Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

He walked away from Troy and toward the marina. Warrick hit the speed dial for her cell phone number and waited. A strong breeze pulled against his jersey. Overhead, trees bent but didn’t break in the wind. Sunlight glared at the blue gray water. Marilyn’s phone rang several times before tossing Warrick into her voice mail.

Why wasn’t she answering?

Marilyn stared at the newspaper spread across the top of the desk. A six-by-nine-inch color photo exposed her during one of the most intimate moments of her life. Her skin burned with outrage and agony. The ringing in her ears was her cell phone, screaming for her attention. The buzzing in her head was her blood, rushing through her veins. Any moment now, her alarm clock would go off and she’d wake from this nightmare. At least, she prayed that’s what would happen next.

“I’m waiting for an explanation.” Arthur loomed just behind her in the break room.

Her cell phone went silent, but the buzzing in her head grew louder.

“I don’t have one.” Marilyn couldn’t look at him. Her head spun. Her vision went in and out o

f focus. Was she going to throw up?

Oh, my God. She was on the edge of hysteria. Her muscles shook. She clenched her fists to make them stop.

Arthur’s tone hardened. “The board of trustees will want an explanation.”

Her desk phone rang.

Warrick! It must be him. Who else would call now and so persistently? She was desperate to talk with him. The team’s loss to the Waves last night ... The photo in the newspaper this morning ... How much more could he handle? But Arthur was obviously determined to manipulate this incident. Marilyn was fighting for her career. As much as she wanted to speak with her husband, she’d have to call Warrick back after she’d dealt with Arthur.

Marilyn took a deep breath and forced herself to meet Arthur’s gaze. “What do you want me to say? I didn’t take the photo myself. I didn’t ask for it to be taken and I didn’t pose for it, either.”

Why? When? How ... ?

Oh, my God. Warrick had been right. Someone must have been hiding outside their kitchen window a few weeks ago, while she and Warrick were ...

Marilyn squeezed her eyes shut. She was going to be sick. She inhaled long, deep breaths, pulling in the hospital’s familiar scents—bleach and iodine.

Arthur folded his hands in front of him. “The hospital cannot condone this behavior.”

Marilyn’s pulse drummed in her ears. She knew what he meant, but she’d make him say it. “What behavior would that be? The photographer sneaking around my property taking pictures of my husband and me without our knowledge or permission? Rick and I don’t condone that, either.”

Arthur’s thin cheeks pinkened. “You know very well the behavior to which I’m referring is the photo the newspaper printed of you engaged in that act.”

Marilyn arched a brow. “So you blame the Horn for printing the photo? So do I.”

She was probably grinding centimeters from her teeth. Marilyn knew full well that Arthur wasn’t blaming the person who’d taken the photo or the newspaper that had reprinted it large and in color. Dear God, the photo was huge! No, instead Arthur was blaming her and Rick—and they were the victims. She clenched her fists tighter.

Arthur released his hands and sucked in a deep breath. “If you choose to engage in that act, you should do so in the privacy of your bedroom.”

Shock and anger fueled Marilyn’s burst of laughter. “We were in the privacy of our home.”

He jerked a finger toward the newspaper. “With the windows wide open.”

“The blinds were closed.” She punched her right index finger against the photo. “These shadows are the blinds.”

“You should have made certain they were properly closed.” Arthur’s voice shook with inexplicable outrage.

Marilyn stared at him. “Why? On the off chance that some unknown photographer would sneak onto my private property and press his telephoto lens against my window?”

Arthur stabbed a finger toward the Horn. “Look at the paper. It’s not an impossibility.”

Marilyn was approaching the end of her patience. “What do you want from me, Arthur?”

His expression stiffened more, if that were possible. “I want an explanation, something that I can give to the board.”

“Fine. Tell the board a trespasser came onto my property and took an unauthorized photograph of my husband and me doing what married couples do in the privacy of their home.”