Hot Target

“No,” she said instantly. “I’m not talking to Luke, and you aren’t, either, nor is Josh.”

“Katie—”

“I’ll get the money,” she said shortly. She’d spent hours talking to Luke, hearing about his ex-manager, his ex-girlfriend. People he’d thought were friends. “But I’m not going to Luke. I won’t allow him to think I’m after his money or that we’ve dragged out this investigation to earn enough for my sister’s debts.”

“He’s not going to think that,” Noah said. “He’ll want to help.”

“I’ll get the money, Noah,” she said. “Just please make sure Luke gets home safely. I’ll meet him there. And you’ll tell him nothing. This is personal. I’ll deal with Luke my own way.” He hesitated.

“Noah, this is my decision.”

Reluctantly, his expression turned grimly accepting. “Fine,” he said. “But Luke’s going to ask where you are.”

“You’ll think of something,” she assured them. “I have faith in you.”

“Katie—”

She started walking, needing privacy to deal with the situation her way. “I’ll grab a taxi and meet you at the house.” Her pace picked up. She had to escape before Luke saw her. Or maybe she was doing what Luke had accused her of too many times—running. Running from him. Running from herself. Running from caring enough to fear losing him. She’d dealt with enough loss already. And her sister was in jeopardy. It was overwhelming.

Katie hailed a cab and got in, offering her destination. Then she dialed Ron’s number. He answered on the first ring, and she went for it—she asked for the money, explained everything. He hadn’t offered her the money up front before, but that’s when he thought she might decline the job. Now he knew she’d stay, that she’d protect Luke.

Five minutes later, she hung up, swiping at the dampness on her cheeks, not even remembering her tears. Ron was wiring the money. He was calling Donna and arranging it. Katie fell back against the seat, emotionally exhausted. She wasn’t sure she was going to be ready to face Luke tonight, but there seemed no escape.

She ran her hand through her hair and tried to calm down. Luke. She just didn’t have the emotional capacity right now to do this “thing” with him. She wasn’t ready. Deep down, she’d known that when she’d met his parents. She just wanted to do her job and leave, with the peace of mind of knowing that Luke was safe. She needed it to be that simple again. A job. Then she would go home.

***

LUKE STEPPED out of the locker room into the masses of rookie Malone’s press, and silently cursed under his breath for all kinds of reasons. Malone had a chip on his shoulder as it was, and stealing his limelight, which Luke didn’t want to do in the first place, wouldn’t help any. Nonetheless, it was too late. The press pulled away from Malone and swarmed Luke.

“Luke! Luke!” Questions started flying faster than baseballs. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Y’all have beaten more answers out of me tonight than the other team did bad pitches. And I threw my share of bad ones tonight.”

“The scoreboard didn’t show it,” one of the reporters said.

“Because my team backed me up,” he responded. Rick had especially done so. He’d kept more than one runner off base, but he’d also, unfortunately, taken a fly ball to the eye that had left him with a shiner and stitches to show for it. Of course, Rick had found plenty of female sympathy, which he was already exploring. A couple of blonde twins named Kari and Karra.

“Just a few more questions, Luke,” a reporter said, stepping to his side. It was Tim Edwards—tall, thin, hungry for a story.

“Tim,” Luke said good-naturedly. “You and I do the perpetual ‘one more’ question all the time, and I rarely have limits, you know that. Heck—tonight one reporter even followed me into the shower. Did I refuse to answer questions? No. All I asked for was some soap and a towel.”

Laughter erupted as Luke added, with a mock salute, “Until next game. I’m going home.”

Reluctantly, the crowd of media hounds let him pass and returned to their pursuit of Malone. Luke didn’t have to look at Malone to know he was pissed—he could feel his hostility in the air.

But he didn’t care. Katie deserved credit for getting him focused on his game tonight; he was ready to grab Katie, make a run for food and conversation, and end the night thanking her for getting his head on straight with all kinds of erotic pleasures. Before the game, she’d teased him with a bottle of whipped cream and the promise of its creative uses. What more could a man ask for? Play the game of baseball, which he loved, and then go home to a bottle of whipped cream he’d share with a woman he wasn’t afraid to admit he was falling in love with.