Deadly Sexy (14 page)

At work on Thursday morning, her first call of the day came from Marva Wingate. She and her son Marvin had worked out a truce, and Marva was once again in his life; not in the role of business manager or agent, but as his mother. “I’m chairing the MAMA ball this year. How many tables do you want? There’ll be ten to a table.”

MAMA stood for Mothers and Mentors of Athletes. “Let’s see…” JT did a mental head count. “Put me down for two.”

“Okay. Make sure you bring that new man of yours.”

“What new man?”

“Reese Anthony?”

JT went still. “How do you know about Reese?”

“Our sons, who else? Talk about women not being able to keep a secret. The ladies and I have been talking about it all over the country.”

“All over the country?”

“Yes, and we all think it’s about time you settled down. Just say the word and we’ll start prepping the shower.”

“Shower! Marva, hold up.”

“Gotta go. If you need another table, give me a call.” And she hung up.

JT had her forehead pressed down on her desk when Carole walked in. “What’s wrong?”

“Marva Wingate wants to give me a shower.”

Carole seemed to ponder that for a moment. “You and Marva Wingate in a shower. That’s kinda kinky. Who knew she was a freak underneath those pearls?”

“Not that kind of shower! She’s talking a wedding shower, baby shower.”

“You’re pregnant?”

JT stared at Carole as if she’d never seen her before. “Of course not! What is wrong with you? I feel like I’m talking to—what’s that woman’s name?—Gracie Allen.”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve been wondering myself. Brad and I did the horizontal tango last night and I think he blanked my brains out.”

“Blanked your brains out?” For as long as JT had known Carole, no curse words had ever crossed her lips.

“Yes, blanked my brains out. I haven’t been right since I got up this morning. Took me twenty minutes to find my keys, drove off in the wrong direction when I left the house, tried to go into the exit lane at the parking structure instead of the entrance.”

JT was laughing. “That must have been some loving he put on you.”

Carole fought back a smile. “Quit laughing or I’ll make you drink the coffee I made this morning without the filter.”

“You’re a mess.”

“Tell me about it. But I’m surprised you aren’t doing the same dumb stuff, considering who you’ve been tangoing with.”

“I’m a lawyer and I know how to plead the Fifth.”

Carole’s voice turned serious. “You really like him, don’t you?”

JT nodded. “Yeah.”

“I think you’ll be good together.”

“We’ll see. You know me. I meet these men, they look good at first then turn into lunatics, so I’m taking it day by day.”

“This one’s gold.”

“I’m starting to think that myself, but like I said, we’ll see.”

Carole nodded her approval, then said, “Now, I’m trying to remember why I came in here. Oh, yes. The mail.” She hurried back to her desk to retrieve it.

JT chuckled. Carole returned and handed over the small stack of envelopes and overnight mailers. “There’s a box out front too. Might be more computer equipment.”

“Go ahead and open it. If the contents don’t look like something we can handle, call Misha.”

“Okay.”

JT settled down with her mail. Letter opener in hand, she slit open a mailer holding the completed Owens contract and heard a man’s voice in the outer office shout, “Die, bitch!” Puzzled, she stood, and just as she did, an explosion filled her ears. Before she could react, time seemed to go into slow motion and she watched in disbelief as the door and wall splintered and the debris come barreling her way. Horror grabbed her when she realized she was airborne. Pain and the sound of her own screams were the last thing she remembered.

When she came to, she was outside on a stretcher. Sirens were blaring. Red lights pulsated from police cars and fire trucks. The smell of smoke was thick. For a moment she didn’t understand. Why were firemen racing around dragging hoses, and why was there a bunch of people standing behind lines of police? What were they all gawking at? What was burning? Then everything came back.
Carole!
Panicked, she struggled to sit up. Pain flashed through her ribs, but she didn’t care. She had to find Carole!

The face of a woman in an EMS shirt loomed near. “Lie back, please, Ms. Blake.”

“Where’s Carole?”

“She’s on her way to the hospital.”

“Is she okay?”

“Lie back, Ms. Blake. She’s in good hands.”

The medic tried to place a bandage on the huge gash in JT’s forehead, but she slapped it away. “Answer me, dammit! Is she okay?”

“She’s alive. That’s all we know for sure.”

JT laid back and prayed the woman was telling the truth. She needed to talk to the police. She knew she had something to tell them but was drifting in and out of consciousness and couldn’t remember what it was.

“I’m going to give you something for the pain. Probably put you to sleep.”

“No!”

But the woman had already injected her, and a few moments later JT was being hoisted into the back of an ambulance and then was on her way to the hospital.

Reese’s phone rang. He was in the middle of a meeting with Mendes. He glanced down at the caller ID. Seeing D’Angelo Nelson’s name puzzled him, so he excused himself and took the call outside.

“Reese?”

“Yeah?”

“JT’s been hurt, she’s in the hospital. Jason is on his way to pick you up.”

Reese forced himself not to panic. “What happened?”

“Police say a mail bomb.”

Reese’s eyes widened and his heart began to pound. A thousand questions clamored to be asked all at once, but he kept it together. “Where do I meet Jason?”

“Airport. He’s flying down in his plane. Should be there within the hour.” D’Angelo gave him instructions where to go.

Reese went back into the room and quickly retold the story to Mendes and his detectives. After promising to keep them in the loop, he ran to his rental car. Driving to the airport, he did the only thing he could. He prayed.

Misha was crying. The explosion at JT’s office was all over the news. The police wouldn’t speculate as to the cause, but Misha knew. So far she hadn’t heard anything on JT’s condition but Carole was reportedly critical. As she watched the firefighters battle to save the gentrified old building, she knew he’d lied to her. He hadn’t wanted to just get back at JT, he wanted her dead, and she was appalled that she’d been the one to put the means to do so in his hands.

At that moment, Misha grew up. For years she’d refused to see Bobby with the rational mind she proudly applied to the rest of her twenty-seven-year-old life. She thought that if she wished hard enough and made herself available to him whenever he wanted, he would love her as much as she loved him. But this? To her discredit, she’d overlooked the computer virus and the threatening note, but not even a woman deranged by love could pretend to ignore bombs that sent people to the hospital. She’d been a seventeen-year-old senior in high school when she began working for JT part-time. And after she enrolled in college, JT always had an intern position waiting for her when she came home for summer vacation so she’d be able to earn enough money to pay for tuition and books when the fall semester started up. “And how do I pay you back?” she said aloud to herself.

She was sick inside. She’d paid her back with an act of betrayal so heinous and vile she could wind up on Death Row. All because of her obsession for a man who didn’t care about anything except getting to the top, even if it cost Carole’s life.
What else have you lied about, Bobby?
Determined to try and make this right somehow, Misha opened up her laptop and began to type.

Reese and Jason were striding urgently down the halls of the hospital. Both men were so worried, it took all they had not to run, but they managed to keep walking. They entered the waiting room to find D’Angelo and a number of other athletes on JT’s client list inside.

Reese stuck his hand out to D’Angelo. “Thanks for calling me. What are the doctors saying?”

“She’s going to be okay. Busted her left arm in two places. Has a few broken ribs and some internal bruising. Carole’s in real bad shape, though. She took the direct hit, but they’re pretty sure she’s going to pull through.”

He relaxed for the first time since receiving D’Angelo’s call. “What are the police saying?”

“The box had an incendiary device inside along with a lot of glass shards and metal shavings.”

“Meant to maim and / or kill,” Reese stated angrily.

“That’s what the police said.”

“Have you seen her?”

“Yeah, but for just a minute. They originally told us only family, but after we politely explained that we either see her or tear up the place, they gave in.”

Reese understood. “Has anybody called her mother or sister?”

“Not that I know of. I don’t have a number. I don’t think any of us do. Carole probably does, but…” his words trailed off. “Her husband’s with her. He seems to be holding up pretty well.”

Reese wondered how he’d be doing were Jessi the one in critical condition. “Who do I see about getting in?”

“Nurses at the station down the hall.”

Reese turned to Jason. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No prob. D and I thought you needed to be here. I’ll go in and see her after you’re done.”

Reese saw the seriousness in their eyes. “Appreciate it.” And he did. He left the waiting room and went in search of the nurses’ station.

With no celebrity and less muscle to throw around, he had more trouble getting past the nurses. “Ma’am, please,” he finally said, “that’s my lady. I have to see her.”

Something in his face and voice much have touched her because relented. “Okay, but the police outside her door have the final say.”

“Thank you!”

To Reese’s relief, the lady FBI agent who’d interviewed Jessi about the letter was by the door to her room, talking with a small group of agents wearing windbreakers that read
FBI
and
ATF.
Upon seeing him, she broke ranks and walked over. “Mr. Anthony.”

“Special Agent Tate. How are you?”

“I was doing okay until I got the call that someone tried to blow Ms. Blake and her assistant to smithereens.”

“Me too. Any leads?”

“Not yet. We put a rush on that letter, though.”

That was good news. “Can I see her?”

“Sure. I heard Jason Grant flew down to L.A. to get you.”

“Yes.”

“Go on in. Docs don’t want her tired out, so not too long. When you come back we’ll talk.”

Reese went in. He was pleased to see a policewoman seated inside. She nodded a greeting and he walked over to the bed. Every beat of his heart was moved by the sight of JT lying so still. There was a huge bandage swathing her forehead and a fat cast on her left arm. He couldn’t imagine how he’d have coped had she been killed. They were just beginning to explore what it might be like to be with each other long-term. He gave thanks that she would recover. As if JT sensed his presence, her eyes fluttered opened and she gave him a weak smile. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

“Why aren’t you out chasing down the bastard who did this?”

He smiled. “Wanted to make sure you were okay first.”

“I’m pissed but fine. How’s Carole?”

“Surviving, from what I’m hearing.”

“Good.”

“Do you want us to call your mother?”

JT shook her head. “No. She’ll just worry. I’ll call her soon as I can stay awake long enough to talk.”

“Glad you’re okay.”

“Me too. D and Jason didn’t trash the hospital trying to get in to see me, did they?”

“No.”

“Worried about that.”

“You go on back to sleep. I’m right outside.”

“Thanks, Reese.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her eyes closed and she drifted away.

Grateful for her life, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek and quietly left the room.

The meeting with the FBI and ATF lasted over an
hour. Everything was discussed, from the nature of the bomb and who might have constructed it to the threatening letter and Bobby Garrett.

Agent Tate stated, “I want to take a hard look at him. We don’t have enough to call for a warrant, but let’s put him under surveillance and see where he takes us.” She looked to Reese and added, “And you can’t have any official role, Mr. Anthony.”

“I know. I’m working in a nonofficial capacity on another investigation down in L.A.”

“What’s going on there?”

He told them the story.

When he was done, one of the ATF agents cracked, “For a cop who’s supposed to be retired, you’re awfully busy.”

“I know, and I’ll help out here too, if you need me. The sooner this person is caught, the better.”

“We agree,” Tate said. “For now, though, once Ms. Blake is released we’re suggesting she rehab somewhere away from the city. Might be safer.”

Reese thought that made sense, but the question would be how she’d feel about it. His phone rang. It was the tattooed clerk at the pawnshop. The music player had come in a few moments ago.

“What did the person look like?” Reese asked, trying not to get excited over what could be the first big break in the case.

The clerk described a typical teen.

“Okay. I want you to call Captain Mendes—his detectives are handling the case.” He recited the number but the clerk wasn’t buying it.

“I hate cops. Only person I’m giving this to is you, otherwise I sell it noon tomorrow.”

“I’m in Oakland right now.”

“I’ll hold it until tomorrow at two. Best I can do.”

Reese cursed inwardly. “Okay. I’ll be there before two.” Ending the call, he told Agent Tate, “Somebody just pawned the music player tied to the Pennington case I was telling you about earlier.” He glanced at his watch. It was almost four. He didn’t want to leave Jessi, so decided to hole up in the Bay area overnight then catch an early flight back to L.A. in the morning. He took a moment to call Mendes and explain the situation. Mendes was pleased with the news and agreed to wait for Reese to return so the player could be retrieved. He didn’t want to send a detective to the pawnshop and have the clerk go dummy on them, and maybe sell the thing as a result.

Reese stayed at the hospital until late into the evening. The Fed agents and the athletes had all gone, so that left him and the policewoman inside JT’s room as her only visitors. The nurses were nice enough to let him look in on the sleeping JT once an hour, and as he sat in the waiting room eating a burger bag dinner, he got the opportunity to meet Carole’s husband Brad. As D’Angelo had noted earlier, the high school history teacher appeared to be holding up under the weight of his wife’s injuries. He told Reese it would be a few more days before the docs could determine if she’d actually turned the corner. Some of the glass and metal from the bomb had penetrated her eye and they were afraid she might lose it. A surgical evaluation was scheduled for the next day. Reese’s heart went out to him.

After leaving the hospital, Reese entered his hotel room, tired, angry, and again grateful that both women hadn’t been killed. Once he had a shower, he felt better but was no less concerned. He called Bryce and told him of the day’s event.

Bryce sounded stunned. “A mail bomb?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, we need to find this person in a hurry. I’ll lean on the Seattle kid again. Maybe he knows more.”

“Do that because we need to get whoever it is off the streets.”

“I’m on it. How’re you doing?” his brother asked with concern.

Reese shrugged. “Mad, but okay.”

“You know, if the Feds want her to recuperate someplace else, you should bring her here. We’ll watch over her. No problem. We’ve got tons of room, and nobody is going to mess with her with all of us here.”

Reese hadn’t thought about that, but it sounded like a damn good idea. “I’ll run it by her and see what she says. Let me speak to Pops.”

Bryce put Pops on the phone, and Pops immediately barked, “Is Bryce right? Did somebody try and blow up my future daughter-in-law?”

Reese chuckled. “Let’s not go there yet, Pops.”

The two of them talked for a few minutes about Bryce’s idea to bring Jessi to Michigan. Pops said, “We can help. She can recuperate here with no drama, and I dare some bastard to try and blow her up on my watch.”

“Thanks, Pops.”

The call ended a short while later, and Reese put down his phone. He didn’t know how JT would respond to the suggestion, but thanks to Bryce, at least they had a plan.

The next morning, Reese had the taxi driver run him by the hospital before driving him to the airport. He wanted to make sure she hadn’t developed any complications overnight. The nurses said she’d slept well, and that was like music to his ears. When he tipped in to see her, she was asleep. He was torn between letting her sleep and waking her so he could look in her eyes, but he knew that was purely selfish, so he opted for the former. Lord knew, he didn’t want to leave her, but he had a job to do and he needed to get going. She’d be in good hands. The medical staff was stellar, and Special Agent Tate would be keeping an eye on her as well, so he gave the sleeping Lady Blake a soft smile and left the room.

Matt Wenzel’s only concern was the welfare of his wife and their unborn child. He didn’t care about the team operations, his greedy father’s perverse plan to get them out of debt, or what might happen to him personally because of the crap he was in. Melissa’s safety was all that mattered. To that end, he’d used part of his cut from Sunday’s drug deal and sent Melissa, her two sisters, and their mother on an all expense paid trip to Europe. Ostensibly it was to celebrate his mother-in-law’s fifty-fifth birthday. He’d always liked her, if only because she’d welcomed him into her family in spite of meeting Big Bo. In reality, though, the trip was his way of putting Melissa out of Garrett’s reach. The verbal threats and the man on the roof of his garage had scared him badly. They’d be gone for a month, touring Britain, France, Spain, and Rome. By the time they returned, he hoped the situation keeping him awake at night would be resolved somehow.

Why couldn’t Garrett have been the one blown up by the package bomb sent to JT Blake? As far as he knew, the Lady Blake was just that, a lady, and the Grizzlies organization had sent her a large display of callas to show they cared. Why were the innocents preyed on while scum like Garrett were allowed to go their merry way? The fantasy of reading about Garrett’s death in the paper put a cruel smile on his face. He’d never been the type to wish death on anyone, but he did for Garrett.

According to the pawnshop’s records, the music player belonging to Gus Pennington had been pawned by a kid named Jalen Young. The tattooed clerk even had an address and a phone number. Whether the information was truthful or not, the clerk didn’t know, so after Reese brought it to the police station, Mendes sent a squad car to Compton to pick up Jalen Young for questioning. Reese and Mendes watched the interrogation from the other side of the glass. Jalen’s parents were with him, and Reese did a double take, remembering where he’d seen the mother before.
Babymama drama,
Garrett’s secretary had whispered. What in the hell was going on? How did Garrett’s kid wind up pawning Gus Pennington’s music player?

The young man’s voice came through the speakers in the room where Reese stood.

“I told you, my father gave it to me. I pawned it because I don’t have a credit card or the money to buy more songs and the music on it now is whack. Pawnshop gave me fifteen dollars for it.”

The detective then asked about the date and time of the gift. Jalen’s reply placed it after the date of the murder. As the interrogation continued, the anger on Kelly Young’s face was plain. Who or what she was mad at, Reese didn’t know, but she looked like she wanted to hurt somebody bad. She cut in and said, “For the record, his father is Bobby Garrett, and whatever he’s mixed up in, Jalen has nothing to do with it. He’s seen Bobby once in the past six months.”

“Bingo!” Reese whispered, pleased.

Captain Mendes nodded with satisfaction.

Reese wanted Garrett under the lights now. He couldn’t wait to hear his explanation as to how he came to possess a murdered man’s property.

Before bringing the player to the station, Reese had stopped by the Pennington home. Both his widow and grandson verified that it was Gus’s. The serial numbers matched, as did the music files Chris said he’d downloaded into it. Reese’s mind was humming like one of Bryce’s prototypes. If it could be proven that Garrett had been in the Grizzlies offices that night, who’d been with him? The elder Wenzel? The younger? Both? Matt Wenzel didn’t impress him as a killer, but it was well known that his old man was. Ursus and all the other dead animals hanging on the office walls proved that. But did Big Bo also hunt people? He was still waiting for Wenzel’s secretary to call and give up the name of the realtor Big Bo had supposedly been with the night of the murder, so he assumed Wenzel had no real alibi. Reese added that piece of the puzzle to the mix and turned his attention back to the proceedings on the other side of the glass.

The interrogating detective got up and excused himself. As he entered the room where Reese and Mendes were, he told them, “I think we have everything we need.”

Reese and Mendes agreed, then the captain added, “Let’s bring Mr. Garrett in for questioning and get his story. Kick the kid loose. He seems clean.”

The detective went back into the room with the Young family and thanked them for their cooperation. He had one last thing to say: “We advise you not to contact Mr. Garrett about what we’ve discussed.”

“Don’t worry,” Kelly replied. “Whatever Bobby’s done, I hope he fries for letting whatever this shit is splash on my son.”

And they left.

Reese pulled out his phone and made a call to Agent Tate to tell her about the surprising developments.

“Wow,” she said. “Okay. We’re already ramming through the paperwork so we can get started on this end. We’ll find out how busy Garrett’s really been, and who he’s been getting busy with. Thanks, Lieutenant. I looked in on Ms. Blake this afternoon. She’s doing just fine.”

“Thanks. I’ll have Mendes call you.”

“Do that. Take care.”

JT awakened and felt like she’d been run over by one of those giant asphalt pavers. Every inch of her body was sore. Thanks to the nurses, she knew why. They’d told her the extent of her injuries, and that it was going to be a while before she felt like herself again. In the meantime, they were pumping her full of pain meds in order to keep the discomfort levels down. Usually, she hated being doped up, but in this case, she didn’t mind.

Memories of the explosion and the aftermath brought Carole to mind. It scared her to know that she’d almost lost her friend.
God is good.
It was what her mother always said. Speaking of whom, JT had called her last night. The chat had been brief because she kept drifting in and out, but it was long enough to convince her mother that she didn’t need to cancel her long-awaited trip to South Africa, scheduled to start in two days, in order to fly to California to see about her eldest child. JT assured her that the docs had everything under control and promised to e-mail her as soon as she could with progress reports.

The thought of almost losing Carole scared her, but something else scared her too—the idea that somewhere out in the world there was a person who hated her so much that they wanted her dead. It was hard to fathom a hate that deep, especially when she had no clue as to why, but told herself Reese and the police would figure it out. Her thoughts drifted to him. She hoped he wasn’t worrying too much. She had a fuzzy memory of seeing him after they brought her to the room, but wasn’t sure if it had been a mirage courtesy of the drugs or if he had actually been there. She opted for the latter. He was her knight, and she knew he wouldn’t be very far away, no matter what.

A few minutes later Carole’s husband Brad stuck his face in the door. “Come on in,” she invited softly. She was glad to see him. “How’s my girl doing?” What with the painkillers they’d given her, it was hard for her to stay focused, but she wanted news and to make sure Brad was doing okay.

He walked over and stood by her bed. “She’s hanging. The surgeons are going to operate again tomorrow.” Carole’s lower jaw had been shattered by the blast and the surgeons were slowly trying to piece her back together.

“Send all of the bills to me,” she said.

“That’s not necessary. I’ve got insurance, and Carole has a good health package through you.”

“True, but they’re not going to cover everything she’s going to need.”

“Let’s wait and see.”

“I don’t want you going broke.”

“Neither do I, but I’d sell my soul if it means having her whole again.”

“No soul selling allowed,” she countered with quiet amusement. “That’s why you have me and my bottomless checkbook.” She looked into his eyes. “I love her too, so let me help.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Welcome, now go back to your wife because I’m going back to sleep.”

She closed her eyes. A moment later, she felt his brotherly kiss on her cheek. Smiling, she surrendered to her dreams.

Wearing latex gloves, Bobby Garrett counted out the bills and stuck them in an envelope, sealed it, then stuffed it into another envelope addressed to the post office box of the bomber Misha found for him. It was late, the sun had gone down, and he was in his office alone because he didn’t want anyone to know what he was doing. Luckily, he had the money from his cut on Sunday to cover the payment, because from all indications, the bomber had done a hell of a job. He was disappointed that Carole Marsh had taken the brunt of the explosion and not Bitch Blake, but he heard she was pretty messed up too, so it was all good. He grabbed his keys. Before heading home he wanted to take the envelope to a post office drive-up box. He didn’t want the envelope going out with the office mail. No one needed to know his business, and handling it himself would ensure that.