Stephanie Evanovich - The Sweet Spot

“Maybe they’re going to make me the DH?” he said with a mixture of forethought and concern. It wasn’t about collecting a paycheck. It was about having to sit on the sidelines.

“Babe, I think you’re overtired,” she responded, trying for intelligently playful. “You’re twenty-eight. The designated hitter is for old guys and players who aren’t effective on the field.”

“Or they want to trade me?”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” she said sarcastically, hoping it might grab his attention. “No other team wants to be saddled with your contract.”

“What if they trade me to Boston?” His eyes grew wide with horror at the thought.

Amanda was unable to discern whether or not he was listening and decided to make her presence known in a more bratlike fashion. Her method was to purposefully bump into him. Hard. It caught him off balance and he lurched several steps in front of her.

“What was that for?” he said dubiously, turning back to her after regaining his balance.

“So I could join the conversation. And snap you out of it. Do you hear yourself?” Amanda scoffed. “Trade you to Boston, that’s just crazy talk. Even if they do trade you, what do you care as long as you get to play?”

Chase relaxed, feeling a bit foolish for having worked himself up. “You’re right. Between the wedding and the house and trying to make the Wild Card, it’s just a lot of balls up in the air at once.”

She loved him most in his weak moments, when he left himself open and vulnerable. He let his guard down only when they were alone. Brief glimpses she knew wouldn’t last. It wouldn’t be long before someone wanted his attention. He couldn’t be inaccessible and save the world at the same time. And she knew just how to ease him back into his comfort zone. Amanda smiled at him before taunting him further. “Of course, if they do trade you, the wedding is off. I could never marry a guy who plays for Boston. I guess I’ll wait till after the playoffs to lock down a date. It would save me the trouble of divorcing you.”

He recognized her brat voice when he heard it. His eyes narrowed fiendishly and he pointed a finger while stepping closer to her. “Oh, yeah? Care to venture a guess at what I’m going to do?”

Ooh. He went right into stern daddy mode, spanko foreplay. She took a step to meet him and wrapped a hand around his finger while poking him in the chest several times with one of her own, rewarding him with a pretentious eye roll. “You’re going to stop acting like a baby, give someone else a chance to be a star, and get back to what’s really important . . . which is me and our wedding.” And then she laughed.

Her laughter was short-lived, however, when Chase took a quick look around, snaked his arm around her waist, and bent her in half, pulling her neatly to his hip. Her feet left the ground from sheer momentum and the wind rushed out of her. He released a volley of stinging swats in rapid succession to her denim-clad behind while she tried to keep from protesting too loudly. As soon as he stood her back up, she grabbed him by his jacket, hot and bothered. He gently pressed her to the wall of the long tunnel, and with his most devilish grin, brought his lips down to hers. When he finally pulled away, they were both all smiles, the thought of nearly making their antics a public display dangerously thrilling.

“That was excessive,” she said, giggling at him.

“I know!” he said with boyish glee. “But did you hear it? It was echoing so loud, it was turning me on.”

“You better hope no one else did,” she reminded him.

“We’re safe,” he assured her. “There isn’t anyone around for miles. But as soon as I get you home, I’m going to spank you properly.”

“Then why are we standing here?”

Chase grabbed her hand and hurriedly began his race for the exit, practically dragging her behind him. But he instantly stopped when she planted her feet and gave his arm a slight tug. He turned to her and she wrapped her arms around his neck, rising up on the tips of her toes.

“Just to be clear, I’d follow you anywhere,” she told him right before kissing him.

“I never doubted you, angel. Thanks for knowing just how to break a guy out of a funk.”

And together they ran for the door, right past the tiny blinking red light hidden inside the innocuous small black sphere mounted on the ceiling above them.

FOUR DAYS LATER, Chase was lacing up his cleats at Kauffman Stadium, getting ready to warm up for playing the Royals. Another city, another road trip, and another three days of wishing he were home. He tried to look on the bright side. His bride had stayed behind, touring venues for their wedding, something that didn’t interest him. He looked up from the bench he was sitting on inside the visitors’ locker room as soon as he heard his name called.

“Walker! Coach needs to see you,” the assistant coach called out from the doorway of the visiting team’s management office. Chase finished what he was doing and hustled over to answer.

“You were looking for me, Coach?” Chase stuck his head in the open doorway.

Leo Bennett sat behind the desk, leaning back in his chair. He waved his hand, beckoning his star player full entry. “Come in, Chase. Shut the door and have a seat.”

Chase immediately did as he was told, alert to the level of intensity that showed on the faces of Leo and the already seated assistant and batting coaches. He sat down.

The four men sat in awkward silence for several long moments.

“Am I getting benched?” Chase finally asked jokingly after looking from one unreadable face to the other.

The three remaining men exchanged knowing looks and what Chase could’ve sworn were sly smiles that were being held back. Leo cleared his throat and leaned both his elbows on the desk. He steepled his fingers over his mouth to hide the grin and tried to decide how best to tell the man he thought of as a son what he needed to tell him without laughing. He took a deep breath, getting ready to tackle the topic at hand.

“I just hung up with the front office. There’s a situation back in New York.”

AMANDA WAS IN HER BEDROOM, finishing getting dressed for work, when the phone rang.

“If you don’t get out of town, you’ll ruin him,” threatened the voice on the other end by way of a greeting. Amanda didn’t need the caller to identify himself; the familiar skin-crawling, bile-buildup reaction was completely indicative of every conversation she had ever had with him.

“Who is this?” she asked anyway, just to antagonize him.

“It’s Alan Shaw, the agent of the next disgraced athlete. Way to go.” He spoke with such reproach, it instantly made her defensive.

“Alan, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and how did you get this number?”

Another one of his slimy snorts echoed through the receiver. “Are you kidding, sweetheart? I know everything there is to know about you. While you were busy wrapping him around your finger, you forgot that he’s one of those people who is constantly drawing attention. Now I’m left to do what you didn’t, and that’s try to protect him.”

During the few times she was forced to endure him since meeting Chase, Shaw was always sanctimonious, always trying to leave her with the impression that there was some sort of inner circle that she would never know about. He had made it clear early on that he thought of her as a dalliance, and his view hadn’t changed, but he was careful to conceal his opinion when forced into their company, which to Chase’s credit wasn’t very often. But now he had entered into her personal space, adding hostile, and Amanda was already tired of being bullied by him. She cradled the phone against her ear with her shoulder and finished putting on her pumps. “Stop speaking to me in riddles and get to the point.”

“Get to the point?” Shaw shouted loud enough to make her eardrum vibrate. “I’ll get to the point! At five P.M. my client and your fine ass are going to be the lead story on all the major networks. CNN and Fox may even beat them to it! You and your perverted little escapades are about to take down one of this country’s most loved role models, how’s that for getting to the point?”

Amanda could feel the hair on the back of her neck begin to stand on end as his venom flowed through the phone.

“What do you mean?” she rasped, all blood draining from her face, confrontational pretext gone. She closed her eyes and held her breath, praying he would say anything other than what she knew by his cryptic opening he was about to confirm.

“You know exactly what I mean.” He brought his tone back down and it was now more of a hiss. “Does the tunnel under Kings Stadium ring a bell?”

The thought of Alan Shaw bearing witness to something so private was as repugnant as if he had been peeping through their window when they made love. As soon as she heard him say it, the bile in her throat became real.

“Yeah,” he mocked her silence. “I thought it might. You can probably catch it on YouTube right now if you need a reminder.”

She didn’t need to be reminded. Her knees buckled, the bed breaking her fall. YouTube. She glanced over to her laptop on the nightstand and unsuccessfully willed it to blow up. Sweat began to bead on her upper lip and terror gripped her. “Does Chase know?” Amanda asked quietly, trying to keep her voice from shaking as badly as her hands.

She heard Alan take a deep breath, although it was far from settling. “I don’t think so. Thank God he’s on the field in Kansas City, and I can get a few hours head start. He still has a job to do, whether you know it or not.”