Break Point (3 page)

Finally, she spotted the boxes labeled “investigation.”
She stood up on her toes and looked inside the ones on top of the stacks. Nothing. One by one she pulled them off the shelves, all as empty as the last. “Why would he get rid of everything?” she asked herself as more boxes crashed to the carpet.

She lunged over a pile of papers and pressed the ‘ON’ button on the computer. Her foot beat the deep-pile Berber while she waited for the hard drive to boot up.

“How ya doing back here?”

Frantically she maneuvered the mouse on the computer screen. “It’s gone.” she stammered. “All of it. Everything. Gone.”

“What do you mean gone?”

“I mean gone! The investigation stuff. All of Geoffrey’s files.”

Jake came toward the computer. He reached around her for the mouse and stared at the screen. “Maybe he put it somewhere else.”

“I looked,” she insisted. “Even the hard drive has been emptied. All these boxes were filled with police findings and USTF reports.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Why would he get rid of all the paperwork?”

“Search me,” Jake replied. “Why don’t you call him and see what he knows?”

“He turns his phone off after eight p.m. when he’s on location.”

Jake waded through the mess, picking through the empty boxes on the floor. “You’re sure this is where everything is stored. There are no other filing cabinets or office spaces where it could be?

“If there were, would I be sitting here talking to you?”

He folded his arms across his chest, his well-defined muscles stretching the sleeves of his t-shirt. “Okay, so I can’t read about it, but I can hear a first hand account.”

“You mean you want me to tell you what happened?”

Jake spun the desk chair around and straddled it. “I think you could tell me more than any piece of paper could anyway.”

Summer gulped. Was this a test?
Was there a “right” story she was supposed to tell? One that would be relayed back to her dad? Either way, talking about it was the worst. Words somehow made things more real. In the days after it happened, it was Geoffrey who gave the story to the press and after her initial interview, he didn’t allow her to speak with the police. He told her he knew how painful it was and the less she talked about it the easier it would be to forget. “I don’t remember much about it really,” she said with her back to him.

“I think you remember more than you want to.”

“Can’t you just go down to the police and get my initial statement? Isn’t that just as helpful?”

“I want to hear it from you,” he answered, softly. “As best as you can. With as man
y details as you can remember.”

His voice was gentle like a whisper, but strong enough to penetrate the room. “Its okay.” he assured her. “I promise, I won’t ask twice.”

She sat down where she stood, with her legs tucked underneath her. Reaching out to the pile of papers in front of her, she pulled out a small scrap then balled it up in her hand. “I was in the locker room at a tournament final up in Tampa,” she heard herself say. “I had just gotten dressed. We were told we had ten minutes until we were to take the court.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Nila Norcova. This was the third time in a row we were meeting in a title match. There was a lot of press about it, and I was just about to head out to the court when I saw this masked man going through my racquet bag. He had a knife. One thing led to another. I tried to fight him off...”

She stopped. The memory was still so vivid. She forced a jagged breath and shook her head, as if it would help to dull the focus. “The next thing I can remember is waking up at
Riverside Hospital with a nurse standing over me telling me how lucky I was my arm wasn’t completely severed.” She laughed, trying to hold back the tears. “Lucky. I’ll be lucky if this guy doesn’t come back and finish the job.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Behind her she heard him retrieve his pen and pad of paper from his pocket. “So, what about the investigation? Any leads?”

She turned to face him. “A few in the beginning. I received some scary fan mail. The police have been looking in to those but so far, nothing.”

He nodded as his pen flew across the paper. “Tell me about this Geoffrey guy.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Jake replied. “You talk about him like he a big deal.”

“I would hope so. He’s my fiancé.”

His pen came to a sudden stop. “Your fiancé?” he mumbled. “You didn’t tell me you were engaged.”

“We haven’t been for long,” she explained. “We haven’t set a date yet or anything. But I’m sure we will as soon as he gets back from
Bermuda with Nila.”

“Wait a minute. Nila,
the girl who you play against?

“Yeah, Geoffrey is her manager, too.”

He bit his lip before he spoke. “You mean to tell me this Geoffrey guy is lost in paradise with some other girl while his fiancé is sitting here scared to death.” Jake chuckled and nodded to her naked left hand. “Nice ring by the way.”

“Look, I don’t need a ring and he’s on a necessary business trip. End of story.”

“Whatever you say. All I know is if you were my fiancé I wouldn’t let you go to the bathroom alone.”

She liked him. If for no other reason he made her laugh when she really felt like crying. But so what? Just because he had a sense of humor didn’t mean
she should buy his compassion.

“What about this fan mail?” he asked. “You have no idea where these weird letters are coming from?”

She pushed a hair behind her ear and blew out a breath. “Jake, I am one of the world’s most highly-paid athletes. Just last year alone, I won twelve of the sixteen events I entered, launched my own athletic shoe line, and was on twenty-seven magazine covers worldwide. I get a lot of fan mail. It could be anybody.”

In a sick way she wished it was “just anybody.”

She should have thrown that match when her father had asked her too.

She flinched when Jake brushed his fingers over her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

Her voice failed, her mind still trying to grasp the idea of her own father trying to kill her, but her need to defend the man anyway. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Why would he be so adamant about hiring protection and following through on the investigation?

“What are you thinking about, Summer?”

The musky scent of his cologne was killing her concentration. It would be so easy to give in to this guy’s charm, get lost in those deep blue eyes. She couldn’t look at him. She wasn’t ready to trust.

“Hey, Blondie. You okay?”

“Yeah," she finally said, pulling away from his touch. “Sorry, I guess I’m kind of tired.”

“Healing from a big time injury can really take it out of a person. How about you go get some sleep? I’ll start looking through your mail. Geoffrey didn’t get rid of that too did he?”

“No, I made sure I got them back from the police. I always read my own fan mail. I figure the fans go through the trouble of sending them I should be the one reading them. I just got a few stacks back after Geoffrey left. I haven’t had the chance to go through them yet.”

“Great, how about you get them for me. We can meet back on the living room couch for breakfast.” He looked beyond her toward the kitchen. “You got any coffee?”

She raised her brow. “Wait a minute. You’re not planning on spending the night here, are you?”

“That’s the idea, honey. You want a body guard, right?” He smirked, slipping his hands in his pockets. “Besides, I’m a night person and I’d like to get a jump on all the paper work. Weren’t you just bragging to me about how much mail you get?”

“I wasn’t bragging. I was informing.” She jumped to her feet and breezed by him on her way out the office door.

“You need help with the coffee?” He called after her. “You don’t strike me as a person who knows how to make it.”

The assumption should have offended her but it didn’t, and she wasn’t sure why. She turned on her heals and batted her lashes. “Believe me, Harrison, I’m full of surprises.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She heard him say, as he followed her to the kitchen.

***

Jake jammed two aspirin in his mouth them chased it with a swig of Mountain Dew. Since the accident his eyes tired easily, making headaches a frequent malady.
Reading for hours in dim light certainly didn’t help. If it wasn’t for the healing thought of Summer asleep a room away, he’d have a full blown migraine by now.

He closed his eyes then stretched out on the couch. Stacks of mail covered the coffee table in front of him, each tagged with different color paper.
Some of the letters were scary, even obscene, but nothing that stood out as classic Al Riley dirty work. But that didn’t mean a damn thing. There was a reason why it was called “organized crime.” People like Al Riley knew how to stay one step ahead of the people trying to bring him down.

He picked up a picture some sicko had drawn of a blond-haired angel with a knife through the heart. He shook his head. No wonder the poor girl was scared.
He chucked the offensive envelope into the “keep” file.

A yawn pulled on his mouth as he eyed the closed door at the end of the hall. Her light had been out for a few hours now. More than enough time to fall asleep. He pictured her nestled in her sheets, her perfect body in repose. If he was bold enough he would crawl in beside her and pull her close, letting her golden hair tangle around him. Even in those crummy sweats and messy hair, she was still drop-dead gorgeous.

When she said she was engaged he was shocked. Not because he cared, but because he hadn’t picked up on it in his research. Jake hadn’t even met him and he decided he didn’t like him. What kind of guy left the woman he loved alone like a sitting duck? And if she wanted to play tennis again, why wasn’t he helping her make that possible?

His instincts told him there was something about Geoffrey that didn’t seem right.
Maybe there was a connection between him and Al he’d missed, and if Jake was honest, he hoped he was right. Then he’d have a real reason to not like Geoffrey.

Pushing himself off the couch he inched his out the sliding glass doors to the lanai. The weather had turned in the past few hours, the pleasant heat giving way to damp chill signaling rain.
He paused, hoping he remembered to put the top back up on his car before pulling out his cell phone and pushing two on his speed dial.

“Hello?” Came the groggy female voice on the other end.

“Hey, it’s me. Sorry I’m calling in the middle of the night. I know how you like your sleep.”

“It’s okay.” The voice replied through a yawn. “You must have something important to tell me.”

“I do. Sometime tomorrow I’ll drop her mail and anything else I find in to the Post Office Box.”

“Wow. That’s was quick.”

He smiled. “Well, you know me when I turn on the charm. How about you? You got any news for me.”

“No. Everything is quiet.”

“Good.” He stole a glance through the window at the bedroom door. “Look, I’m worried about you. Are you okay?”

“I’m safe for now.”

“You know if you need me-”

“I know,” she said. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

He thought about it a moment before answering. “I’m not sure, but there was some artwork on some envelopes. I don’t know if it means anything-”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“And I want you to look into someone for me. Geoffrey Martin. He’s her manager.”

“Is he friendly with Al?” she asked.

“That’s what I want to find out. I have a funny feeling about him.”

“Anything else?”

“No. That’s it.” he answered. “Go back to sleep and stay safe.” He pressed the “End” key then flipped his phone shut. Satisfied, he stood in the night air a moment before slipping silently back in the house.

Chapter Three

Summer snuggled deeper in her satin sheets as the sun poured through her bedroom window. Waking up was the worst part of the day. She had never been a morning person and early-bird workouts were the harshest form of torture she could think of. Since her attack, she had come to regard morning as not so bad after all. If she woke up, it meant she was still alive.

She opened one eye and then the other, squinting at the red digits of the alarm clock. Ten a.m. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so late. She sat up straight glaring at the bedroom door like it was to blame for her poor judgment.
What the heck was I thinking letting a stranger sleep on my couch?
Especially one sent by the man she feared was after her in the first place. Slipping from bed she went for the door, pulling on her white silk robe as she went. Her hand lingered on the knob before cautiously turning it, holding her breath when the lock disengaged.

He was sprawled on the living room couch, a sack full of envelopes pilled on the coffee table in front of him. The stillness of his body convinced her he was in a deep sleep. She opened her mouth to alert him, bu
t then quickly clamped it shut.

There seemed to be an advantage in him not knowing she was there. As if observing the man unguarded would give her a true sense of who he was.
Standing over him in the sunlight, her body cast shadows across his face. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but her racing heart indicated she was on to something. He was tall. Six foot at least, with a muscle tone so defined it was obvious he spent as much time in the gym as she did. His chest pressed against his T-shirt in the same rhythm as his even breath, the outlines of his perfect six-pack evident. Even in his sleep he wore a smirk, and it was all the more enticing under dark morning stubble.

There was no denying she was drawn to him. Even with her limited frame of reference, Jake Harrison seemed the epitome of male sex appeal. The boys at the court never impressed her. Most were immature and none were her type of attractive. But then again, she didn’t know she had a type until she laid eyes on Jake.

A second look revealed what she hadn’t seen before. A web of purple scars marred his left fore arm, snaking up his sleeve before fading near the hairline. They looked like burns rather than wounds, puckered skin surrounded by the smooth pink line of a doctor’s incision.

She swallowed hard, imagining the terrible trauma he must have experienced. She’d assume a friend of her fathers would be more likely to inflict injury rather than endure it. All sorts of scenarios were floating through her mind when she focused on the silver glimmer peeking out from his waistband. Her heart seized when she realized it was a r
evolver.

Suddenly his eyes flew open. With a grunt he grabbed her by her hips and in one sweeping motion pinned her underneath him.
“What are you doing!” she gasped struggling under his crushing weight.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. Sneaking up on an armed man isn’t a bright idea, you know. You’re lucky I didn’t put a bullet in your head.”

“I wasn’t sneaking up on you.”

She could feel his eyes on her, his hardness pressed against her tightened belly. “You’re looking at me like you’re afraid, Summer. I thought I made it clear I was here to help you.”

“You did.”

“Then why can I feel your heart pounding?”

She couldn’t answer. Her voice stuck in her throat. His ice blue eyes captured hers a moment before he lowered his mouth to her ear. “Summer,” he whispered. “If I was going to hurt you, don’t you think I would have done it by now?”

His breath snaked around her ear lobe and the faintest scent of his aftershave lifted to her nose. When he finally moved off her, he did it with a groan grazing her cheek with the t
easing whiskers of his stubble.

“What the hell was that all about?” She threw her feet to the floor with a stomp.

He sat on the edge of the couch rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Trying to teach you a lesson.”

“Oh really? What lesson is that?”

“I’m on your side.” He declared. “You know, you don’t have to sneak around me.”

“What about my arm? You could have re-injured it.”

“You think I would be stupid enough to do that?”

She scowled then rubbed her wrist. It did feel good to be free from the sling. Slowly she extended it, then bent it just like the physical therapist showed her. No pain. A smile pulled at her lips.
Maybe it
was
stronger than she thought. “I wasn’t sneaking around.”

“Well either way. It’s okay to let your guard down a little.”

“And furthermore, I don’t like to be bullied,” she blurted. “ Do you pin all your employers on their couches and scare the hell out of them?”

“You mean as a rule?” He pretended to
think about it. “No, just you.”

“Well don’t do it again. And I don’t like guns either. When you are around me I’d prefer you don’t have one on you.”

Jake pushed himself from the couch and glared at her. “Look, I can appreciate your concern. I’m not a huge fan of weapons either, but if the bad guy has one, I would prefer to have one, too. I promise I’ll be careful.”

His eyes shined like crystal, catching the light like tiny kaleidoscopes. He was a charmer. No doubt about it. She wondered if he knew his smile alone was a bigger weapon than any gun he could possibly pack.

Getting up from the couch she pushed around him, heading toward the kitchen. When she spotted the half pot of coffee, she grabbed a mug from the counter and filled it to the rim. “You want me to make fresh?” Jake asked. “I scared the hell out of you. The least I can do is make you coffee.”

“No. Stale is fine.”

“You know, I truly am sorry. From now on I promise I won’t impress you with my high school wrestling moves if you don’t sneak up on me.”

“I was trying to be quiet,” she corrected, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t want to bo
ther you if you were sleeping.”

“You’re no bother .I had to wake up anyway. I want to finish going through all this mail.”

“Did you find anything so far?”

“Not much. A few poems, some song lyrics. A dirty limerick here and there. Some poor slob even drew you some pictures.”

She took the envelope he produced from his jean pocket. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Well, we didn’t find any leads. That’s bad.” He rubbed his temples and headed back to the couch. “But there was nothing there to find so we didn’t miss anything. That’s good.”

“So we’ve split sets. Now what?”

“We make some more coffee after you tell me what the hell a split set is.”

“It’s a tennis term,” she giggled and sat down across from him in the recliner. “We’ve won one and lost one. It means were even.”

“Still don’t get it.”

“Okay, let me put it in simple terms you can understand.” “Say three women hit on you in a bar. Of the first two, one was really hot and one was butt ugly. You’d be even. You’ve split sets. Got it?”

“I guess so.” He nodded proudly, as if he had mastered quantum physics. “Are you trying to impress me with your tennis lingo?”

“Just trying to relate.”

“Well, speaking of tennis, I thought that was something we could do today.
We could go hang out at the tennis pavilion and grab some lunch. Maybe you want to hit the ball around a little.”

She felt her jaw fall to her lap. “Are you crazy,
Harrison? I’m not ready.”

“To play a match maybe, but you got to start somewhere.”

“No way.” She pushed herself up from the chair and stood in front of him. “Dragging you around in public with me is one thing, but playing tennis is quite another. I still wear a sling half the time.”

“On your left arm not your right and you don’t really need the sling at all.”

“How would you know?”

“I just do. The body is able, sweetheart. It’s that head of yours,” he tapped his forehead, “that
needs to be straightened out.”

He said it simply, like it should have been as obvious to her as it was to him. She didn’t protest
. What was the point?

“It’s okay to be afraid you know. You’ve been away. You don’t know what to expect. Totally understandable.”

She studied his face, his kind eyes disarming her. “I guess.”

“Look, you said you wanted to play tennis again. Your boy toy is out of town, you’ve got nothing better to do. Plus, it gives me the opportunity to do some research.”

“How is watching me play tennis helping you investigate.”

“How is sitting around painting your toenails helping your game?”

She shot him the meanest look she could muster. “Fine! I’ll play. But just for the record, I am not afraid. I am the best tennis player in the world. People are afraid of me.”

“That’s the spirit. Now get dressed and grab your racquet. I’ll meet
you in the car in ten minutes.”

She watched him retreat out the door before she took a last swig from her coffee. A little tennis couldn’t hurt. Lord knew she missed it. Maybe the body
was
ready for the test. When she looked down at her arm, she smiled.

She was holding the cup in her left hand.

***

If no one told him, Jake would have never guessed Summer had been injured. Not that he knew much about tennis, but the agile beauty on the court in front of him certainly didn’t move like a person in chronic pain. In fact, he was sure he detected a hint of a smile.

He couldn’t help smiling himself. Watching a bombshell like her was not the worst assignment he could think of. He loved how her long, blond braid tickled the top of her rear when she strutted across the court. Trim and tight. Just the way he liked his women. He could tell this morning just by how she felt under him.

An angel in white
, he thought, loving how the milk colored outfit hugged her in all the right places. Feeling a sudden breeze, he lifted up his sunglasses. When it registered with hardened nipples against her dress he smiled, secretly thanking God for inventing spandex.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
A tall tan man with grey hair and a white, Nike sweat suit came up behind him.

“She sure is,” Jake agreed. “She’s amazing to watch.”

“Yup, I heard she showed up this morning looking for a Steve, her hitting partner. I had to see with my own eyes.”

“She wasn’t expected back so soon, huh?”

“She wasn’t expected back at all. The doctors said she’d be lucky if she could have even fifty percent of her range of motion. Shame too. She has a two-handed backhand that would make you cry.”

“I believe it,” Jake mumbled, his eyes transfixed on the court. For as much as he was impressed by her beauty, he was completely stunned by her athleticism. Watching her was a sport in itself. The way she would sail through the air with the grace of a dancer then pound the ball with the force of a lumberjack. A forehand return exploded off Summer’s racquet and skidded dead on Steve’s base line. She gave a fist pump, then strutted to the back court pick
ing at her strings as she went.

“A lot of people thought she’d give it up.” The man paused, his attention on the court when she nailed a deadly swing volley. “But they don’t know Summer.”

Jake nodded, watching as she pranced back to the base line, jealous of the ball she pulled out from under her skirt. “You seem to know her pretty well.”

“Are you kidding? I practically raised her. She’s been here at the school since her deadbeat father dropped her on my doorstep.”

Jake turned suddenly realizing who he was talking to. “Wait a minute, you must be Anston Vitalie. You own this place.”

“That’s me.”

In Jake’s research, Vitalie’s name had popped up once or twice. From what he understood he was the owner of the Vitalie School and the head coach for the kids who attended. Jake extended his hand to him to shake. “I’m Jake Harrison. I’m a friend of Summer’s.”

“Well, a friend of Summer’s is a friend of mine.” He accepted Jake’s gestures then turned his attention back to the court. “I’m glad she has some friends to support her. She could use all the help she can get, especially with that maniac on the loose.”

“Yeah, well, actually that’s why I’m here. I am a private investigator. I’m sort of overseeing the investigation.”

“Really?” he smirked. “I hope you can light a fire under law enforcement better than Geoffrey Martin can.”

Jake cocked his head, mentally noting the angry tone in his voice. “I take it you’re not a fan of his.”

Anston let out a breath. “Let’s just say I don’t trust him. He’s an operator. He doesn’t care about anybody but his own damn self.”

“How do you know?” Jake asked.

“He and I used to be partners. We opened the
Vitale Tennis School fourteen years ago. It has my name because I put up most of the money. Anyway, we both loved the sport and we liked coaching and it just sort of happened.”