Deadly Sexy (17 page)

Reese didn’t respond to her, but told Jamal, “Just give me a damn bowl.” He’d planned on spending the evening with her, alone. He loved his brothers, but this was supposed to be
his
night, and he saw nothing wrong with being selfish.

The younger Anthonys got themselves plates and bowls, but when they sat down in the leather chairs, Reese asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Jamal said around a mouthful of cake, “Watching the game. What do you think?”

Reese wasn’t happy, but they grinned because they didn’t care. They’d come to check out JT.

Bryce responded philosophically, “Look at it this way. You were going to have to share her sooner or later, so it might as well be now, right, Lady Blake?”

She smiled around her ice cream, but instinctively knew not to get in it. “I’m just visiting.”

Pops strode in with the aid of his cane, asking, “What’s the score? What did I miss?”

Reese dropped his head.

Pops took one look at his eldest and asked his two youngest, “What? Did he think he was going to have her all to himself?”

Bryce raised a spoon. “Give the man a cigar.”

Pops shook his head. “He can forget that.”

And as JT tried to keep from laughing out loud, Pops took a seat on the couch and settled in too.

JT had a ball. Being with the Anthony men was like watching the game with her athlete friends, except there was a whole lot less cussing. She got the impression that if she hadn’t been there, the air would have been blue, but she appreciated the respect they were showing her. Even Reese eventually stopped his mock sulking and got into the game. Although Pops had lived in Detroit most of his adult life, he was a Chicago native and thus the only Anthony in the room rooting against the home team. His sons gave him grief as his team went down by six, then eight, and then twelve. When the game-ending buzzer sounded, Detroit left the court with a ten-point victory. Chicago was now officially eliminated from the playoffs, and Detroit had earned the right to move on to the next round.

There was a second game on next but JT was as whipped as Chicago. She tried to yawn discreetly but everyone seemed to have seen it. Ignoring his family’s pretense of not watching her, Reese asked quietly, “Sleepy?”

“Yeah.”

Pops stood. “Okay, buckaroos, grab your plates and let’s let the little lady get some rest.”

She eyed him fondly, “Thanks for a great welcome.”

“Our pleasure. Did you like the ice cream?”

“I did.”

“Wasn’t too salty? It’s been a while since I made ice cream. Hoped I hadn’t lost my touch.”

JT was dumbstruck for a moment. “You made the ice cream?”

“Yep. I do most of the cooking around here. They won’t let me chase women, so I have to do something to stay busy.”

She liked Pops a lot. “I’m surprised the women aren’t chasing you.”

“Oh they are, but I’m still pretty fast.”

Unable to hold it in, she laughed. She was looking forward to having a good time in exile. “I see where Reese gets it now. It’s genetic.”

“’Fraid so,” his father confessed. “You get some rest. Blueberry pancakes in the morning with your name on a stack. See you then.”

“Good night, Mr. Anthony.”

“Night, Ms. Blake.”

Jamal and Bryce were standing but hadn’t moved. Both were staring at her as if mesmerized. Neither had ever met a woman with her sports knowledge. The comments she’d made during the game had been awesomely on point, and they were wondering if they were in love. Their father snapped his fingers in their faces. “Wake up! Let’s go.”

As they jumped, Reese laughed inside and wondered if he could sell them to the circus. As Jessi was fond of saying, they were a mess.

They finally exited, closing the door behind them, and JT and Reese were alone. She cuddled closer to him on the couch. “You have a nice family.”

“I agree.”

“Your brothers are a trip.”

“Wait until you really get to know them.”

“They call you ‘Your Excellency’?”

“And the Great Dictator, King Arthur, His High Ass, and if they really want to push my buttons, Kingfish.”

JT’s burst of laughter shook her ribs. “Oh, you’re going to make me hurt myself.”

He grinned. “They are something, and so smart they give me headaches sometimes just being around them. When we were growing up, I wanted to kill them every day, but can’t imagine life without them now.”

“I’m glad you let them live.”

He kissed her forehead. “Me too.”

Not wanting to move but knowing she was two seconds from being dead on the couch, she asked, “Are my bags in here somewhere?”

“Oh, sorry. They’re still downstairs. Carried you up here and forgot about them.”

“You carried me?”

“I did. You were out when we pulled up. Tried to wake you, but you were gone. Did I make you break a Blake family rule?” His eyes were filled with humor.

Enjoying their time together, she shrugged. “I don’t know. But if you did, I can’t be charged because I was asleep.”

He placed another kiss against her forehead. “Spoken like a true lawyer. I’ll go get your stuff.”

“Thanks.”

When he returned, she was asleep. He placed her bags by the door to the connecting bath then walked over to the couch. He watched her sleep and his heart was full. There was peace in her face, but a weariness too. Dressed in her gray sweats, with bare feet and unpainted toes, she looked like a sister from around the way; maybe one who worked for the post office, or taught school and had two kids and a man who loved her. Nothing about her resembled the powerful woman he knew her to be. That woman had legions of gladiators ready to take on her battles, big money admirers who lent her private jets and pilots, and a family of men named Anthony who’d never seen anyone like her before. He wanted this woman to be his from now ’til now on, as his grandmother used to say, but rushing her would only scare her off, and besides, he liked the slow, leisurely pace at which they were moving because it seemed to make everything richer, more sensual somehow. Pops called it slow hand courtin’. When Reese and his brothers were growing up, their father was always offering advice on how to woo the ladies. “Take it slow,” he’d say. “Give her some space if you really want to get next to her.”

And in this instance his father was right. Getting next to Jessi T. Blake was exactly what he wanted to do. At the moment, though, he needed to get her over to the bed. He picked her up and moved across the room. Her eyes opened. “Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey.”

“You carrying me again?”

“Yep.”

“Where are we going?”

“Putting you to bed.”

“Are you coming too?”

“You have three broken ribs and a cast on one arm, remember?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right.”

He smiled and gently laid her down.

“I promise to be gentle,” she told him.

Reese tucked her in. “Go to sleep, woman.”

Leaning down, he kissed her so potently and so well her eyes closed again and she murmured, “I need to hurry up and get well.”

“Amen,” he whispered. He stood up and committed her sleepy face to memory. “Get some rest.”

“Thanks for everything.”

“You bet.”

She snuggled down beneath the covers and was asleep before he doused the lights and quietly left the room.

His father was waiting for him downstairs in the living room. Even though the calendar said May, it was Michigan, and in Michigan the name of the month meant maybe spring, maybe not. There was a coolness to the air that held the last vestiges of winter, and he was pleased to see the fire Pops had started in the fireplace. Having been in California, the chilly weather was noticeable. To beat back the cold, he grabbed a sweatshirt out of the closet by the front door and pulled it on.

Taking a seat, he looked over at his bear of a dad sitting on the couch in front of the fire. “Well?”

“Like her,” he responded in a pleased tone. “Like her a lot. Pinky and the Brain are probably over in their lab trying to build something just like her right now.”

“Probably.”

“She’s a nice lady. Emphasis on the ‘lady.’”

Reese agreed with that too. They spent an hour or so catching up. Reese brought him up to speed on the cases out West, and his father’s anger was plain. “So, this one guy might be responsible for the whole mess?”

“Maybe not by himself, but he’s the person everybody’s looking at now.”

“Give me a picture or something, so I’ll know to blow his ass away the minute he steps on the property.”

“I’ll get you one.”

“When are you heading to the Big Apple?”

“Monday, I need to get this job off the ground.”

“I understand. We’ll take good care of her.”

“I know. I’m not worried.” Reese suddenly remembered something important. “Pops, everybody in her crew says she’s a killer Madden player. Won a man’s yacht.”

Pops’s eyes lit with excitement. “You think she can beat Brain?”

“According to her, blindfolded and standing on her head.”

“If she can take him down, I’ll make her ice cream every day for the rest of her life.”

“Knew you’d like hearing that.”

“Then let’s get her well so she can kick some Brain butt!”

Reese couldn’t wait either, but the games he wanted her to play had nothing to do with a PlayStation.

Bobby made the drive to the Bay area in record time. He had no way of knowing whether he’d been tailed from L.A., but if he had, he hoped the police enjoyed paying the high gas prices.

Now, however, he was driving away from the hospital Bitch Blake had been in. The woman in the passenger seat beside him worked in the kitchen. Her name was Tiara and he’d just picked her up from her shift.

“So, she’s in Detroit somewhere?” he mused aloud while mentally moving pieces around on the chess-board in an effort to get to the queen.

“Yeah. The police and the nurses like to think they got everything on lockdown, but there’s no such thing as secret in that place. People even know she flew out on a private jet.”

“You got an address?”

She passed him a yellow sticky note. “Had an orderly I cop weed for get it for me. He’s bumping one of the nurses up there. Told her the maintenance guys wanted to send Ms. Blake flowers—her being connected to sports and all that. They had it in the computer. Needed it for insurance, aftercare, something.”

It didn’t matter to Bobby. “Thanks, baby. Where can I drop you?”

“I thought you said we were going to dinner?”

“Have to take a rain check. Got a meeting with a client back in L.A. first thing in the morning.”

She scanned him for a moment, then said with a bittersweet chuckle, “Stupid me. Here I was thinking you called because you really wanted to hook up again, but you haven’t changed a bit, have you, Bobby?”

“Sure I have. How many of the brothers we grew up with drive something this fine? Those that are still alive. My suits cost more than they make in a year.”

“You’re shit, Bobby, you know that? Always have been, always will be. Still don’t care about any fucking body but yourself. You just wanted that address. Why?”

“My business.”

“Would that business have anything to do with why she was in the hospital in the first place?”

He didn’t answer.

“Let me out,” she snarled.

He eased the Mercedes over to the curb. Tiara got out and strode off angrily.

He merged into the traffic and with a cold smile headed back to L.A. Bitch Blake couldn’t have picked a better place to hide. He had family in Detroit, including a cousin named Po-Boy who had enough gangster in his blood to do anything, as long as the price was right. Picking up the phone, he made the call, and when it was over the price had been cut, the address given, and an agreement struck to talk again once the matter was handled. It was the last trick up his sleeve. If she escaped this time, he didn’t know what he’d do.

JT awakened the next morning to the sun pouring in
through closed blinds and the smells of food cooking in the air. Sitting up made her ribs ache but she was healing. It wasn’t fast enough by a long shot, but she’d take what she could get. Walking into the bathroom, she took one look at herself in the mirror and shuddered. Turning away from the scary reflection of her hair, she concentrated on brushing her teeth instead.

Being one-armed didn’t impact taking care of her morning hygiene needs, but getting dressed was something else entirely. She struggled into clean panties, and after a frustrating few minutes managed to drag on a fresh pair of sweatpants, but a bra was impossible. Francine had packed an assortment of shirts and tanks, all of which were designed to be pulled on over her head. Sighing with frustration, she picked up her phone. When Reese’s phone went off, he was downstairs in his kitchen frying bacon. The name on the caller ID made him smile. “Morning.”

“Hey. Are you anywhere close?”

“Yeah, I’m downstairs in the kitchen.”

“Can you come up a minute?”

“Sure. Be right there.”

He looked over at Jamal seated at the table reading the paper. “Hey. Take over his bacon. I need to go up and see what JT wants.”

Pops was throwing together pancake batter and Bryce was whipping up eggs. Both said in unison, “Don’t be all day.”

Sunday breakfast was always an event in the Anthony household, and this morning was especially so because they were feeding a lady.

When he walked into the bedroom, he was torn between looking into her freshly scrubbed face and being aroused by the sight of her bare breasts teasing him from behind the halves of her untied blue robe. “Morning.”

“Morning,” she tossed back in a voice as sexy as her smile.

His arousal was instantaneous.

As if knowing that, she slowly walked over to him, raised up on her toes and kissed him in warm welcome. “Missed you beside me last night.”

It was all the encouragement he needed to gently ease her closer and respond in kind. The last time they’d been alone seemed like a lifetime ago, so the kisses only fed more hunger. “I need help getting dressed,” she whispered as his mouth moved over her jaw and made her head drop back.

“In a minute.”

It turned out to be a long, leisurely minute, and when he finally pulled back, her lips were kiss swollen and her nipples tight and damp.

“Now,” he said softly, “how can I help?” What he wanted to do was lay her down and offer help until she begged for more, but then she’d never get dressed.

Very distracted by his morning greeting, JT fought off the haze so she could think. “All of the tops Francine packed for me have to go over my head.”

“I have some old flannel shirts you can wear.” Unable to resist, he brushed the open halves of her robe back and took a nipple into his mouth. It didn’t take long for her groan of pleasure to float over the silence, then he backed away again. In another second or two they were going to be late for breakfast, so to keep that from happening he forced himself to move away. Crossing the room, he opened the door to a walk-in closet that put her own huge closet back home to shame. She stared around in awe. The dressers, built-in storage cubicles, and paneled walls were a deep mahogany. There had to be at least two hundred suits, sport coats, and trousers lined up as neatly as in a men’s store. Then the lightbulb went on in her head. “I thought you were putting me in a guest room? This is your bedroom, isn’t it?”

“Yep. My house. My bedroom. My bed.”

She shook her head. “You are such a man.”

“And you are such a female.”

She scanned the space. “I feel like I’m in a store.”

“I get it from Pops. We both like to look good.” He opened a drawer and withdrew a long-sleeve black flannel shirt. “Let’s see if this will go on.”

She extended her left arm as much as she could, and he worked the sleeve up and over the cast, then she bent her right arm into the other sleeve and Reese straightened her up. Looking down into her face, he did the buttons. “How’s that?”

“Can I hire you?”

He was kissing her again. “Depends on what kind of benefits come with the job.”

“I can make it worth your while.”

He ran a finger over her lips. “Can you?”

“I guarantee.”

His phone beeped. He looked at it and tried not to grin. Raising it, he said before his father could start fussing, “We’re on our way.” He closed the phone. “Breakfast’s ready.”

JT wanted to make love to him as soon as it was physically possible. The short interlude they’d just had made her achingly aware of how much she missed his magic. “Then we should probably get going.”

“One more…”

He kissed her until she melted like butter, then led her out of the room and downstairs.

Breakfast at the Anthony table was truly memorable. There were so many selections they could’ve put a sign out front and called the place a restaurant. Pancakes, waffles, scrambled eggs, hash browns, orange slices, bacon, sausage, spiced fruit, and more lined the counter like a five-star buffet.

Because she only had the use of one arm, Reese put her choices on her plate and carried it to the table for her. When the men finished piling up their plates, they took seats and bowed their heads while Pops blessed the food. Once the amens were said, everyone dug in.

Later, a stuffed JT sat outside in an aged rocker positioned in a corner of the big old-fashioned porch. The men were inside cleaning up. She’d offered to help but she and her cast were told to go sit on the porch and relax, so that’s what she was doing, and enjoying both the warmth and the scenery. Unlike California, Michigan was green, and it reminded her of her home in Texas. Mature trees lush with the first leaves of spring towered over the expansive property. Off in the distance were two houses. One appeared to be brick and older, while the other, with its boxy metallic design looked like it had been transplanted from Malibu or South Beach. She was willing to bet the older place belonged to Mr. Anthony and the other to either Pinky, the Brain, or both. The Frank Lloyd Wright influences were apparent and seemed suited for Reese’s designing and engineering siblings. She knew that the two had a lab somewhere but didn’t know if it was on the premises or located elsewhere.

Having lived most of her adult life in big cities, the silence was going to take some getting used to though. There were no sirens, car horns, or the cacophony of noise associated with the hustle and bustle of a million-plus people handling their business. The Anthony compound was supposedly located near Detroit, but the silence surrounding her made her think otherwise.

When Reese stepped out to join her a few minutes later, she asked how far away they were.

“We’re about twenty minutes from the city line,” he told her.

“It’s so quiet.”

“Nice, though.”

“Jury’s still out on that. Not used to silence you can almost touch. When does it start turning cold?”

The corners of his mouth lifted. “End of October if winter’s early. No time soon, though, so you can relax.”

That was good to know. “Is that your father’s house over there?”

“Yep, and Bryce and Jamal share the other one. Jamal is building his own behind those trees to the left of Pops. He’ll move in when it’s finished.”

“Why do you all have your own place?”

He shrugged. “Probably because economically we can, and because sometimes you need privacy.”

She understood.

“I’m flying to New York in the morning.”

She kept her disappointment hidden. “Be back when?”

“No idea. Soon as I can, though, believe me. Bryce will run me to the airport.”

She’d hoped to have more than one day with him. “Okay. I’m probably going to spend the week on the phone trying to put my shop back together. I need to find a new building. Keep tabs on Carole.”

“Just remember you’re supposed to be recuperating too.”

“Don’t worry, the ribs will keep me honest.” They felt better but she knew they wouldn’t be fully healed for a while. She looked at her watch. “Pregame shows starts in a few minutes. Where are we watching?”

“Probably here, with the whole crew.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do.”

“That’s because you’re selfish.”

“And the problem is?”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Does your daddy know how spoiled you are?”

“I didn’t start acting this way until I met you.”

“Right, and your brothers call you Kingfish, why?”

“That’s cold.”

“You’re still cute.” And he was. The slope of his shoulders and those gorgeous guns paired with his dark chiseled face made him a man usually reserved for a woman’s dreams.

“Always knew you wanted me for my body.”

“You got that right.”

Jamal stuck his head out of the door. “Pregame!”

“We’re coming.”

When Jamal’s eye lit up at the unintentional double entendre, Reese said warningly, “Say it, and I’ll kill you.”

Laughing, Jamal disappeared.

JT cracked, “Real off the hook family you got here, Reese Anthony.”

“It’ll get better. Just wait.”

Enjoying herself, she followed him inside.

“You lied to me,” Misha said coolly.

Bobby looked across the table at her angry face. She’d called him out of the blue last night saying she was in L.A. and wanted him to meet her for breakfast this morning. She wouldn’t explain why she’d been out of touch, but at this point he didn’t much care. With all the stuff he was looking at, he didn’t have time to meet her, but figured it was the least he could do in honor of their last meeting. Thanks to a young female student he was cultivating at one of the community colleges, the data on his computer was downloaded and in a safe deposit box, so he didn’t need Misha anymore. “Lied to you about what?”

They were seated outside at a table in an otherwise empty section of a café.

“About hurting JT.”

He sipped coffee. “Not my fault if the man
you
found couldn’t follow directions.”

Misha snarled softly, “Carole could have died!”

He shrugged. “I hear she didn’t, so what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is, have you lost your damn mind? I hear JT’s car was torched too. One of your homeys?”

It was, but he didn’t respond.

“It’s all about you, isn’t it? You don’t care what happens to anybody as long as you get what you want.”

“Yep.”

Misha couldn’t believe she’d deluded herself into thinking he cared about her. For five years she’d worn blinders, made excuses, but no more. “I hacked into your life, Mr. Garrett.”

He looked startled.

“Thought that would get your attention. I looked into all the little dirty corners of your life, and you know what I found?”

His eyes were cold.

“You don’t have a dime and neither do your clients. You’ve been tapping into their accounts and they’re just as broke as you. What do you think’ll happen when they find out?”

“Are you threatening me, bitch?”

“I got your bitch because now, Bobby Garrett the Third, it’s all about me, and if you’re thinking about doing me like you did Carole and JT, think twice. Everything I know is on a disk sitting on the desk of a friend of mine who works for a top dog lawyer. Anything happens to me, my family, or anyone else I know, you’re going down.”

He looked like he was going to explode, but she didn’t care.

“I also know about the woman in Houston, the one in Miami, and the ho in Santa Clara. I got you by the balls, Bobby, and I don’t ever want to see you again. Don’t call me, don’t e-mail me, don’t come near me. You do, and I’ll drop a dime so fast you won’t know what hit you!”

When she stood and stormed off, Bobby slammed his hand down on the table so hard the glassware fell to the pavement and broke. The waitress hurried over, but he snarled, “Just give me the damn check.”

She backed away and went to do his bidding while he simmered and contemplated Misha’s death.

Across town, Big Bo and Ham were sitting in Bo’s stadium office also contemplating death: Bobby’s.

“He took Pennington’s music player?” Bo said, incredulous.

Ham nodded. “Yeah. Like a damn raven going after something shiny. Gave the thing to his son and the kid pawned it. That’s how the police found out.”

Bo cursed. “What the hell was he thinking?”

Tight-lipped, Ham shrugged. “Stupid muthafucka. I’m cutting him out of the loop.”

“You think the police have him under surveillance?”

“Of course, so he’s got to go. Willingly or not.”

Bo met Ham’s eyes. “You think he’ll rat us out?”

“Not if he wants to keep breathing. Bobby knows I don’t play. Not about business.”

Bo was in over his head now, and could feel the noose tightening. “So what do we do about tonight?”

“We keep the date because it’s already lined up and I have a reputation to maintain. We’ll deal with BG3 afterwards.”

Bo nodded. He’d let Ham take the lead on this, but in the meantime he planned to make sure his rabbit hole was ready, because the way things were looking, he might need to run.

Bobby was in his office clearing out his files. He added Misha’s name to the list of bitches screwing up his life. Even though he took her threats seriously, he didn’t see her turning snitch, because then she’d have to implicate herself. She was the one who arranged for both the virus and the bomber, but with a big-time lawyer having her back, a plea could be worked out. If she was offered immunity from prosecution in exchange for what she knew, he was screwed. So he was contemplating heading underground, but not until he finished shredding everything that could be used against him. If he could find a place to hole up before the Feds tied him to the music player, or Misha started singing like Mary J. Blige, he might be able to disappear long enough to figure out his next move. His phone rang.

The caller ID showed it was Ham. He let it go to voice mail. It was the third call this morning. He didn’t know what Ham wanted but his gut said let it ring.