Obsession (The Plus One Chronicles) (9 page)

Sloane set his laptop in front of her. “Here are the files of the last two rounds of urine testing. Scroll to see them all.”

Kat began reading through the pages, first familiarizing herself with the formats, normal values and parameters, then comparing and contrasting. It didn’t take long.

Sitting back, she finished the last of her coffee. “The testing is comprehensive and the reporting consistent. If this is what your medical staff saw, I don’t think they’re missing anything. Ethan’s numbers were within the parameters.”

Sloane rubbed his nose. “That’s something. But this means those steroids were getting past the testing.”

For a brief second, very little sleep and a ton of worry showed through. Kat asked, “Did you find Ethan’s steroids?”

He reached past her, picking up a zipper pouch. “Yes, it was in a panel of his gym bag. Needles, bottles and instructions. John will take it to the lab himself.”

She didn’t know how else to help. “What else can I—?”

“That’s Sugar Dancer.” John grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

Kat pivoted on her chair to see a woman on the screen standing in front of Kat’s bakery cases inside her shop.

“Can you confirm that Kathryn Thayne was involved in the accident allegedly caused by SLAM fighter Ethan Hunt?”

“No comment. Get out.” Kellen’s voice was as cold as his hazel eyes.

“Isn’t Kathryn Thayne part of the family that owns SiriX Pharmaceuticals? There are allegations that Mr. Hunt used steroids. Is there a connection?”

“I’m calling the police.” Kellen pulled out his cell phone and started pushing buttons.

The scene cut back to an in-studio anchor.

Her breakfast of yogurt churned in her stomach.

Sloane put one hand on her shoulder while scrolling through his phone and making a call. “Liza, get security to Sugar Dancer Bakery for media control ASAP.”

Snapping out of her surprise, she pulled out her cell and called Kellen.

He answered, “You saw the news.”

Tension made her muscles ache worse. “How bad is it there?”

“Crews are just showing up. I can handle it. My parents are here.” Anger clipped Kel’s words. It wasn’t fair to make him deal with this crap.

“I’ll come in.”

“Don’t, Kat. Stay at Sloane’s and rest. Trust us. Mom made her pecan buns. The customers love those.”

They were doing so much for her. “Kel, I’m okay. I slept last night. Besides, your mom was supposed to help you get settled in at your new house today.” He and Diego had moved into their house over the weekend, and Kel needed this last week before he started his new job to finish unpacking, decorating and to get ready for the housewarming party on Saturday.

“Oh shut up. Do you hear yourself? Did that accident unleash your inner martyr? Cuz she’s seriously unattractive. Kill that bitch off and bring back my prickly Kit Kat.”

“Don’t make me laugh.” Kel never stayed angry long. It was one of the things she loved about him.

“You deserve it. That’s insulting and you know it. And also, you now owe me big time. I have a thick file on how much you owe me for all the shit I do for you.”

Her face muscles kept twitching. “I hate you.”

“You love me. How does your face look this morning?”

Talking to Kellen always made her feel better. “Bruised.”

“If the press sees you, it’ll make it worse. Stay at Sloane’s and give it a day to die down.”

He had a point. “Thanks, Kel. I do owe you. Sloane’s sending over some security for media control. I’ll call your folks later to thank them.”

“I’ll have Mom save you a pecan bun.”

Don’t smile
. “Oh and, Kel?”

“What?”

“You won’t find the cake design anywhere in Sugar Dancer.” She hung up with that.

Sloane handed her a cold pack. “Looks like you’ll need this. Only Kel could make you laugh when you’re in pain and in the middle of a shit storm.”

The cool pack felt great against her cheek and eye. “It’s his superpower. He’s got the bakery handled, so I’ll stay here. You’re dressed for work. Go. Drake and I will be fine.”

Chapter Six

Sloane shoved the sheets into the washer, turned it on and went back into Drake’s room now that his temper had calmed. Ignoring Drake resting in the chair, he focused on Kat. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?” Nope, not calm after all.

Kat smoothed the fitted sheet over Drake’s bed and reached for the flat one, refusing to look at him. “I had it handled.”

“She said you were too busy training,” Drake said.

Too busy? For Drake or Kat? He’d been at the gym, not in the middle of brain surgery. Hot rage hit him. Sloane grabbed the sheet out of her hand. “Bullshit you had it handled. You could have been hurt trying to move Drake!” Like his day hadn’t already gone to shit as he dealt with the media in a news conference, stalked the hospital while Ethan underwent testing and evaluation, and held a mandatory meeting for every fighter and support staff to made SLAM’s no-tolerance position on performance enhancing drugs brutally clear.

And then Sloane came home to this nightmare? After the nurse, Jane, had left for the day, Drake had started throwing up. Sloane had walked in on Kat trying to move Drake off the bed to clean up. His muscles twitched.

Kat narrowed her eyes then jerked the sheet back from him and snapped it over the bed. “I’m not crippled.”

“You were in a goddamned car accident last night. And FYI, sweetheart, a limp means you’re crippled.” He heard the words coming out of his mouth but couldn’t seem to stop them. No one yelled at him anymore but Drake or Kat. It felt damn good to yell back.

Because when the yelling stopped, he was going to have to think about Drake. Sick. Dying. Fuck.

Kat spun on her good leg until she was toe-to-toe with him. She tilted her head back, her eyes fired with all kinds of pissed off in her bruised face. “FYI, champ, you’re an asshole.” She stalked out of the room, her ass swaying as she limped.

“That went well.”

Sloane turned his gaze on Drake. The once-massive fighter was wasting away to this gaunt shell, his skin dry and tinged a sickly yellow. Drake’s cancer carved new lines and hollows in his face every day, and it killed Sloane that he could do nothing. Not a damned thing. Drake had enough to deal with and didn’t need to see how much this upset him. “Are you laughing? You spent the last hour puking your guts up all over Kat.”

“She yelled at you. Called you an asshole. Hell yes I’m laughing. I don’t care if I puke again. That was pretty damn funny.”

Sloane shook his head, went into the attached bathroom and turned on the shower. Returning, he asked, “She really said I was too busy training?”

Drake sobered. “Yeah.”

He didn’t like that shit. At all. “I would have come home if you or Kat called.” He crouched in front of the older man. “You know that.” He needed Drake to know Sloane would be here no matter what.

Drake nodded. “I do.”

Sloane fisted his hands on his thighs. “But Kat doesn’t.” Of course she didn’t. She’d come to him after his bitch of a mother dropped the bombshell on her, and he’d rejected her. He hadn’t kept the promise he’d made her—if she retreated, he’d go after her.

Instead he’d avoided her, sure he needed to let her go.

But Kat didn’t see it that way. She saw it as being pushed aside when she got in his way.

“Then you came roaring in here telling her she couldn’t handle things. That sound familiar to you at all? Like maybe the way her parents treat her like she’s too dumb to make her own decisions?”

He rocked back on his heels. “That’s not what I meant.” He shoved a hand through his hair. Had he hurt her feelings? But she hadn’t retreated into herself. The memory made him grin. “She got in my face and yelled at me. She’s okay.” It was when she retreated that he knew she hurt too much and emotionally shut down.

Drake relaxed at that. “She held her own with you just fine.” He managed a weak chuckle. “She’s right, you are an asshole.”

He needed to help Drake get cleaned up, then he’d go find his baker. Lifting an eyebrow at the other man, he said, “Least I don’t smell like puke.” He helped Drake up and got him into the shower.

An hour later, Sloane headed toward the stairs when he saw the deck lights were on and the sliding glass panels open. Going outside, he expected to find Kat sitting in one of the chairs.

Nope.

A thread of worry snaked through him. “Kat?” She wouldn’t leave him, would she? Had he misread her tonight? He’d been sure she’d gone to take a shower and give Drake some privacy while Sloane helped him. He strode past the hot tub when he saw her in the spill of moonlight.

Down the steps with a towel spread on the sand, Kat had her iPod on and balanced on her bad leg, raising one arm up to the sky and using the other to hold her ankle behind her. She leaned forward, bringing her arm down and ankle up in one of her yoga poses.

Sloane’s heart clenched. Kat wore her tiny sleep shorts and a spaghetti-strap top, revealing the utter beauty of her lines. Even her right leg that she couldn’t straighten completely entranced him. She held her pose for a few heartbeats before switching to a modified version with her bad leg.

It took all his self-control to resist the urge to leap down the steps and hold her so she didn’t fall.

He didn’t. For all his yelling earlier, Kat knew her limits. But damn. Framed in the moonlight on the sand, the ocean moving behind her, she was breathtaking. Sloane shoved his cock down in his shorts as she gracefully released that pose and flowed into another.

Like a dancer. So damn beautiful she made him hurt to touch her, hold her.

Fuck her.

She was too sore. She was moving more carefully than usual with her yoga. Sloane went down the steps and into her line of vision.

She dropped her pose, her expression wary.

Gently, Sloane tugged out her earbuds. “You’re so damn beautiful, Kitten.”

She narrowed her eyes. “For a cripple?”

He wrapped his hand around her nape, tugging her into his body, showing her what she did to him. “A stubborn and very sexy cripple wearing shorts that are giving me a massive hard-on.”

Kat raised her eyebrows. “All your hard-ons are massive.”

“Glad you think so.”

“You’re still an asshole.”

He loved that she didn’t back down from him. “Noted, but I’m your asshole. You need me, you pick up the goddamned phone and call me.” He put it out there for her, straight up. No games. Kat didn’t like to feel manipulated, and he couldn’t blame her for that.

She tilted her chin up, the moonlight showcasing the bruising on the side of her face. “Do you hear your phone ringing?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t need you. Go away.”

She made him crazy, caught between laughter and a need so deep he could barely breathe. Sloane leaned down, brushing his mouth over her ear. “Only the fact that you’re sore is keeping me from ripping those shorts off you and fucking you so hard, you’ll hear ringing in your ears.” Pulling back, he looked in to her eyes. “When you’re healed, I’ll show you exactly how much you need me.” He gently tucked her earbuds back in and headed into his home office where he could work and keep an eye on Kat.

* * *

“He knows who Kat is.”

Sloane shifted the phone in his hand. This conversation about Lee Foster stirred up the dread that had been growing in him since that video of him rescuing Kat from reporters went viral. He shoved up from his desk and paced to the French doors. Kat stretched her arms up, bending back slightly, less of an arc than usual for her. It had to hurt the bruised area behind her ribs.

She was his. He couldn’t lose her.

“Yes,” his investigator said, forcing Sloane’s attention back to the conversation. “He hasn’t said anything, but he watches that video of the two of you repeatedly.”

Fuck. Foster was honing in on Kat. Sloane had a few guys tailing Foster and keeping an eye on him in the gym where he was training for the fight. “I want today’s training tape.”