition of
the deal, and I agreed. It has to be out before his first
tournament in Australia.”

“It will be,” Martha said immediately. “If I
need more time, I’ll ask for a follow-up article. I’d rather splash
it all out in one piece, though.”

“We’ll talk about that later, if it comes to
that.” Martin paused for a couple of moments. “On another subject,
is there anything significant happening with your team these
days?”

The abrupt shift made Martha’s antennae shoot
straight up. “Have you heard something?”

Martin gave a soft chuckle because she’d
answered his question with one of her own. “Yeah, one of our guys
heard a rumor that Tony Branch was in Jacksonville last week
sniffing around about buying the Thunder. But I figure that
couldn’t possibly be true, because you would surely have mentioned
something that important to your beloved editor, right?”

Another long pause. “But I have to admit that
it got me thinking about your little trip to London, sunshine,” he
continued.

Canny old Papa Bear.
Martha gritted
her teeth. “It’s true that Branch approached me about buying the
team. But you know I’m not interested in selling. My job is to save
the team and rebuild it. I didn’t give up a job I love at the
Post
just to preside over the funeral of my father’s
team.”

Her words sounded a little stiff and harsh to
her ears, but she needed Martin to help squash those rumors if he
could.

“I hear you loud and clear,” he said. “You’ll
do it, if anybody can.”

His words touched her heart. “I appreciate
the vote of confidence, even if you don’t mean it.”

“You keep in touch, now, Martha, dear.”

“Miss you, Papa Bear.”

Staring at the congealed eggs on her plate,
Martha gave up on breakfast and headed for the shower.

She got out a quarter-hour later to the
distinctive ring of her cell phone. Tony trying again? If so, as
much as she wanted to talk to him she wasn’t yet ready. Still, she
threw a towel around herself and dashed out of the bathroom to
check.

Colton’s number.
Goddammit.

“Martha Winston,” she said in the coolest,
most business-like tone she could manage with a pounding heart.

“Tell me you’re not fucking Tony Branch,
Martha. And you’d better fucking well hope I believe it.” Colton’s
voice was an icy snarl. She’d never heard such mean, gutter
language come out of his mouth before, and it sent a dart of alarm
racing along her nerves.

The tabloids
. Martha hadn’t even
bothered to search them out to check for the photos taken yesterday
at Fenton. Her worries over their possible publication had been
subsumed by everything that had happened afterward. But obviously
the papers had some shots of her with Tony at the game, and they’d
found their way up to Colton in Scotland.

“Read the tabloids with your Sunday
breakfast, do you?” She tried to inject a breezy tone into her
tense voice. “How classy.”

“Fuck that shit. My personal assistant just
emailed me two puke-making shots of the two of you all tight and
cozy at a football match yesterday. The prick is looking at you
like he’s fucking you with his goddamn eyes.”

Martha was hardened to foul language, but
bile immediately rose in her throat at the filth pouring out of
Butler’s snarling mouth. She desperately wanted to tell him that
she never wanted to hear his wretched voice again but she managed
to stop herself before the words—ones she could never take
back—flew from her lips. More than ever, she hungered to bring
Colton Butler to his knees with the power of her pen. To do it,
though, she’d have to keep her composure no matter how badly he
provoked her.

“I don’t appreciate your tone or your
language, Colton. Not one little bit. But let me just say this.
Tony Branch and I have known each other for years.” That statement
was technically true, if misleading. “And he simply asked me if I’d
like to be his guest at the Blackhampton match if I had some free
time while I was in town. It was a simple courtesy from one club
owner to another. That’s all.”

A lie of omission. But Colton’s life had
apparently been a damnable lie, so Martha felt zero guilt about
obfuscating what had happened between her and Tony.

Colton snorted noisily. “Bullshit. You’re
sleeping with him. I can see it in your damn eyes when I look at
those pictures. Believe me, I know that look.”

I’ll bet you do, you philandering
scumbag.
“It’s none of your business, Colton,” she said
sharply. “Not one damn bit. But just this once I’ll indulge your
absurd fantasies, though it’s against my better judgment.”

“Just tell me straight, for Christ’s
sake.”

“Fine, then. Yes, I took in most of the match
with Tony, but I left the stadium before it was over and didn’t see
him again after that. All he and I discussed at the match was
business. That’s it, Colton. That’s all that happened yesterday.
Now get a grip and be sensible, please.”

Breathing in heavily, Colton said nothing.
She guessed he’d probably raged around the room breaking things
before picking up the phone to call her. Was he outraged simply
because he hated Tony’s guts, or did Colton think he already had
some kind of claim on her? That idea made her skin go clammy.

After a moment, Martha feigned an enormous
sigh as if exasperated. “Look, Colton, I think I’d actually like to
work with you on this article. But if you’re going to continue this
kind of silliness, maybe it would be best if we called the whole
idea off.”

It was a risky shot, but she sensed that he
wanted her on the article more than he resented her for having been
with Tony.

“Man, you know how much I hate that asshole,
Martha,” he grumbled.

“Ah, yes, you’ve succeeded in making that
perfectly clear. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready to
do some serious shopping before I head back home tomorrow.
Jacksonville’s not exactly London when it comes to finding suitable
apparel for a lady’s wardrobe,” she said with a little laugh. A
laugh that probably sounded as phony as it felt.

“I thought I could trust you, Martha,” Colton
said, but most of the anger seemed to have leached out of his
voice. “Jesus, Tony Branch…I can tell you a lot of shit about that
guy—”

“And I’m dying to hear all about it,” she
interrupted smoothly. “You can tell me everything when we sit down
for our interviews. But right now, I’m sorry, because I really do
have to sign off.”

“Martha, I’m not sure there are going to be
any interviews. Not after this.”

Frig.

“Why, sure there are, hon,” she said, laying
it on thick. “You and I both know that I’m the very best person on
this little blue planet to reveal to the world what Colton Butler
is truly all about now. How you’ve so worked hard to become a new
man. A man with a higher consciousness. A man ready and able to
reclaim his place at the very pinnacle of the golfing world, a
place he of course deserves. You gotta trust me on this, Colton,
because I can do an amazing job for you.”

Or
on
you.

Martha almost gagged at her smarmy reporter
routine but she knew Colton well enough to be confident he’d lap up
the frothy crud. She imagined him on the other end of the line, his
incandescent anger evaporated, replaced by preening self-love.

“I suppose,” he grunted. “But I’m still not
very happy about those pictures, Martha. I need to go meditate
now.”

She bit back a snort. “Why, you just go and
do that, hon. Let me know when you can make it to Jacksonville,
okay? I can’t wait to start,” she cooed.

She hung up before he could get another word
out, feeling like she’d barely managed to dodge a poison-tipped
arrow.

Dropping her cell phone into the cozy welter
of high end bedding and goose down pillows, she rested her forehead
in her palms and let out a frustrated growl. To hell with her plan
for a quiet day of shopping and sightseeing. After Colton’s
outrageous diatribe, Martha knew her back was to the wall. It was
time to put resentment aside and talk to the one man who could help
her bring the wife-beating bastard to his knees.