Fast Break (Brooklyn Monarchs 1)

“Jackie, please calm down.” Albert spoke louder.

“Yes.” Gerald sprang to his feet, continuing his condemnation. “You have the chance to make it better and you’re not taking it.”

Jaclyn rose for equal footing. “You think moving the team to Nevada would increase our revenue?”

“Yes.” Gerald leaned toward her from his end of the table.

“How? The state of Nevada has less than three million people. The city of New York has almost four times that.”

“But New York already has a basketball team.” Gerald’s voice raised another decibel.

Jaclyn stared at the angry partner as though she’d never seen him before. “What are you really trying to accomplish by moving the Monarchs?”

Albert surged out of his chair. “Stop it.” His voice was loud, his tone angry. He glared from Jaclyn to Gerald and back again. “We all want the same thing—what’s best for our families and the franchise. Why does every meeting turn into an argument?”

Jaclyn faced Gerald. “Do we want the same thing, Gerry?”

Gerald gave her a look of cold contempt. “No, we don’t.”

Albert pushed away from the table. “I have a business to run. In the future, Jackie, if you want to update us on our revenue and expenses, just e-mail the report to me. I can think of much better ways to spend my mornings.” Vibrating with anger, he stormed from the office.

Gerald moved away from the table. At the doorway, he stopped, half turning to face Jaclyn. “Maybe Bert and I should just stand back and let you ruin your grandfather’s legacy.”

Jaclyn pushed her chair under the conference table and gripped its back. “We both know I’m not the one trying to destroy the Monarchs.”

Gerald turned to leave. He hadn’t even bothered to deny her accusation. What would be the point? She was right and he knew it. Jaclyn’s knuckles burned from gripp

ing her chair’s back. Now what should she do?

8

The rhythmic thump-thump-thump—the sweet cadence of a basketball kissing a court—led DeMarcus to Jaclyn’s driveway. A waist-high, teak wood fence barred him from her backyard. DeMarcus didn’t hesitate. He braced his arms on the fence and vaulted over. His sneakered feet landed on a paved walkway between the Jones’s residence and a well-manicured lawn as lush as a deep green carpet.

Past the house, the walkway opened to a space half the size of a basketball court. The lawn bracketed the court’s thick, shock-absorbing tile. Two strong maple trees stood guard on either side. And in the center of the setting was the source of the steady thumping.

Jaclyn dribbled an NBA-regulation basketball. The Lady Assassin charged the post. She was part modern dancer and part ruthless predator. Her slender arms worked the ball hard to the basket. She spun, dodged and weaved around imaginary opponents foolish enough to challenge her. A foot from her goal, she leaped into the air, arched her lithe body and slammed the ball through the net. She landed on her feet as graceful as a cat.

“Two points.” DeMarcus applauded her game.

Jaclyn whipped around, eyes wide in the evening shadows. Her hand flew to her chest. “Good grief. You scared the life out of me.”

DeMarcus took in Jaclyn’s skimpy gray T-shirt darkened by sweat and the tiny black shorts baring never-ending legs. She’d gathered her riot of thick, inky curls to the top of her head and restrained them with one of those clip things. Without makeup, she looked like a co-ed, not the confident businesswoman who’d persuaded him to risk what he valued most.

He stepped forward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“How did you get back here?”

DeMarcus jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I hopped the fence.”

Jaclyn’s gaze shifted to the walkway behind him, then back. “I need a taller fence. What are you doing here?”

“Elia said you’d wanted to talk to me.” His executive secretary had implied Jaclyn had been upset when she’d asked to speak with him earlier.

Jaclyn retrieved the basketball. It had rolled to a stop a few feet from the post. “It could have waited for the morning. I didn’t mean for you to go out of your way to see me.”

Her voice was tense. He heard a hint of loneliness. Why was she out here tearing up the court?

DeMarcus tipped his head toward her regulation basketball hoop. “Who are you scoring on?”