Dream Runner (8 page)

“She’s mad, huh?”

“Nah.” Brighton chuckled again. “She’s glad you’re okay.”

“I guess she didn’t tell you that losing my toes in an accident wasn’t on my list of ‘okay,’ did she?”

“Actually, that was the first thing she told us.” Turning slightly, Brighton faced Parker. “And doctor, you were the one who found her.”

“Yes.”
Breathe.
“I was on my way in for an ER shift, but I decided to stop for a bite to eat, and happened upon the accident site.”
There. Short and to the point.

“Didn’t see any other cars?”

“No. None.”

“All that highway, in the middle of the day, and you were the only one out there. Talk about a coincidence.” The big man angled his gaze. “Funny how that could happen.”

“Funny? Not at all. It was a holiday weekend, and the traffic is often irregular.”
Careful, you’re talking too much. This could be a trap.

“Yeah, you’re right. Holiday traffic can be unpredictable on the interstate. Good thing you came along when you did.”

“Yes.” Suddenly Reynolds didn’t trust the big detective any farther than he could throw him. The doctor recrossed his legs and looked pointedly at his watch. The detectives didn’t take the hint. Fifteen minutes later, they were still talking, still taking their infernal notes, but they were through with him.

Brighton seemed satisfied when he led Marlea through a final recitation. “If you’ll go over it one more time,” he said, “I think that’ll do it.”

“Okay,” Marlea closed her eyes. “I was wearing a white Nike shirt, I remember that. The run wasn’t hard, kind of long for me, though. I do the 400, so 6.2 miles was more than usual. It was crowded. A man tripped me; I remember that, too. Then I woke up here.” She opened her eyes. “That’s all.”

Palmer finally closed her notebook, and Parker hoped that neither detective heard his sigh of relief when they each gave Marlea a card and urged her to call if she remembered anything else.

The door had barely closed behind the detectives when Marlea’s frustration surfaced. “So strange,” she whispered. “I can’t remember anything between the park and here.”

“It’s not unusual,” Parker said, relieved by Marlea’s lack of recall. “Short-term memory loss is often a by-product of the kind of trauma you’ve experienced.”

* * *

“You know she’s going to remember more as time goes by.”

“Yes, that’s the way it usually happens.”

“I’m guessing that her remembering will make someone very nervous.”

“Yeah, but Gene, there’s no way to know how long it will to take her, is there? Then too, there’s no way to know how much she actually saw.”

“If she saw anything.” Brighton thumbed the elevator button. Pulling sunglasses from the breast pocket of his shirt, he delicately placed the glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Got me a feeling though, partner. Based on what we know, I’m getting a feeling.”

“This is the slowest elevator I’ve ever seen.” Palmer jabbed the elevator button. “Your ‘feeling’ means you’ve got a theory, and your theory is what?”

“Maybe the woman saw something—a make or model or a color while she was driving. According to the report, the other vehicle came from behind and swiped her right rear enough to make her veer into the wall.”

“The crime of it isn’t just in hitting her; the report implies the car that hit her was heavier than hers—it didn’t just scrape and move on. She was pushed.”

“After the accident, she was there ‘til the doctor found her.”

“How likely do you think it is that whoever hit her thought she was somebody else?” Linda Palmer looked at her partner, then changed her mind. “Okay, that was reaching.”

The elevator doors slid open and the detectives boarded, riding in silence to the parking deck as a couple of women in flowered dresses chattered away.

Two steps off the elevator, and the silence was too much for Palmer. “Okay, Gene, look. The doctor was too cool, too calm, too determined to remain in the room when the woman was being questioned. He’s hiding something.”

“That’s kinda like my feeling,” Brighton agreed. “What does he drive?”

Waiting for Brighton to open the car door, Palmer pulled her notebook out and flipped pages. “It’s an Acura, or at least that’s what the garage attendant said he was driving today.”

“Wonder if he owns any other cars?”

“I’m just guessing,” Palmer traced a line in her little book. “Dr. Parker Reynolds strikes me as the kind of man who is easily tempted, and he probably enjoys the fact that he is one of
THE
Reynolds—the ones with all the money.”

Brighton turned the wheel, steering the sedan out of the garage and into the sunlight. “Prob’ly got a whole stable full of cars.”

“Stables are for horses,” his partner noted, “but with his money, he’s probably got a whole stable full of them, too.”

Chapter 7

“Dude.” AJ looked up from the sports medicine text he was reading. Dench stood in the middle of the spacious office holding a massive flowering plant that neither man could name. “These just came. For you.” He held the flowers away from his body. “Who do you think sent them?”

“Looks like something Bianca would do. Where’s the card?”

“No, dude. Not Bianca. Thought she was finished with you when she smelled the gravy runnin’ on another train.” AJ’s eyes slashed him, and Dench wondered if he had said too much. “Sorry, dude, but she’s not exactly ‘happily ever after’ material, now is she?”

“You’ve got a point.” AJ found the small white envelope tucked among the blossoms and flicked it open.

“Who?” Dench tried to see over the broad clutch of flowers.

“Told you.” AJ flipped the card onto the desk. “Bianca.”

“Wonder what she wants?” Both men asked, studying the plant.

“You,” Dench suddenly realized. Setting the heavy pot on the desk, he stepped back and eyed the thing as if it were poison ivy. “She wants you back ’cause she knows, man. It’s the endorsement—been all over the news since before you got cut. It was played up because everybody was so surprised that Muscle Force kept you on, and with such a major contract. Dude, she’s back ’cause she’s smellin’ money, and she smells it on you.”

Damn it, Dench. Why you gotta go and be right?
Looking past his friend, AJ gazed out the windows. It was a little too much to look Dench in the face and admit he was right. Looking out the windows didn’t make it much easier. He had been right about Bianca every time he spoke her name. She was a gold digger, with a knack for ferreting out the man who could do the most for her, and she did have a way of turning up in AJ Yarborough’s life when it was most convenient for her.

Like that first time, the game with the Browns…AJ still recalled wondering how a woman as exotic and enticing as Bianca had found her way into a locker room buried in the bowels of a stadium in Cleveland, Ohio. And yet there she was, sitting with her long legs crossed in the middle of the locker room.

Walking in, most of the team went nuts, good-looking woman like that, but she found me like I was on radar
, AJ remembered. It took some fast talking to get her out of there, and once ‘rescued,’ she had lots of suggestions for showing her gratitude.
Hell, the stuff she had in mind—she turned my head like it could screw on and off…and she was nothin’ like shy about it.

A year of exotic and energetic sex, a near-engagement, and then she disappeared for eighteen months.
Took the Mercedes and all the jewelry I bought her, then turned up on Grainger’s arm at that benefit, saying that he was the only man in the world to have ever shown her true love. And I had to be the one to take on the challenge. Me, trying to define love for a woman who would never understand it. Then she sold the co-op and left me lookin’ like a fool five months later…

Rissa and Dench had both prophesied the doomed outcome.
Fact is, Rissa hated her instantly, and my sister’s no fool. I shoulda listened.

“Ain’t nothing out there you haven’t already seen,” Dench said, moving between AJ and the window. “That terrace and the pool won’t be movin’ today, dude.”

AJ shifted his gaze and Dench flinched at what he saw in his friend’s eyes. “You, uh…wanna talk about her?”

AJ shrugged. “What’s to say? She sent flowers. From any other woman, something like that would have been over the top. Coming from Bianca, they’re simply par for the course.”

“The ones she picked are kind of like her, aren’t they? All fragrant and showy, just the thing to appeal to someone with a need for publicly displayed attention.” Dench pressed a hand to AJ’s shoulder and shook his head. “She don’t know you very well.”

That’s an understatement.

Bianca Coltrane had never known AJ for the man he really was. She never much bothered after she checked the salary figures and collected a ton of credit cards. She simply seemed to see AJ, and every other man she encountered, as tactile proof of her superiority to every other woman in the world.

“She say where she is? Is she here? In Atlanta?”

“She didn’t say.”

“If she is, are you gonna see her? Would you want to?”

AJ looked at Dench’s open face and knew he wouldn’t tell him the truth, and he hoped his buddy wouldn’t guess.
I’ll take it to my grave.
What man wouldn’t want to know if she could still push his buttons, a woman like that? Standing close to her was almost worth the risk of getting burned, even if almost wasn’t good enough.

But hey, bad as it was, it wasn’t all in vain, because what I shared with Bianca had nothing to do with love and everything to do with lust, and now I know the difference. At least I can honestly say I learned from her. She was an expensive lesson, but I learned…

The phone rang and AJ lunged for it—anything to keep from having to answer Dench’s questions.

“Hello?” He could feel Dench’s stare, and even before she spoke, AJ knew it was Bianca.
It’s almost like she sends heat over the phone line
, he marveled, stumbling over further greeting.

Listening, trying not to enjoy her dulcet tones, he kept his answers as short as possible. No point in giving Dench any more ammunition.

“Thanks for the flowers. It was a nice gesture.”

“Gesture, my foot! After what she put you through, she should have gestured with a hell of a lot more than a pot of posies!”

AJ half appreciated the support, but he shrugged Dench off and pointed to the door. Covering the mouthpiece with his hand, he whispered, “Close the door behind you.”

“Uh-huh, I’m gon’ close the door all right,” Dench said, shambling toward the door. “Just you be sure not to open it for her.”

Knowing he was stepping out on shaky ground, AJ turned back to the phone.

“I’m at the Ritz,” Bianca sighed into his ear. “On Peachtree. You remember how much we used to like the Ritz, don’t you?”

“It’s a nice hotel, Bianca. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”
Now either get off my phone or enjoy listening to the dial tone.

“AJ, honey, why are you so short with me? Honey, I know that we have a lot of history between us. I’m the first to admit that some of it wasn’t so good, but you have to admit that when we were good, there was nothing better.” She waited, letting him think.

AJ pulled the phone from his ear and glared at it. Not sure of what he would say, he pressed the phone against his ear and listened to her breathe—slow and steady, sure of herself. “What do you want, Bianca?”

“Dinner with an old friend, AJ, that’s all I’m after. I’m in town for an Apparel Mart preview of my new clothing line, and I thought it was just polite to look you up. Since it’s been so long, I thought we should talk.”

“You could have called or e-mailed a long time ago, if that’s really what you wanted.”

Her laughter was bright, intriguing. “Would you have answered?” When he said nothing, she laughed again. “I thought not, so here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“I’ve missed you, AJ. I wanted to surprise you, work through what’s come between us, and share some closure with you.”

She’s working on me
, AJ warned himself.
She’s working on me, and it’s wearing me down
. He tried hardening his voice. “It’s been three years, Bianca. I call that closure enough for both of us.”

“Twenty-two months and four days, AJ. Even the days matter to me.”

“They used to matter to me, too. I think it’s better if we let sleeping dogs lie.”

“AJ, I don’t want you to hate me.”

She sniffed, and he imagined a single tear shimmering against her blushing cheek. Bianca Coltrane was the only woman he had ever met who could even cry pretty. “I don’t hate you, Bianca.”

“Then why are you making this so hard?”

Because you picked my pocket, drop-kicked my heart, left me trying to pick my face up off the floor, and now you’re back to shred what’s left of my dignity. I can’t let you do that.

“AJ?”

“I’m here.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

His deep breath caught in his throat, and AJ tried to talk around it. “Maybe because of the little indiscretions that drove us apart?”

“They were mine, AJ, and I admit it. I was wrong,” she whispered. “I was scared.”

“Scared. Huh.” Facing the broad windows fronting his terrace, AJ closed his eyes. “I heard you weren’t scared of any of my teammates.” Bianca’s gasp told him that he had struck a nerve.

“That was mean, AJ. You were never mean before.”

“No one ever hurt me the way you did, Bianca.”

“I…know. I’m ashamed of what I did, how I left things between us.”

Silence hung in the air, and AJ unexpectedly felt something for Bianca that he had never felt before—pity.

“I’m sorry, AJ. Won’t you let me try to make it up to you?” She waited.
Timing my mood
. AJ knew it instinctively.

“I can’t give time back to you, AJ. As much as I want to, I can’t make the past go away. But I can, I am, asking your forgiveness, and I can buy dinner. At a really good restaurant for a really good man.” She was smiling. He could hear it.

“I don’t know, Bianca.”

“Think about it while you’re getting dressed,” she pressed. “It’s four o’clock now. Meet me at six.” She waited and, when AJ hesitated, her warmth surged over the line on a satisfied sigh. “Drinks at six, then dinner, AJ. I’m looking forward to it.”

AJ heard the click when she disconnected the call. “What the hell am I thinkin’,” he muttered, looking at the closed door across from him. “How am I gonna get dressed and out of here without running into Dench?”

An hour later, showered and shaved, dressed in neat dark linen shirt and slacks, AJ sorted through the keys on his bureau top. “The 300M,” he decided. “It’s the quietest. It’ll keep Dench out of my business.”
And it’ll impress Bianca.

Surprised at his luck, AJ made his way through the house to the garage without encountering his sister Rissa, or Dench.
That would be all I’d need, runnin’ into my self-appointed consciences.

There would be Rissa, with her finger up in my face, using all those grammatically and politically correct words I paid for her to learn, trying to tell me how to live my life. Actin’ like somebody’s mother, like she’s not my baby sister. Trying to protect me. Then Dench—not much better. Both of ’em trying to watch my back, telling me which way to walk. But this time, my eyes are wide open. I know what I’m doing, and I don’t need that pair in my way.

Pausing to listen, he could hear the sound of music drifting up from his home theater. “Good. They’re watching a movie.
Ali
, from the sound of it.”

Pleased with his good fortune, AJ hurried through the breezeway relaxing only after he had driven through the estate gates.
I’ve gotten this far without seeing either Rissa or Dench. That’s gotta be some kind of a good sign. If fate is with me, then maybe seeing Bianca again is not as stupid as I thought
.

“I sound like I’m whistling in the dark, trying to keep bad things from touching me,” AJ told himself as he guided the big car onto the highway. Fiddling with the car’s stereo system, he settled for jazz. By the time AJ handed his car over to the Ritz valet, Dave Koz was calming his soul.

The young guy looked hard at AJ. “Sir? I hope you won’t think I’m being, you know, pushy or anything. I’m a fan, though. Aren’t you AJ Yarborough?”

“Yeah, man,” another white-shirted valet added, pumping an arm in the air. “I saw you in that game with Philly. Man, you were one runnin’ son of a bitch! Back in the day, you was the bomb!”

The first kid ran his hand over his shaved head. “I had you figured for the Hall of Fame. Still do; probably happen in a couple of years.”

“Thanks.” Feeling older than Namath, AJ signed a handful of autographs on his way to the lobby.

The concierge directed him to Bianca’s sixteenth-floor suite. Standing outside her door, he wished he had stopped for flowers, then immediately dismissed the thought. “Flowers, no flowers, I’m here now.” He knocked at the door.

The door swept inward and Bianca flowed from the room and into his arms. “AJ! Oh, honey!” Standing nearly six feet in high-heeled strappy sandals, she pressed the generously curved length of her body against him. Warm and tight in all the right places, she slipped her leg around and through his. “It’s been too long.”

Damn, she still looks good, and she feels as good as she looks.
His arms rose as if of their own accord, accepting her.
This would be a whole lot easier if she was fat and tired.
AJ nodded against the luxuriant sweep of her soft honey-gold hair and held her tighter.
Always did like the way her hair felt, the way she smells.

Tilting her head and arching her back, Bianca looked into AJ’s face. She laced fingers tightly behind his neck, and he could feel her heartbeat beneath the thin silky knit of her short summer dress. Trying to force his thoughts from beneath the buttery gold of her little dress, AJ responded to the soft kiss she offered. Assuming his acceptance, she deepened the kiss.

Parting his lips, expecting more, AJ was surprised when she dropped her hands from his neck. Keeping her eyes on his, she took his hand, she led him into the suite.

Billie Holiday’s voice, sultry and sensual, filled the rooms.
She always liked Billie. Still travels with her, I see.
He knew that if he found the hidden CD player, Sarah Vaughn would be the next choice. Proud, AJ grinned.
That’s what I taught her, to love good music. Especially jazz. Before me, the deepest music she was into was a little R and B. Nothing wrong with it, but there’s so much more…

Bianca’s fingers trailed along his shoulder and down his arm, gently steering him into the sitting room. Deep and long, the suite’s sitting room was exactly as AJ remembered. Velvet sofas, highly polished wood and brass, with obviously expensive, tasteful artwork and deep custom carpeting—precisely Bianca’s taste. Unable to stop himself, his eyes strayed toward what he knew would be her bedroom. Self-conscious, he pulled his attention away from the door and was embarrassed when he saw her noticing.