Break Point
Authors: Danielle LaBue
Break Point
Danielle LaBue
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
BREAK POINT
Copyright © 2012 by Danielle LaBue Bronson
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book. For more information, please direct your correspondence to:
The Story Vault
c/o Marketing Department
P.O. Box
11826
Charleston
, WV 25339-1826
http://www.the-story-vault.com
Cover Designs by Kelly Crimi
of KF Advertising Services
Website: www.KFAdvertisingServices.com
Publishing history:
Second Edition
Published by The Story Vault
DEDICATION
To my mom. Thanks for everything.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I'd like to thank
Christine for all your hard work and lack of sleep. Kari Barbie and Liz, The BC Babes, who all share the love for The Captain! Thank you for all your hard work and for being amazing friends and supporters.
Chapter One
Summer Riley loved the heat. The sticky suffocating kind when the air felt like liquid and sweat hung on skin like cellophane.
She had played some of the best tennis of her career in weather like this, and she’d give anything to be on the court right now. But the sling on her left arm reminded her that a return to the game was still a while off, and having breakfast with her father told her she had way too much time on her hands.
Any time spent with Big Al had more to do with “business” than pleasure, which was why she’d been sitting in the parking lot of Giovanni’s Restaurante for twenty minutes. A meeting like this required mental preparation. Like one would need to prepare for a job interview. Or a wake.
She slid her Dior shades over her eyes and practiced her smile. Not the sexy vixen one she used on magazine covers, but the wholesome daddy’s-little-girl kind that made her cheeks ache.
Supplying a mental drum roll, she shoved the heavy Porsche door open. The pale pink dress was shorter than she realized and probably low cut enough to earn a lecture. So, what else was new?
Big Al liked flashy women, but preferred his daughter to dress for convent dwelling. She could tie the sling higher on her chest for modesty’s sake but she didn’t want to risk it. Eight months on the “Disabled List” was an eternity in the sports world. No way was she taking a chance on making recovery longer. She tossed her blond braid over her shoulder and raised her chin in forced bravery.
Game on.
Heat swam across the blacktop like a cloud. People in their Sunday best filtered to the front entrance of the elegant stucco building, but Summer headed toward the path that hugged the side of it. Daddy and his “colleagues” always used the back door. Partly because it was hidden from the road, but mostly because he liked people to gush over the acre plus of exotic gardens they’d pass on the way by. Al didn’t own Giovanni’s but, in a matter of speaking, he did own the owner, and both spent top dollar indulging their interests of exotic flora. But on a day like this, the heavy-petaled flowers cowered in the heat, which was fine. She was too nervous to enjoy them.
Her kitten heals clicked on the lime stone path, summoning her heart to keep pace.
It was still and quiet. In a way that used to be soothing to her, but now only invited fear.
She wasn’t alone.
Maybe this was the plan all along? Go to breakfast with Daddy and come in through the back door so some knife wielding maniac could finish what he’d started. She took a breath then broke into a jog, her footfalls scraping the concrete stairs.
“Hey baby, slow down.”
The sharp strain of a man’s voice cut through the heavy air. Her hand flew to her chest and she stumbled against the entrance railing.
She braced herself, but nothing happened. When she realized her eyes were shut, she pushed them open, daring herself to look at what she knew was there. But it wasn’t just a man. Amid the leaves and vibrant blossoms was a couple, still half-hidden and totally blocking the door, limbs and mouths entwined in a very sloppy kiss.
Her collected fear dispersed giving way to giddy relief. She smiled, then laughed, then laughed more but the pair was too preoccupied to notice.
“Excuse me,” Summer finally managed. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
They still didn’t stop. The woman was a redhead and a waitress judging by the uniform. From what she could see of the man he was very tall and very large considering he could fit most of the girl’s generous buttocks in one hand. His Rolex and Italian leather shoes screamed GQ. A definite contrast to the fake chipped nails the girl was running through his short dark hair.
“Hey guys, do you two mind coming up for air for a second so I can get through the door?”
This time they broke the kiss. The waitress giggled then hid her face in the man’s wall of a chest. He just smiled, “Oops,” he said. “Didn’t know we had an audience.”
“Didn’t mean to be one.” Summer still fought a smile herself. “You know, the Flamingo H
otel is across the street.”
“Really?” The guy replied. “The place nice?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t make a practice of staying at establishments that charge by the hour.”
That caught a chuckle and he winked in response. The redhead was less amused. She turned and glared, then dropped her hand to her hip. “Wait a minute?” The waitress spat. “Are you insulting me?”
Summer shrugged. “Just stating a fact.”
“Whatever,” she grumbled with a scowl, then disappeared into the loading dock.
“Sorry to be a cold shower.” Summer offered.
With a tip of his shades he gave her a blatant once over, r. “Believe me, you’re not. What are you doing back here anyway, sweetheart? Pretty girls like you usually use the main entrance.”
“Really? I didn’t get the memo.”
“You kiss your boyfriend with that sharp mouth of yours?”
“Your girlfriend know you’re such a flirt?”
He chuckled. “If I had one, you could ask her.”
She wished she could see his eyes. The dark sunglasses were designer, Armani maybe, and they flattered his dark angular features like six hundred dollar glasses should. But even with his eyes hidden, she could tell the man was sexy and, if she had to guess, they were probably dark like his hair, but bright like his smile.
“So why you heading into Al Riley’s private dining room?” he asked. “You a friend of his?”
“Are you?”
“Could be. Depends on who’s asking.”
He produced a cigarette and lit it with a sterling silver lighter. Taking a long drag, he exhaled then let the smoke slither out between his smirking lips.
Of course. The cute letch was one of Al’s stooges. “Excuse me,” she snapped and attempted to push him aside, but with only one hand, her leverage was ridiculously limited. Sort of like trying to move the Rock of Gibraltar.
“Hey, what are you doing, sweetheart?
“Hello! You’re still in front of the door.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said stepping away. “I thought we were still chatting.”
“Nope, this conversation’s over.” She fanned the pungent cloud from in front of her face.
“The smoke offends you?”
“Not as much as the person blowing it. You do know that it is a disgusting habit.”
“Thanks for the public service announcement. I had no idea.”
She reached again for the door handle, and this time he allowed her the space.
Wrapping her hand around the knob she pulled once, then twice, then cursed when it didn’t open.
“Hey,” the guy said softly, placing his hand over hers. “In opens to the inside.”
His large tanned fingers lingered over hers and she responded with the meanest look she could muster. Regardless of how sexy the little wrinkles were on the sides of his mouth, charm would not work. She barreled through the door toward Al’s private dining room. Thankfully, the mouthy punk didn’t follow.
She made her way directly to the large, dark-haired man at the head of a long mahogany table. “Well, look who just strolled through the door!” Her father bellowed, making a dramatic show of checking his Rolex. “Fashionably late as always.”
“Sorry, I should have called.” She bent over to kiss his cheek.
“You know if your driver can’t get you where you need to go on time you should get rid of him.”
“I drove myself, Daddy.”
“Figures. Hey guys, push around.
The girl needs to sit.”
A table full of men with bulging bellies and napkin bibs looked up at her with impatient smiles. They resumed eating when Al did, each digging into their bacon and eggs in pathetic unison.
“I hope you at least got your fiancé to the airport okay.” Al winked then patted her on the back. “Geoffrey’s off to Bermuda with that Nila Norcova girl, right?”
“Yeah, big photo shoot with Sports Illustrated,” Summer sighed. “
He’ll be gone for a few weeks.”
“If that’s green I see in your eyes, don’t bother. There’s no reason to be jealous of her. He’s the one who should be hot and bothered. You won’t even wear his engagement ring.
“The stone snags on my sling, and I’m not jealous.”
“He’s your future husband and any money he makes off that broad is more in your pocket. Besides, with you on the sidelines a little extra income never hurts.” He motioned to the stooge a few seats down for the butter. “You’ve always got to remember the bottom line.”
She didn’t reply, learning long ago Al always had the last word no matter what. Instead she just smiled, letting his words roll over her like she never heard them at all.
“You look stronger every time I see you.” Al said as if it were a demand. “I’m glad to see that. Everyone is worried about you.”
“Thank you. I‘m feeling stronger.”
“You know you can take that off all together if you want.” Al pointed to her sling with his knife. “Geoffrey told me the trainer encouraged it.”
She smiled sweetly and let the subject drop. Pouring herself a glass of orange juice, she spied the racing form lying conspicuously beside his plate. “So is today your day off?” she asked, holding out hope that maybe for once her father would visit the track just for fun rather than “business”.
“Bite your tongue. You know Daddy never takes days off.” He lifted up the paper in front of him. “I know a certain jockey who’ll have some time on his hands after today, but not me. I’m always working.” He knocked the arm of the man beside him as if sharing a secret. “Hey look, enough about me. I’m glad you could clear your schedule to meet me this morning.”
Like she had the option. “No problem,” she replied.
“I suppose Geoffrey told you I’m concerned about the direction of the investigation into your attack.”
Summer balled her napkin in her lap. She chose her words with the precision of diffusing a live bomb. One false move... “I don’t know much about it, Daddy,” she offered. “But it’s nothing for you to bother yourself about.”
“Well, you don’t have a choice. I’ve been dying to get involved with this investigation of yours all along but I know how stubborn
you are. Just like your Daddy.”
Any trait of Al’s that was apparent in her, she regarded as a cancer.
If she could cut it out, she would. “Daddy, I know you probably don’t need my suggestions on how to handle everything, but I’m comfortable just letting the authorities handle it.”
“Geoffrey says the cops have come up dry, and now that he’s out of town, you got no one around to keep an eye on you.”
“I have a staff.”
“I mean twenty-four hour protection. Someone that sticks to you like fly paper. And someone who can look into your case. Geoffrey says this fruit loop is sending you some threatening mail?”
“In the beginning law enforcement thought they found some suspicious postcards.”
“I’ll have him look into that.”
She took a sip of her juice then placed the glass back down. “Excuse me, Daddy. ‘Him,’ who?”
“I know a guy..” He pulled the napkin from his shirt, then dabbed the corners of his mouth. “ He’s a good friend of mine.
He used to be an athlete like you, but now he works as an investigator. His name is Jake Harrison.”
“Is he a bodyguard?”
“He’s any damn thing I tell him to be. I’ve set the whole thing up. He’ll contact you sometime this week.”
Summer watched as he rubbed a spot off his teaspoon. He inspected it in the lig
ht then dipped it in the sugar.
And that was that. End of discussion. Forks clanked against the china as the rest of the diners fed their bloated faces. She glanced around at her father’s closest friends, each one capable of unspeakable crimes. Her gaze dropped to her lap. Her harne
ssed arm hung limp against her.
She’d learned her lesson. There was
no saying “no” to Big Al Riley.
The redheaded waitress reappeared, her lipstick reapplied and her hair smoothed down.
She went around the table topping off the men’s coffee cups but skipped over Summer. Typical. It amazed her how easy it was for her to make enemies. She never meant to insult or alienate. In fact she craved connection. Something she had always wished her father wanted with her.
As if hearing her thoughts, Al turned to her and smiled, his calloused hand taking hers with the compassion of a real, loving father.
“Look honey, I know you’re afraid, but you don’t have to be. Trust me, as long as you have this guy around you can breathe a little easier.”
“I don’t need a baby sitter, Daddy.”
“Give this guy a chance. From where I am sitting, it looks like you’ve run out of options.”
Summer looked at him a moment, recognizing his kindness as his newest weapon of manipulation.
It amazed her that even as an adult she could be reduced to the pliable motherless six-year-old who craved her father’s love, no matter what pain he might inflict. “Okay, Daddy.” she heard herself say. “I’ll do what you want.”
And she hated that she meant it.
***
If the
Vitale Tennis Academy’s pavilion was Summer’s place of business, court seven was her office. Cooled by the shade but bright enough to spot the balls, it was the perfect place to watch a tennis match. It was also conveniently close to the kitchen.