Hot Property (Hot Zone 4)

Out of habit, he switched on the radio and Buckley the Bastard’s voice sounded around him. Though he cringed, he believed in dealing with life as it came. He needed to know what was being said about him if he was to deal with it.

He handed his mother a steaming mug. “So how was your flight?”

“Long.” She wrapped her hand around the cup and sighed. “Then to add insult to injury, the airport lost my bags. Of course they promised they’ll deliver them as soon as they find them, but who knows when that will be.” His mother paused to take a sip of coffee. “Mmm. You always did have the touch.” She lowered herself into the nearest chair, obviously exhausted.

But only one word rang in his ears. “Your bags? Plural?”

“Well, yes, bags.” She tucked her set blond hair behind one ear, the shoulder-length strands somehow managing to look sophisticated on her and not at all too young despite her best attempt. “How else can I stay indefinitely unless I brought enough clothes? Although New York does have the best stores. Better than L.A., even, and that’s saying a lot. I think I’ll call my favorite personal shoppers and have them start putting things away for me,” she mused.

“What do you mean, you’re staying indefinitely?” Roper felt a blinding headache coming on.

She placed her cup down and stared at him as if he were the crazy one. “Darling, your sister is getting married and she needs her mother to help her. And of course, you’re going through a career crisis of your own.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” he muttered.

“Not to worry. Mother’s here.” She treated him to her brightest smile.

That’s what he was afraid of.

“This just in.” Frank Buckley’s voice spoke into the silence. “Guess who had lunch at Sparks Steak House yesterday? Nice that our friend John Roper has time for wining and dining his new lady when he should be getting ready for the season.” The man waited a deliberate beat. “But that’s a high-paid athlete for you. No sense of responsibility. The Buck Stops Here, folks.”

“Son of a bitch.” Roper bristled at the report and accusation. “Who the hell called it in?” he asked.

“It could have been anyone from a waiter to a patron,” his mother said, rising and putting her arm around him. “You know what it’s like to be a celebrity. You grew up under a microscope. Let it go.”

He twisted his neck from side to side, releasing tension. He wished it was as easy as his mother said. “I just don’t like feeling as if my every move is being tracked and scrutinized,” he muttered.

“It’s part of the life,” his mother said.

“The difference between us is that you enjoy it. I just want to play baseball.”

His doorbell rang, cutting off whatever his mother might have replied.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who knows you’re here?” Roper asked her, resigned to more company. “Ben? Sabrina? One of your actress friends you charmed the doorman into letting up without my okay?” He saw his privacy going down the drain.

His mother shrugged, her gaze wide-eyed and innocent. “Actually, no one. When I couldn’t reach you, I packed and headed straight for the airport.”

He headed back to the front door and peered through the viewer, needing advanced warning of the person he’d be dealing with next. One look and his mood lifted. This was someone he didn’t want to disappear.

Roper opened the door, welcoming Amy, an addition Roper himself had made to his doorman’s list. “Thank God,” he said, pulling her inside.

He needed someone on his side when dealing with the steamroller he called his mother.

“Strange welcoming but I’ll take it.” Her smile broadened, easing his strain.

“Not so strange. You aren’t a member of my family, so I’m glad you’re here.” He shut the door behind her and drank in the sight of her.

Dark denim jeans covered her legs like a second skin, while a deep indigo top with bell sleeves floated around her, belted at the waist. Only a hint of a lace tank peeked out from beneath the flowing top. Once again she looked work appropriate and yet so damn sexy, he didn’t care that his mother was in the other room.

“So what brings you by?” he asked.

“Well, first the doorman asked me to give you this,” she said, handing him an oversize envelope with a handwritten scrawl he recognized as belonging to his most persistent fan. And not a fan in love with him, either.

Ever since the end of the series in October, Roper had been receiving letters and packages from a fan who called himself Season Ticket Holder, a not-so-veiled reference to the fact that he expected more results for his money than Roper had provided.

“Thanks for bringing up my mail,” he said, not wanting to make a big deal of the letter and draw attention to the fact that he had someone determined to remind him of his failures. He accepted the envelope from Amy and tossed it aside.

“You’re welcome. Now, I?