The Jock (21 page)

All
of this meant a lot of decisions, thus a grueling schedule for the Treviannis
throughout November and December. Would they rent a bigger place in Boston or
keep Sam's old one? Where in Tampa did they want to purchase a home? Should
they stay in Hyde Park or move closer to the beach? How many rooms should the
house have? And didn't that depend upon how many children they eventually
wanted?

Sam
had insisted on eight or nine kids, but had relented in the end and
begrudgingly agreed to two or three. He'd decided, though, that their oldest
would be a son named Jackson, after Sam's father. The next two would be girls,
twins preferably, and the names were negotiable. Gwenyth had simply nodded,
pretending to listen to her husband's ranting—an effective way of dealing with
him that she'd since learned in her seven-week-old marriage.

There
were also decisions to be made at
Jones & Jones
now that Gwenyth
would be based out of Boston for six months out of every year for the next two
years. Especially since Verlene planned to retire her camera after the "Touch
Me" shoot and relegate her talents to the business end of their company.
In the end, grandmother and granddaughter had decided to promote Gwenyth into
Verlene's position, promote Big Ed into Gwenyth's, and hire a new assistant
photographer. Interviews were currently under way.

On
top of all of that, Gwenyth began to suspect that she was pregnant. She hadn't
had her period in over two months, her breasts were tender and swelling, and
she couldn't brush her teeth before noontime without gagging. She would have
caught on a lot sooner had the improbability of it not been higher; she did,
after all, take her birth control pills consistently at the same time each day.

When
the family doctor confirmed Gwenyth's suspicion, she swore Dr. DuBois—who also
happened to be Verlene's closest friend—to secrecy, wanting to wait and share
the incredible news with her family on Christmas Eve. This new development
invariably meant that there were more decisions to be had, but she was too
overcome with joy to care. She and Sam hadn't planned to have children until
his two-year obligation in Boston was fulfilled, but Gwenyth knew he'd still be
ecstatic when he found out.

Amidst
all the planning and working, Gwenyth and Sam still found time to have fun
together. Lazy breakfasts that typically ended in passionate lovemaking,
leisurely lunches around town that also generally culminated in passionate
lovemaking, and expensive, decadent dinners that, of course, inevitably ended
in passionate lovemaking. Gwenyth had no doubts as to how she'd become pregnant
so soon in her marriage. Her husband was much like a wild animal in heat.

The
Treviannis, however, still managed to do a lot of things together besides make
love. They took in shows at the Tampa Performing Arts Center, shopped together
at the St. Petersburg Pier, strolled hand-in-hand down Clearwater beach
collecting shells and enjoying the breeze off the Gulf, and one of the museums
in St. Petersburg had an early Roman-period ruins exhibit which Sam had
insisted the entire family attend on opening night. Gwenyth and Sam had
returned to view it twice more since then.

The
only situation that possessed the ability to cast a shadow over a marriage that
was otherwise sturdily growing happier every passing day, was Detective
Anderson's as of yet stagnant progress concerning the threatening NAM notes.
That, and the fact that Sam still hadn't told Gwenyth that he loved her yet.

Gwenyth
took her husband's stubbornness with a grain of salt, however, since she pretty
much knew he was in love with her anyway. His actions spoke louder than words
ever could, though she was in touch with her emotions enough to realize that
she still longed to hear him actually admit to it out loud. She figured it was
only a matter of time now before Sam's stubbornness came to an end.

The
threatening notes, on the other hand, showed no signs of stopping. Gwenyth
received three more of them before the Christmas season closed in, which only
served to infuriate Sam beyond reason. On the last occasion, a week after Thanksgiving,
Sam had ranted and raved during the entire trip back to their apartment.
Gwenyth had gently pointed out to her husband the futility in getting angry, to
which Sam had responded, "yeah, but it sure as all hell makes me feel
better." So because it did, Gwenyth did her wifely duty and listened to
him gripe for hours at a time whenever a new note arrived. She didn't take the
notes seriously in the least, but she knew her husband did, so she tried to be
supportive.

A
few days before Christmas, Gwenyth and Candy plunked down into Candy's SUV to
drive over to the house the Treviannis had purchased only a week past. The old
owners were packed and gone as of midnight last night and Gwenyth and Sam were
anxious to move in. Sam wanted their first official night in the house to
commence on Christmas Eve, which was only two days away. Gwenyth had told him
he was being overly ambitious, but Sam had grown stubborn, insisting that he
and Harry could get it done.

Much
to Gwenyth's surprise, it looked as though Sam's timetable was going to be
workable. She had to hand it to her husband... he had said he and Harry would
get the job done while Gwenyth was working and get the job done they had. The
only things left to move in were possessions of aesthetic value, such as Sam's
collection of Egyptian and Greek paintings and sculptures and Gwenyth's boxes
of fragiles. Tomorrow would be set aside for unpacking enough boxes to make the
house live-in-able. If her husband played as relentlessly on the ball field as
he did in real life, she now understood why he was the Crusaders most esteemed
hitter.

Candy
started the ignition of her apple red SUV, then pulled out of Gwenyth's
soon-to-be former driveway. Smiling brightly, she glanced over at her best
friend who was sitting in the passenger seat. "I'm so glad you two decided
to stay in Hyde Park. I know Clearwater Beach is only a half hour drive, but
it's just too far."

Gwenyth
chuckled. "Sam and I felt the same way. He didn't want to be so far
removed from our family and friends either." She rolled her eyes
good-naturedly. "Especially now that he has found another lover of
archeology in that accountant Marc we introduced him to."

"Marc,
that's right. Him and Sam are pretty tight now, huh?"

"And
Harry too. They think they're the Three Musketeers or something."

Chuckling,
Candy stopped at the red light. "What about that lawyer guy, Devin?"

"What
about him?"

"He's
been to your apartment a couple of times with Marc."

Gwenyth
grew thoughtful as she considered that fact. "True, but somehow he's
remained the outsider." She shrugged her shoulders. "I get the
impression that Marc pretty much brings him along because he's too easy going
to hurt Devin's feelings, but I don't think Marc particularly cares for his
company. Sam either for that matter."

"I
wonder why that is."

An
unladylike snort erupted from Gwenyth. "There is something strange about
that man." An inexplicable shiver trickled down the length of her spine,
inducing Gwenyth to rub the goose pimples from her upper arms. "There's
something very calculating about him, something... arrgh! Who knows! I know
it's something I can't put a name to."

Candy
blew out a bubble and let it pop before responding. "No problem." She
eased her foot from the brake pedal when the light turned green. Signaling, she
then veered into the left lane to make a turn at the next intersection.
"We're almost there now. And by the way, your new house is a dream,
Gwen."

Gwenyth
chuckled. She shifted in her seat to keep the seatbelt from cutting her across
the shoulder. "Yeah. And one I never would have been able to afford on my
own for many, many years down the road."

Candy
smiled bemusedly as she chewed on her gum, her violet eyes twinkling. "Uh
huh. I know. I wouldn't complain, though. The houses on Bayshore are the nicest
in the city."

Gwenyth
considered that for a moment. Eventually, she nodded her agreement. "They
are elegant."

"Try
'decadent'."

Gwenyth
laughed. "That's my husband. Sam 'The Decadent' Trevianni." Glancing
out of the side mirror, she narrowed her eyes to a squint and frowned
thoughtfully. "Is it just me or has that white sedan been following
us?"

Candy
shot her gaze into the rearview mirror, her gum chewing momentarily halted.
"Hmm, you're right. It's been behind us the whole way."

Gwenyth
bit her lip. "Pretty strange seeing as how the streets in the village are
one twist and turn after the other. You think?"

Candy
blew out a breath as she considered that. "We're probably both being
totally paranoid, but let's see what happens."

"What
do you mean?"

Candy
made a left turn. "I'm going to zigzag around the neighborhood and see how
much longer the sedan keeps up with us."

"Good
idea." Gwenyth studied her side mirror, waiting for the visual
confirmation that would tell her whether or not they were being followed.
"Wasn't there a scene like this in one of your books, Can?"

Candy
made an abrupt right turn. Her eyes widened in dismay when the white sedan
trailed a ways behind, but stayed within their sights. "Yeah. It was in
The
Courting of Constance
," she breathed out.

Gwenyth
squeezed her hands together. The nails bit into her palms as the sedan followed
them through yet another turn. "I forget how it ended. What
happened?"

Two
more turns. The sedan remained on track. This was too much coincidence. Candy's
hands began to tremble along with her voice. "Constance was being stalked
by a madman, a subject of Bulgaria who felt it was her fault that Prince
Demetri might be forced to give up the crown to be with her."

Gwenyth's
lips went dry. They were nearly as white as the sedan that, unbelievably,
followed them in yet another series of turns. "Sort of how my photographs
might have forced the former Senator Green from his throne?" she asked
hesitantly.

"Something
like that." Staring into the rearview mirror, Candy made an abrupt right
turn and then another left. "This isn't coincidence anymore, Gwen. Hang on
to your seatbelt. I'm going to ditch this guy."

"What
do you meeeeeeeeeean—
Candy!
You're going about a zillion miles an hour!
We're going to die! We're going to crash and die!"

Candy
glanced into her rearview mirror. "No we're not," she insisted
firmly. "We're going to lose this guy." She pushed up her sleeves to
just above the elbows as an alarming glint Gwenyth recognized all too well
shimmered in her eyes. Candy's excitement was terrifyingly palpable.
"Those drag racing lessons I took are finally going to pay off," she
murmured.

Gwenyth
clutched her hand to her throat. "Lord help us," she choked out.

"Relax,
Gwen. Just think
Thema
and Louise
, okay?"

The
movie's ending flashed through Gwenyth's mind. She seemed to recall that the
women raced the authorities to the edge of a cliff in the Grand Canyon then
subsequently chose to plummet to their deaths rather than be apprehended.
Gwenyth decided she didn't care for the comparison. "Oh God."

Candy,
however, was in her element. She rolled down the driver's side window long
enough to spit out her bubble gum and pop a fresh piece into her mouth. An
unholy grin showed on her face as the SUV picked up more speed. "He's
trying to keep up with me, but I've got him just where I want him," she
snorted. "Nobody knows these roads as well as two outlaws like us."

Gwenyth
clutched the dashboard as her life passed before her eyes. "We're not
outlaws! I'm a photographer and you're a romance author!"

Candy
shrugged absently. Nothing could dissuade her now. "Thelma was a housewife
and Louise was a waitress. Stranger things have happened."

"They
aren't real! They are two figments from some writer's vivid imagination! Let's
not die as a tribute to it!"

The
next sharp turn would have caused a driver who hadn't briefly joined the racing
circuit to lose control of the car. Gwenyth idly considered the fact that she
would probably lose control of her lunch. She squeezed her eyes shut and
concentrated on breathing. "Just tell me when it's over!"

* * * * *

When
Sam was driving back with Harry and Marc from having picked up take-out dinners
for everybody to indulge in, the last thing he or his friends had expected to
see was Gwenyth and Candy racing by them so quickly it made their heads spin.
When he considered the brief glance he'd gotten at his wife's wide-eye
expression coupled with Candy screaming "hiiii-yeeeeeee!" like some
hell-bent Apache warrior from an Old West movie, he knew there was trouble brewing
on the horizon.

"What
the hell are they doing?" Harry bellowed. "Are they trying to get
themselves killed?"

Marc
pointed toward a white sedan hot on the women's trail, doing its damnedest to
keep up, but failing. "Look at that car lagging behind them. I think we'd
better follow."

A
cold sensation slammed into Sam's gut. He didn't want to consider the fact that
the white sedan and the threatening notes might be connected. Cursing, Sam made
a sharp turn that sent his brand new, day old Mercedes barreling in the
direction of his wife and Candy and the white car.