Connor's Gamble (10 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Friday

H
ow'd he gotten himself in this mess?  Seated across the table from a man-eating piranha who wanted nothing more than to dissect him wasn't how he wanted to spend his dinner time.  If Alyssa sat across from him, that would be a whole different ball game.  But Bethany Banks?   She'd latched onto him right outside the dining room, asking if she could join him for dinner, since she didn't want to eat alone.  As much as he wanted to say “hell no,” he couldn't come up with a good reason not to let her join him.  She'd wrapped her arm through his and strolled into dinner with all the panache of a movie star amidst a flock of paparazzi.  

As far as Connor was concerned the New Orleans Police Department could deal with the press.  As soon as the doc cleared him, said his shoulder had completely healed, he'd be back to work and everyone would forget any involvement he had in catching the bastard.

“Earth to Connor.  Bet you're expecting me to grill you about Mickey Trejo, right?”  Bethany's soft laughter wafted across the table.  “I'd love to get an exclusive one-on-one with you—your choice when and where.  But, off the record, can I ask you a few questions about how you ended up on a bus full of senior citizens headed from Boca to New Orleans?  Seems like an odd mode of transportation to choose.”

Connor rolled his eyes at her polite turn of phrase.  Like he'd been given a choice?  His Gran was a stubborn old broad who never took no for an answer.  Once she latched onto the idea he'd accompany her on her jaunt to visit her old stomping grounds, a freight train headed down a one-way track with no breaks would have been easier to stop.  As an added bonus, he'd be closeted in close proximity with his ex-wife.

“I like spending time with my gran.  She'd planned this trip with her friends, and voila, here I am.”  Picking up his half-empty glass of whiskey, he swallowed down a healthy gulp as he wracked his brain for a polite way to end this interminable dinner.

“Molly seems like quite a character.  I've talked with her several times over the past few weeks on the phone, getting the interviews set up on site at the hotel and the casino for their arrival.  This whole accident—the bus driver being hurt and one of the seniors dying on the trip, well, I'm very sorry for her loss.  I'm sure it makes me seem like a publicity-hungry ghoul wanting to continue with the story, but, Connor, this is exactly what people love to see.”

“I wouldn't know.  Don't catch much TV.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, Connor.  I know you probably haven't seen any of my segments since I'm based in Baton Rouge, but they do occasionally carry my stuff on the local New Orleans channel.  I strive for objectivity and fairness in my reporting, although recently I seem to be handed a lot of human interest stories, like your gran's.  They're usually a bit of fun but not a lot of substance.  Not juicy, hard-hitting journalism.”

Bethany's eyes met his over the wine glass she raised to her lips.  He watched her sip the white wine, her tongue peeking out to catch the drop clinging to her lip.  Attractive in a totally different way from Alyssa, he couldn't help comparing them.  Bethany's blonde hair was styled, not a strand out of place.  Makeup a little heavier than he cared for, but then he wasn't an expert on all the crap women put on their faces.  Alyssa on the other hand always had a casual yet charming messiness about her.  She didn't care if her hair wasn't cut in the latest fashion; she'd rather grab a ponytail holder and shove it all up out of the way.  It always looked cute in that tousled, just-rolled-out-of-bed style.  She'd rarely worn makeup when they'd been together, and when she had it was minimal and understated.  He liked it best when she looked like she'd just climbed out of his bed, thrown his shirt on and wore an I've-just-made-love look.

“I spoke with a couple of the ladies and one gentleman already and got their take on the bus accident.  Would you be willing to speak on camera?  Give the viewers your personal take on what happened, Connor?”  Bethany's voice intruded into his daydreams, interrupting his musings about his ex-wife.

Connor sat straighter in his chair and focused his attention on her.  “Thanks, but I'll pass.  I'm only along for the ride.  These seniors are the stars of your piece.  Leave me out of it.”

“That's a real shame.  You'd give a whole different slant on things, a younger point of view.  Appeal to an entirely different demographic.”

“Not happening, Bethany.  Drop it.”

Heaving a dramatic sigh, which thrust her already straining breasts even further forward, her cleavage nearly spilling from her low cut top, Bethany slumped back into her chair, snatched up her glass of wine and took a big drink.  The clatter of dishes behind Connor's right shoulder indicated their dinner had arrived.
Good.  Maybe with his mouth full of food, she'd stop asking questions and he could enjoy his meal in peace.

He cut into his steak, noted the pink center and nodded to their waitress.  Great, just the way he liked it, nice and rare.  As he forked a bite into his mouth his gaze continually moved around the room.  He stiffened in his chair, muscles tightening and he nearly choked on the bite of steak he'd just put in his mouth.  He'd spotted Alyssa across the dining room, watched her smile at a blond-haired stranger seated across from her.

Who the hell is that?

He forced himself to swallow the piece of steak he'd been chewing, though he wasn't sure he'd keep it down.  His stomach twisted in knots.  Jaw clenched, his hands fisted on the silverware in his grasp so tightly the metal bit into his palms.

“Connor?”  Bethany's voice drew his eyes back to her.  “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.  Sorry.  Got distracted for a second.”

She glanced in the direction he'd been staring moments before, and a look of understanding crossed her face.  “I see.”  She smiled.  “Relax. It doesn't look too serious from here.  Do you know him?”

“Never saw him before.”

“All right.  I need to ask Alyssa something anyway, so wait here.”  Before he could utter a word of protest, Bethany rose and sauntered across the dining room straight to Alyssa's table.  Whoever the guy was, he obviously had manners because he stood when Bethany reached their table and shook hands while Alyssa made introductions.  The whole interaction between the three probably took less than two minutes but time crawled by at a snail's pace for Connor.  With a deep throated, sexy chuckle and a flirty little wave at the pair, Bethany started back toward his table.

Being the gentleman he'd been raised, he stood and held her chair until she again sat across from him before resuming his own seat.  Damn, he wanted to know what she'd found out but didn't want to appear too anxious.  Calm, cool, that was the way to play it.

“He's her boss.”  A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of Bethany's uptilted lips.  Connor knew she fought to keep from laughing aloud at him.  “Apparently when she contacted Whispering Pines and told them about the accident and Mrs. Spencer's death, he decided he'd better come and do some troubleshooting and PR.”

Jealousy
.  The green-eyed monster.  Connor recognized the emotion for what it was.  Sharp jagged blades of suppressed rage hacked and clawed him inside, leaving his guts a twisted and bloody mass inside.  Hands balled into fists, it took every ounce of discipline just to remain seated.  The image of him bulldozing his way through the crowded dining room, grabbing up the pompous ass by his striped tie, and planting his fist in his perfect white teeth flashed through his mind.  A tic pulsed above his eyebrow.

“Didn't realize he'd be showing up here.  She mentioned he'd handle all the stuff related to the senior center. I figured he'd handle everything from his office.”  His response terse and short, Connor knew taking his anger out on Bethany was totally unjustified but then he'd never claimed to be a saint.  He was an ass, knew it, and didn't really care.  He didn't want to be here anyway.  Bethany had pushed, insisting they eat together.  It had been easier to go along with it rather than cause a scene.

“They do look cozy.  I wonder how well they know each other.”  Bethany's subtle insinuation zeroed straight to its target, and he reacted in spite of his resolve not to.  Connor tossed his napkin onto his plate.

“Excuse me, Bethany.  I'll be right back.”  Connor stalked toward Alyssa's table and with each step anger and resentment unfurled within him.  How dare she sit there with another man?  She belonged with him, dammit, not this dude from Florida.

“Alyssa, who's your friend?”

Her gaze locked with his and she hastened to make introductions, though Connor barely acknowledged the man, instead focusing solely on Alyssa.  Beautiful as always, the underlying sadness in her eyes made him wince.  He was being a sadistic bastard, knew it, but it was as though he was possessed, couldn't stop even if he wanted to.  And if he was being totally honest, he didn't want to.  All the anger, resentment, and hurt bubbled to the surface like a newly drilled oil well, spewing forth with abandon.

Connor knew in his gut John wasn't here solely for the senior citizens from his facility.  The way he'd smiled and subtly flirted with Alyssa was a swift kick in the nuts.  A blind man couldn't miss the signals; they were more than just work colleagues.  Judging from John's posture and possessive attitude, he wanted a hell of a lot more than a working relationship with Alyssa.

The ugly edge of jealousy sprang to life fully formed at the sight of the bastard reaching across the table and touching her.  A light brushing of his fingers over her forearm.  But to Connor it was waving a cape in front of an enraged bull.  Alyssa's boss touched her the way a man did when he was courting a woman, gentling her to his touch.

A red haze covered his vision.  His breath escaped his lungs in a forceful “huh” of sound.  Eating him alive inside, the hounds of hell nipped at his heels and stoked the jealous rage simmering beneath the surface.  White-hot anger spilled through him at Alyssa's softly curved smile.  She'd smiled at this jackass, when every time she'd spoken with Connor in the last twenty-four hours she hadn't spared one single smile for him.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“Connor!”  Her outraged gasp barely registered over the white hot jealousy bubbling in his blood.

“Stop it this instant.”  Alyssa whispered between clenched teeth. 
Huh, didn't know people could really do that.

“Why, it's the truth, isn't it?  I'd heard you were dating someone, and here's Mr. Perfect, the white knight riding up to rescue you and make all the problems go away.”

Alyssa stood, flinging her napkin onto her half-empty plate.

“I am so sorry, John.  My ex-husband apparently had too much to drink and isn't aware he's making an ass of himself. Let's go, Connor.”

Connor wrenched his arm free, zeroing in on the blond who'd stood.  Roughly the same height as Connor at six feet, he had the beach boy surfer good looks women seemed to fawn over.  The polar opposite of his own black Irish ancestry.  Maybe Alyssa was looking to obliterate his memory with a man who wouldn't remind her in any way of her ex-husband.

“Connor, you're making a scene.  Let's go.”

“So, pal, first opportunity presents itself, you come running.  Looking to hook up for a booty call?”  Inwardly Connor cringed as the words poured forth.  Dammit, he knew better but couldn't seem to stop spewing the vitriolic hateful words, degradation flowing like lava from his lips.  Surprised he didn't have blisters on his tongue from the nonsense he'd spouted.

“I'm so sorry, John.  I'll call you in the morning and we'll finish our talk.  Connor, stop being a bastard and go sober up.”  Alyssa turned and marched out the door, head held high, ignoring the shocked silence that followed her comments.

“Very nice, Mr. Scott.  For the record, Alyssa and I haven't been dating, definitely haven't slept together, and no this isn't a booty call.  Though I'm glad you just royally screwed up any chance of reconciling with her.”

The blond scrutinized Connor as though he were a pile of cow dung on the sole of his shoe that needed to be scraped off.  The predatory smile he gave Connor turned the blood to ice in his veins.  Connor knew that look, he'd seen in often enough in the mirror.

“But thanks.  There's always been a hesitation on Alyssa's part to consider any kind of personal relationship.  Your grandmother said it was because she still carried feelings of tenderness toward you.  I think this little display of yours just sabotaged any chance you might have had.”

Connor watched the stranger as he meticulously folded his linen napkin, placing it beside his plate, and slid his chair beneath the table before turning his attention back to Connor.

“Now I think I'll get my chance after all.  She'll be coming back to Boca when this trip is over, Mr. Scott.  Let's see what happens then, shall we?”

With a smile full of teeth like a barracuda about to strike, he nodded and walked away, leaving Connor standing in a restaurant full of people, their stares fixed solidly on him.  Without a word Connor walked out, Bethany and everyone else forgotten, realizing his big mouth and jealous temper drove the final nail in the coffin of hope.  His marriage was officially dead.  Only thing left was the burial.

Dejected, he sauntered out the front door and back to the bar.  He needed a drink.

Chapter Fifteen

Late Friday/early Saturday

A
lyssa expected Connor's knock on her door any second.  Over an hour had passed since their confrontation.  Each tortuous minute seemed an eternity.  Still she waited.  The look on his face earlier in the restaurant during a perfectly innocent business dinner with her boss, dealing with details of the accident and Mrs. Spencer's death, at first pissed her off.

Hurt, betrayal, anger.  Those emotions flashed in rapid succession across his face before he'd masked his feelings, showing nothing but an expressionless façade.  His lack of emotion hurt more than seeing the anger and hurt reflected in his eyes when she'd seen him across the crowded dining room.