Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

Her hand flew to her mouth, smothering a gasp. “Oh, my word! Where did you get these?” Marilyn didn’t recognize her own voice.

There were six sheets, four full-color images on each, of her and Warrick making love in their kitchen. Marilyn was shocked. She was angry. She was embarrassed and ashamed.

“I asked Troy to get them from Jackie for me.” Andrea’s voice was hesitant. “She’d demanded the photographer and the Horn turn over all of the original images they’d taken through your kitchen window. Troy offered the disc to Rick. But he was too angry to take them, so Jackie secured them.”

“She should have destroyed them.” Marilyn could barely hear herself over the buzzing in her ears.

The contact sheets showed Marilyn and Warrick in some of the most intimate poses. They were kissing, caressing, and undressing each other. Thank the Lord they’d disappeared onto the floor behind the table before they’d progressed any farther.

Andrea reached into her bag of tricks again. “Be glad she didn’t.” She extended the camera disc to Marilyn. “Now you can.”

Marilyn stared at the object. How could something so innocuous have caused so much trouble? No wonder Warrick didn’t want to touch it.

She took it from Andrea’s hand. “Thank you.” Marilyn turned back to the printouts, stealing herself against the embarrassment of seeing herself and her husband together while a complete stranger looked on. “Have you ... looked at these?”

“Yes.” Andrea’s voice was without discernible inflection. “That’s how I knew Jordan Hyatt had seen them also. In some of these, you can tell that Rick has a tattoo.” She tapped a couple of the images.

Marilyn winced. “You’re right.” She let the sheets drop from her hands. “Now I know how that woman found out what my husband looks like naked.”

“She can thank the paparazzi.”

Marilyn fisted her hands. “That wretched photographer. What made him think he could invade our privacy? Did he have any idea of the trouble he’d cause? Did he care?”

Andrea squeezed Marilyn’s shoulder. “If this had happened to me, that photographer would have had to take out a restraining order for his own protection.”

“I should have thought of that.” Marilyn’s eyes widened with worry. “You’re not going to do a story on these photos, are you?”

“There isn’t a story here.” She tapped the images of Warrick’s tattoos again. “But at least now the mystery is solved.”

Marilyn’s head felt clearer and her eyes were finally dry. But a burden still weighed on her shoulders. “This is only part of the mystery. I still don’t know why Jordan Hyatt is lying about having any kind of relationship with my husband. What does she want?”

Andrea stood with Marilyn, taking her oversized purse with her. “One step at a time.”

Marilyn escorted the other woman to the front door. She gave her a hard hug. “I’m very grateful for your help.”

“It was my pleasure.” Andrea hugged her back before stepping away. “Now go save your marriage.”

Marilyn locked the door behind her guest, then ran upstairs to get dressed. She was anxious to bring her husband home.

Warrick’s sneakers squeaked against the hardwood Monday afternoon. DeMarcus and Oscar sat on the bleachers deep in conversation on the other side of the practice court. Warrick’s gaze dropped to the scouting reports and game plans for the Monarchs’ first game against the Denver Nuggets Wednesday night. The papers lay forgotten on the bleachers beside the coaches.

So what were they talking about so intently?

Warrick adjusted his gym bag on his shoulder as he drew closer to the other men.

“All this traveling is beginning to piss me off.” Oscar’s tone was grouchier than usual.

DeMarcus emitted a surprised laugh. “The play-offs are pissing you off ?”

Oscar’s features compressed into his default expression of irritation. “Did I say play-offs? I said the traveling is pissing me off. You should listen to someone other than yourself once in a while.”

Warrick wasn’t in a rush to return to the hotel. He stopped in front of the bleachers to listen to the coaches’ exchange.

DeMarcus’s smile widened. “Unfortunately, we can’t play all of our games at home.”

Oscar continued to scowl. “If you’d taken us to a better record, we’d have had home court advantage.”

“Ease up on Coach, O.” Warrick lowered his gym bag to the court beside his feet. “No one thought we’d make it to the play-offs. Now, we’re the Eastern Conference Champions. Not bad.”