Strike Zone (9 page)

“Better now.” He took two deep breaths and looked up. His interest was instantly held by the hundreds of framed photographs that drew the viewer into the lives of Liv and Stephan Hannah. From black-and-white to color, the pictures captured their extreme sports. Photos of Taylor’s adrenaline highs were also scattered throughout.

Sloan admired a picture of Taylor waterfall ice climbing. “A lady and her icicles. Not many men would challenge life as she does.”

Only Brek Stryker had dared. “Taylor’s in a league of her own.”

“Your sister’s fearless.”

He continued to circle the room, a room done in shades of sage and lemon sorbet, everything soft, warm, and inviting. As he closed in on one particular corner behind a green-and-gold paisley couch, Eve moved to intercept him. She snagged his arm and attempted to tug him beyond the next cluster of photographs.

The man was not to be tugged.

“This you?” He studied a picture of a young girl on horseback. “Damn, you’re pale as a ghost.”

“It’s a black-and-white photograph.”

“I can sense your fear.”

Eve bit down on her bottom lip. She hated opening her life to this man. “I was eight. My parents thought I’d enjoy horseback riding.”

“They were obviously wrong.” His eyes narrowed sharply. “You’re holding on to the saddle horn for dear life.”

He hadn’t yet noticed her tears—

“You’re crying.”

The man was too observant.

“You’re bawling here too.” He’d moved on to another photograph, one that pictured Eve clinging to her father’s leg after riding the Matterhorn at Disneyland.

“I’m not a fan of roller coasters,” she said stiffly.

He moved to the next picture. “Appears you weren’t a fan of Santa either.”

Eve knew the picture. At age four, she’d been petrified of the red-suited man with the white hair and beard. His merry, “Ho, ho, ho” had stood her hair on end. Tears had flowed. The elves had given her nightmares.

He ran his finger along the frame of the next photograph. “Nor did you enjoy climbing trees.”

The big oak in the backyard. She’d climbed two rungs on a ladder that led to a tree fort when she’d stopped, afraid of heights. Taylor, at her back, had pressed her shoulder into Eve’s bottom and pushed her another notch. Taylor was all laughter and fun, whereas Eve wanted nothing more than to feel the earth beneath her feet. Her expression shouted,
Get me down
.

She cringed as he took in the next photo. “You running from a duck?”

“It was at a petting zoo. I ran out of sunflower seeds, and the duck was still hungry. He came after me. Nipped my heel.”

He lifted a brow, the corners of his mouth itching to smile.

“I was five, and the duck outran me. The bite hurt.” Her face hot, her hands clenched, Eve drew herself up. “Can we move beyond my crying corner?”

“Bad memories?”

“All memories with my family were good. Some were just more stressful than others. Even though I wasn’t athletic, competitive, or an adrenaline junkie, I was never left out of family functions. There were times my parents and Taylor held back because of me. Eventually I chose to stay with Addie when they traveled.”

“You and Addie are close?”

“Close as mother and daughter.” He’d learned enough about her, she decided. Eve nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Go, as in joining the others? Or go, as in I’m supposed to leave?”

“Can I get you to eat and run?”

“No man hurries through a steak.”

He moved to stand before her, a broad-chested man who weighed about two-ten before the appetizers. Holding out his hand, he requested, “Date me for two hours?”

“Not for five seconds.”

“Your grandmother thinks we’re a couple.”

“Whose fault is that?”

He let his hand drop. “I think fast on my feet. It seemed right at the time. You don’t want to disappoint Addie, do you?”

“I don’t want my name linked with yours.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You have a three tattooed on your groin.”

“For you, I’d go four dates.”

“Give up, McCaffrey. I don’t like you.”

“I like myself enough for both of us.” He shifted his stance, ready to move on. “Where can I find Taylor?”

He’d rather be with her sister. Eve’s heart squeezed for six surprising seconds. “Taylor’s on the patio,” she told him. Retreating to the hallway, she pointed to the sunshine-hued tiles. “Follow the yellow brick road. Twenty feet and you’ll bump into her.”

“Where will you be?”

“Anywhere you aren’t.”

“
Quack,
quack.
” He nipped her on the neck on his way to the doorway. Gooseflesh rose on her entire body.

Twenty steps and Sloan McCaffrey easily found the patio, a screened expanse of gray slate and lavender-cushioned Adirondack chairs. Red streamers fluttered on the breeze, and blue, white, and yellow balloons dangled from the ceiling, festive and colorful.

A horseshoe pit bracketed one side of the porch; a flower garden bloomed on the other. Tennis courts and a clubhouse were visible off in the distance.

Sloan located his teammate Risk Kincaid and his wife, Jacy, beneath an enormous outdoor tent. Positioned around a gas grill, a dozen or more tables were set up for dining. Risk stood over the grill, turning steaks. Jacy lounged beside him on a vinyl chaise. Big, round sunglasses shaded her face; the red polka dots on her white sundress matched her hair. Grecian sandals laced up her calves. She had nice calves.

The scent and sizzle of a juicy steak made Sloan hungry. He was glad he’d chosen Addie’s birthday for dinner. He hoped they’d eat soon.

He found the nicer sister behind the bar on the patio. Taylor was surrounded by a sophisticated and fit group of senior citizens, all casually dressed and nurturing cocktails.

In her aqua halter top, skinny black jeans, and bare feet, Taylor could make a man go hard. Her toenails were painted bright red. Several toes were banded in gold rings.

He felt neither twitch nor rise.

He was dead from the waist down.

And not happy about it.

He ducked beneath the
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
sign, bopped a balloon aside, then drew himself up on a bar stool. Trays of appetizers lined the bar. Sloan sat and watched Taylor mix drinks.

She knew her cocktails. She shook an apple martini, blended a piña colada, and added a cherry to a Manhattan. She wrapped up an order for a rum and Coke, then turned to him.“Hello, party crasher.”

“Word spreads fast.”

“Addie mentioned that Eve’s date had arrived.” One corner of Taylor’s mouth turned up. “I know for a fact Eve’s not involved right now.”

“Can’t picture Eve involved with anyone ever.” Sloan scooped a handful of mixed nuts from a glass bowl on the bar, only to pick out the cashews. “She’s too uptight.”

Taylor looked at him strangely. “Eve, uptight?”

“Damn sure is.”

Taylor pointed toward a dozen older men clustered about a horseshoe pit just off the patio. Eve stood among them. “She looks relaxed now.”

Sloan’s gaze drifted over Eve Hannah, who was getting a lesson in pitching horseshoes. Directly behind her, a slump-shouldered man set Eve’s hips, then helped draw back her arm. He deliberately held on to her forearm even after she’d pitched the horseshoe.

Eighty hitting on thirty? Gramps should have released Eve immediately after the toss. Yet he was still hanging on.

The horseshoe landed in the sandy pit, a good three feet from the metal stake. Eve’s second attempt landed a ringer. She smiled so broadly both her dimple and braces flashed. Her coach patted her shoulder.

“Who’s the old guy?” he asked.

“Edwin Sweeney, horseshoe champ of Briarwood Village.”

“Looks like Eve’s found her sport.” Sloan sampled a miniquiche. Tasting spinach, he pulled a face and went back to his cashews.

“Eve may not be athletic, but she’s artistic,” Taylor said as she popped the top on an Amstel, then poured it in an iced beer mug for one of Addie’s guests. “She paints. While I was drawing stick figures, she mastered seascapes. She has a small studio downtown above Thrill Seekers. She has an upcoming show at Fine Arts next month.”

“Good for her.” He snagged a maraschino cherry from the condiment tray and sucked it off its stem. Rolling it around on his tongue, he said, “I get claustrophobic inside. I’m a sportsman. I come alive outdoors—”

“At the ballpark and on the mound.” Taylor read him well. “You perform best with eighty thousand fans shouting your name.”

“A definite rush.”

Eve had stopped pitching horseshoes and now approached the bar. “No one will be cheering you down the mountain when you ski La Grave. The swoosh of your skis, the voice inside your head screaming, ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ will be all that breaks the silence.”

Sloan had long tired of Eve’s sarcasm. He turned, about to tell her so, but lost his train of thought. Less than a foot separated them. He got caught up in her sunburned nose and unbuttoned blouse, opened because of the heat. A lacy cream camisole peeked out, as did the swell of her breasts.

His penis perked up. Damn, his dick had poor taste in women. He kept right on staring until Eve jerked her blouse together and once again buttoned up.

She spoke directly to Taylor. “Addie’s getting ready to open her gifts. She wants everyone to gather by the porch swing.”

Her sister immediately rounded the bar and moved toward the crowd surrounding her grandmother.

Sloan slid off the bar stool.

Eve blocked his path. “Tell me your present’s appropriate for an eighty-year-old woman. I don’t want Addie embarrassed.”

“There will be blushing if she hits the switch and the G-Swirl buzzes.”

She swatted his arm. “You jerk.”

Sloan pulled back. Eve was slaphappy.

He watched Eve watch her grandmother as Addie opened a huge pile of gifts. Eve chewed her lip through the gift certificates, boxes of sugar-free candy, and aged brandy.

Risk and Jacy Kincaid presented Addie with a pink cellophane basket packed with gourmet coffees and cookies. Taylor added a new tennis racket and sleeves of tennis balls to the pile of gifts. Addie stood up and swung the racket from side to side, then declared it perfectly balanced.

A soft admiring “aw” rose from all those gathered as Addie carefully removed the brown wrapping paper from Eve’s gift.

“The Old Cape Henry Lighthouse.” Emotion brightened Addie’s eyes. “One of my favorite landmarks. I thought you’d planned to sell this piece at your next show.”

“Once you admired the painting, it was yours,” Eve told her grandmother.

“I’ve always loved this old lighthouse.” Addie propped the painting up against the back of the porch swing for all to see. “You captured its history, Eve: an old, yet proud beacon at the entrance to Chesapeake Bay.”

For all Eve’s snippiness and sarcasm, Sloan had to admit she could paint. Drawn against a weather-beaten sky, the tall octagonal structure cast the viewer into the lighthouse keeper’s life, a solitary and lonesome existence amid hewn stone, narrow lookout windows, and oil-burning lamps.

Lost in the painting, Sloan felt the shift in the wind, saw the dark clouds racing, heard the waves pounding the shore. The lighthouse would withstand the heavy rainfall, as would the ships entering Norfolk harbor.

“I’ll hang it this evening,” Addie said to Eve.

“I’ll stick around and help you,” Sloan offered. “I have a suggestion as to which wall would catch the best light.”

That wall was Eve’s crying corner. It was time to replace her childhood photographs with this painting. For some unknown reason, her tears bothered him. She’d grown up in Taylor’s adventurous shadow, afraid of Santa Claus and ducks.

“Next you’ll be rearranging my grandmother’s furniture,” Eve objected.

He made a recommendation: “Angle the coffee table between the sofa and armchair and you’d have more walking space.”

“The table stays right where it is.”

Anticipation built as Addie opened Sloan’s gift, a gift she’d saved for last.

“Don’t let it be a vibrator,” Sloan heard Eve pray as Addie stripped away the red bow and gold paper and slowly lifted the lid on the box.

Eve held her breath Sloan hoped she’d turn blue.

Sloan hoped

A perplexed Addie reached into the box and removed a large engraved gold disk. “ ‘McCaffrey’s Transport’,” she read, then looked questioningly at Sloan. “I don’t understand.”

He edged forward until he was close enough to speak directly to the older woman. “I know many seniors can no longer drive and that you’re an advocate for safe public transportation. Even though you may be able to convince the mayor to set up a service, I’m your driver until he gets the buses on the road. Twice a week, I’ll take you and a group of friends to the mall, the restaurant of your choice, the theater, you name it. My cell phone number is also engraved on the token. Give me twenty-four hours’ notice, and unless the Rogues are playing out of town, I’ll get you where you want to go.”

“Driving Miss Addie.”

Sloan didn’t have to turn around to know who’d uttered those words—they came from the sarcastic sister.

Addie patted his arm. “I accept your gift, and thank you, son. You’re very generous with your time.”

Approving nods from the guests followed Sloan as he walked back to Eve and Taylor. “Impressive,” Taylor commented.

“Suck-up,” Eve muttered.

“Addie loved your gift. She’s ready to adopt you.” Taylor squeezed his arm.

Sloan caught Eve’s shudder.

He didn’t give a rat’s ass what Eve thought. He’d done right by Addie; that was all that mattered. He’d crashed her party, yet given an appropriate gift. No one could fault him now.

No one but Eve. “You played me.” Her words struck low, her punch high.

A punch straight to his upper arm. Sloan’s muscles spasmed. He grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her back near the bar out of earshot. All the guests had their backs turned to them. “Stop with the jabs; that’s my pitching arm,” he growled. “Damn straight I played you. You’re sarcastic as hell and have me pegged as an ass. I’m not that bad.”

“You’re the very worst.” Her eyes were livid, her tone tight.