For Another Day (One Strike Away Book 2) Read online

  Crossing to the elevator, Rowan caught sight of the portrait that dominated the far wall. Agnes Cartwright had been dead for almost a decade. But her image, the way the artist had managed to capture the perpetual glint of disapproval in her eyes, sent a shiver down Rowan's spine.

  With the memory of Agnes' boney fingers biting into her arm, Rowan gave the picture a wide berth.

  "I know you can't grab me from beyond the grave." Rowan glanced over her shoulder as she waited for the elevator. "And I know if you were here, you wouldn't care less. But dead or alive, Granny Agnes. You give me the creeps."

  "I CONSIDER TENNIS to be a true test of a man's mettle. The rules are simple, yet there is a certain strategy involved. Challenging physically. However, you can't simply power your way through. Without a bit of finesse, the game is lost." Leo took two rackets from a leather case. He held them out. "Take your pick."

  "Are we playing, or dueling?" Nick asked dryly, choosing his racket without looking.

  "Clever." The corner of Leo's mouth twitched. "I appreciate a nimble mind."

  Nick slapped the racket against his palm, contemplating how much force would be required to break the strings over Cartwright's head.

  "Are you my father?"

  "Yes." Leo took a coin from the bag. "Shall we toss for the serve?"

  "How can you be so certain?"

  "I'll take heads." Leo flipped the coin. "Heads it is." He took his place on the court. "For every point played and won, you get a question."

  "If I refuse to play?"

  "You know the way out."

  Maybe I'm the crazy one, Nick thought, walking onto the court. Maybe none of this is happening. Any second I'll wake up from the weirdest dream ever.

  A yellow ball whizzed past, landing just inside the court.

  "Fifteen-love," Cartwright said with satisfaction. "You need to play on the balls of your feet. Even distribution of weight is the key."

  Or, Nick could try paying attention. But he wasn't worried about losing a point. He wanted an answer.

  "How do you know you're my father?"

  "I've done my homework. The facts add up. Your mother and I had a brief relationship roughly nine months before your birth. The resemblance between us when I was your age is quite striking."

  Nick didn't agree. As he told Rowan, he had his mother's eyes, which he trained on Cartwright.

  "She was fifteen."

  With a shrug, Cartwright took a ball from his pocket. "The sex was consensual."

  Briefly, Nick saw red. He couldn't let his emotions get the better of him. Not yet.

  "So you say." Nick gritted his teeth. "The law doesn't agree."

  "Ready?"

  Leo sliced his racket through the air, sending the serve toward Nick's backhand. Better prepared, Nick used his natural speed to track down the ball. He used his strength and skill to rifle the ball over the net, well out of Leo's stumbling reach.

  "Not bad." Leo's gaze narrowed as if retaking stock in his opponent's level of talent. "You've played before."

  "Once or twice. Did you know my mother was pregnant?"

  "No. Fifteen all."

  Nick had little trouble returning the serve. Though Cartwright was in good shape for a man his age, besides the age difference, there was no comparing their fitness levels.

  Plus, as he said, Nick knew his way around a tennis court. Nick's first year in the majors, he dated the top-ranked woman in the world.

  Nick helped Celia improve her technique in bed, she helped him develop a killer ground game. His serve wasn't bad either. He hadn't played in years. But, the muscle memory was still there. Like riding a bike. Once he learned, he never forgot.

  Back and forth, Nick ran Cartwright around the court without an ounce of guilt. He enjoyed making the bastard huff and puff.

  "My point," Nick said after a sizzling put-away shot. "Next question."

  Red faced, Cartwright gave Nick a terse nod.

  "She was an easy mark, wasn't she? No family. No money. You were married. Older. Why not pick somebody who knew the score?"

  Cartwright gave Nick a pitying look.

  "You formed this idealized picture of your mother. Sweet. Innocent. The big, bad wolf took advantage, enjoying her, then tossing her away without a backward glance. Am I right?"

  "Close enough."

  "Well, let me tell you. Annie Sanders was fifteen going on thirty. She worked in a diner down on Main, wiggling her hips like a pro. I wasn't the first to take what she offered."

  Like so many men, Cartwright didn't get the point. He never would. But Nick had to say something, or he would never forgive himself.

  "I don't care if she served food in her birthday suit. I don't care if she propositioned you and every man who walked through the door. My mother was fifteen. Fifteen. Little more than a girl. And, no matter how she behaved, not close enough to a woman to justify your actions."

  "You should thank me. Without my sperm donation, you wouldn't be here."

  "Shame on you," Rowan shouted as she stormed onto the court.

  "Go away, Rowan." Leo made a flicking motion as he would if confronted with a gnat. "You know nobody is allowed down here without an invitation. And street shoes are expressly forbidden on the court."

  "Too bad. I'm here, shoes and all. I'm not leaving without Nick." She raised her chin. "I'm the cavalry."

  "I appreciate the thought." Rowan looked a bit disheveled and altogether gorgeous. A true sight for his sore eyes—and heart. "Cartwright still has a few questions to answer before I go."

  "I can speed things along." Rowan handed Nick a file. "Everything you need to know is in here."

  "Where the hell did you get that?" Leo demanded.

  Ignoring him, Nick thumbed through the thick stack of papers. He could see the information had to do with him. Reading every word would take more than a quick glance.

  "Want to give me an overview?"

  "I only read the first two pages while in the elevator. They told me enough." Rowan's clear-blue eyes clouded. "Leo's known about you for years. I don't know how he found out. But—"

  "A fluke." Casually, Leo picked up a towel, wiping his face. "I was in Los Angeles on business. I rarely watch television, but an associate had on the local news. Imagine my surprise when I recognized your mother beaming with pride over her baseball player son. You were about twelve years old, I believe. As soon as you came onscreen, I knew I was your father."

  Nick remembered the story. His mother was so proud. She called it his first brush with fame.

  "If you were so sure Nick was your son, why run a DNA test?"

  "What?"

  Rowan nodded. "The results are on page two of the file. The technical stuff is a mystery to me, but under results is the word positive."

  When Nick asked how he knew they were father and son, Cartwright lied without hesitation. He wasn't surprised. But he wondered why he bothered. Everything out of the man's mouth was some form of bullshit—unless the truth suited his agenda.

  "How did you get my DNA?" Nick figured as long as he was here, he might as well ask.

  "Don't be naïve," Leo said. "Every day you leave samples of your DNA laying around. We all do. Chewing gum. A drinking glass. Hair in the shower drain. Even a condom carelessly left in a wastebasket."

  "Jesus." Nick's skin crawled as Cartwright ticked off the possibilities as if running down a grocery list.

  "You were still quite young. I don't believe my people had access to your semen."

  Head spinning, Nick couldn't settle on one emotion. Anger mixed with incredulity and a massive dose of old-fashioned disgust. He knew there were questions to ask, but for the life of him, he couldn't form a single one. Thankfully, he had Rowan.

  "You knew Nick was your son, but you did nothing? At the very least, why not provide financial support?"

  Leo opened a bottle of water, taking a sip.

  "I still had hope that your m
other would provide me with a son."

  "What does one thing have to do with other?"

  "My blood wasn't pure enough."

  Cartwright met Nick's gaze. Steady. Unapologetic. "Your mother was part of the problem. However, if you had been raised properly, I could have overlooked her contribution."

  "Leo!" Shock washed over Rowan's face.

  "Why bother to keep tabs on me?" Nick settled on one emotion. Cool, razor-sharp, anger. "I wasn't worthy of the Cartwright name? What was the point? Unless…? Was I your backup plan just in case your new wife didn't produce?"

  "Clever and quick." Cartwright smiled. "I was curious to see if you could make something of yourself without my help. A test, if you will."

  Rowan grasped Nick's hand. He realized for the first time that he wasn't the only one affected by Leo's revelations. No matter how complicated their relationship had been, she grew up under Cartwright's roof. He was married to her mother.

  Nick gave her hand a squeeze.

  "I'm sorry, Rowan."

  Rowan's eyes were filled with sadness, more for him than herself.

  "Don't worry about me."

  "Cut the melodrama," Leo scoffed. "Neither of you has a reason for a long face. You," he pointed at Rowan. "You'll inherit a nice sum when I'm gone. As for Nick? You've risen from nothing to become somebody of merit. Sports isn't a top-notch profession. But as a stepping stone, you chose well."

  "Everything, since I arrived in Jasper, has been a test." Nick wasn't asking. He'd already figured out how Cartwright operated. "The runaround when I first tried to set up a meeting. The asinine now or never text I received when Rowan and I were out of town."

  "What text was that?" asked a puzzled Rowan.

  "I'll explain later. And this." Nick made a sweeping gesture. "Which would get me further into your good graces? If I won, or lost?"

  "Either."

  "Since when?" Rowan demanded. "Everybody you play knows they aren't supposed to win. Give you a decent game? Sure. But they better lose, or else."

  Cartwright's expression hardened.

  "I always win because I'm always the better player."

  Rowan snorted but kept the rest of her thoughts to herself.

  "We're done."

  "Wait." Cartwright couldn't believe Nick would leave. "My empire is yours for the asking. You can't mean to walk away."

  "Right the first time."

  "I don't expect you to give up baseball. Play as long as you want. When you decide to retire, you can move to Jasper." For the first time, an air of desperation entered Cartwright's demeanor as if he suddenly realized Nick and all he represented was about to slip through his fingers.

  "Keep your fortune. Keep your empire and all your power. I'm not interested."

  "You'll change your mind. But when you do, the offer might be off the table," Cartwright warned.

  "Sounds fair." Nick, his fingers laced with Rowan's, headed toward the door.

  "I should have known. Annie was trash. Why should I expect anything else from her son?"

  Stopping, Nick kissed the back of Rowan's hand before letting go. He walked to the edge of the court, picking up his racket and two balls.

  "Call me anything you want, but don't even breathe my mother's name."

  "She spread her legs the first night I took her out. Didn't even wait for me to buy her dinner."

  Nick's grip tightened around the wrapped handle. In one fluid motion, he tossed a ball in the air. Whoosh. A yellow streak sailed at Cartwright, striking him in the chest.

  "Are you out of your mind?" Cartwright tried to rub the sting from his chest. "Put that racket down. Now."

  "No problem." The racket hit the red clay with a dull thud. In his bare hand, he lightly tossed another ball. "Tennis isn't really my sport. But baseball? I won my third straight gold glove last year. For defensive excellence. I never miss my target."

  "What does that have to do with—?"

  Laser straight backed by every bit of his considerable strength, Nick threw the ball. Letting out a screech of pain, Cartwright hit the ground, his hands covering his face.

  "I'm bleeding. Goddamn it. I think you broke my nose."

  Maybe not quite as satisfying as using his fist, but all things considered, Nick thought a ball—even the tennis variety—to Cartwright's face seemed fitting.

  "Impressive," Rowan said, not the least upset by her stepfather's agonized groans.

  "I'm damn good at what I do." Nick held out his hand. "Ready?"

  "One second."

  Rowan pushed a panel on the wall, revealing a phone. She picked up the receiver, pushing a button.

  "Mom? Yes, I'm by the court. Call Dr. Brill, Leo's bleeding. His nose. Mom." Rowan glanced at Nick, shrugging. "Mom! I don't have time to explain. Call the doctor. Bye."

  As Rowan hung up the phone, she smiled.

  "Do you want to change your clothes?"

  Shaking his head, Nick paused only long enough grab his clothes with one hand and Rowan with the other before getting into the waiting elevator.

  "All I want is to get out of here and never look back. And spend the next few hours holding you. Sound good?"

  Rowan's smile widened, her eyes bright as the summer sky.

  "Sounds perfect."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  OUTSIDE THE CARTWRIGHT mansion, Rowan waited while Nick stowed his clothes in the back of the SUV. As great as his bare legs looked, shorts weren't snowy, cold weather apparel.

  "What do you want to do with this?"

  Rowan held up Leo's file.

  "Why print the damn thing out? A computer is convenient and snoop-resistant." Nick took the stack of papers, testing the weight in his hand. "Waste of a few good trees."

  "True. But you didn't answer my question."

  "There's enough paper here to start a roaring fire. Several. We can settle in for the night at your place and enjoy the blaze. You go first," Nick said, pulling on his heavy jacket. "I'll be right behind."

  "Do you mind if we go to your hotel instead? No fireplace, but we'll figure something out."

  Rowan assumed that Allison had collected Geoff by now. But just in case, she didn't want to deal with her brother right now.

  "Does the reason have anything to do with the bruise on your cheek?" Nick held Rowan's chin, turning her head to get a better look. "A light greenish blue, and slightly swollen. Give me a name so I know who to kill."

  A chill raced up Rowan's spine that had nothing to do with the bitter wind swirling around her feet. Nick wouldn't kill Geoff. But he might knock out a tooth or two. Something she didn't want.

  In spite of everything that occurred today, Rowan strongly adhered to a policy of non-violence. Geoff paid for what he did, and—she hoped—would suffer longer than she would.

  "Don't get me wrong," Rowan said, snapping shut the button at Nick's throat. "I love that you want to defend my honor—such as it is."

  Nick chuckled, giving Rowan hope she could talk him down.

  "I dealt with the problem. On my own and quite satisfactorily."

  "Who'd hit you, Rowan?"

  "If I tell you—"

  "If?" Nick asked, his dark gaze unwavering.

  "If." Rowan didn't blink. Did he think he's cornered the market on stubborn? "I will tell you. You'll take a deep breath. We'll open a bottle of wine—the one Angie will send with the pizza. By then, you'll be so relaxed, killing somebody will be the furthest thing from your mind. End of story."

  "Most of that sounds good. As for the rest? No promises." Nick held out his hand, catching one of the sparse snowflakes peppering the air. "We'd better go before a few flurries turn into a blizzard."

  Rowan started her truck with more force than necessary. Men. Were. Impossible. Plus, irresistible—at least in Nick's case. Such a frustrating combination.

  The hotel was on the other side of town. Rowan took her time in defer
ence to the snow falling with increasing urgency. By the time she pulled to a stop, the ground was entirely blanketed in white.

  "Looks like we're in for the night," Rowan said, his fingers crossed.

  Nick didn't respond, taking her hand as he helped her from the truck. Five minutes later they, were in his room, shedding their coats.

  Feeling better already, Rowan turned in a slow circle.

  "I've eaten at the restaurant, but I've never been in one of the rooms." She breathed deeply. No weird smells. Always a plus. "Nice. Generic, but clean."

  "When you've seen as many hotel rooms as I have, clean hits pretty high on the must-have list." Nick stripped, his borrowed clothes ending up in a heap by the door. "Those can burn along with the file. Come on."

  "Where?"

  "Shower."

  The Nick she'd come to know could never be called a man of few words. He could talk for hours about anything and everything, never running out of steam. Never boring. Considering the afternoon he'd endured, Rowan didn't blame him for needing a hot shower and some blessed quiet.

  "Do you need a little alone time?"

  "No."

  "Okay."

  Laughing, Rowan let Nick pull her into the bathroom. While he turned on the taps, his heated eyes watching her every move, she removed her clothes.

  "Roomy." Rowan stepped under the water's spray. "Most hotel room showers are pretty generic. This one—"

  "Shh."

  Nick quieted her with a soft kiss. Then another, deeper, more intense. Sinking in, Rowan ran her hands down his smooth, strong back. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of Nick's fingers running through her hair, massaging her scalp.

  "You always smell so good." Nick bit Rowan's neck. Not too hard. Just hard enough to make her sigh with pleasure, moan with need. "And taste even better."

  "Haven't all the women you've showered with tasted good?" Rowan teased.

  "They tasted… different. Not as sweet."

  "I shower every day. Sometimes twice. That could be the problem. Dirty women. Holy crap."

  Rowan gasped, her head falling back. She hadn't realized her ear was a major erogenous zone. Thanks to Nick and his magic tongue, now she knew.

  Cupping her bruised cheek, Nick tenderly kissed the swollen flesh.