Break Point Page 4

  She felt her jaw fall to her lap. “Are you crazy, Harrison? I’m not ready.”

  “To play a match maybe, but you got to start somewhere.”

  “No way.” She pushed herself up from the chair and stood in front of him. “Dragging you around in public with me is one thing, but playing tennis is quite another. I still wear a sling half the time.”

  “On your left arm not your right and you don’t really need the sling at all.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I just do. The body is able, sweetheart. It’s that head of yours,” he tapped his forehead, “that needs to be straightened out.”

  He said it simply, like it should have been as obvious to her as it was to him. She didn’t protest. What was the point?

  “It’s okay to be afraid you know. You’ve been away. You don’t know what to expect. Totally understandable.”

  She studied his face, his kind eyes disarming her. “I guess.”

  “Look, you said you wanted to play tennis again. Your boy toy is out of town, you’ve got nothing better to do. Plus, it gives me the opportunity to do some research.”

  “How is watching me play tennis helping you investigate.”

  “How is sitting around painting your toenails helping your game?”

  She shot him the meanest look she could muster. “Fine! I’ll play. But just for the record, I am not afraid. I am the best tennis player in the world. People are afraid of me.”

  “That’s the spirit. Now get dressed and grab your racquet. I’ll meet you in the car in ten minutes.”

  She watched him retreat out the door before she took a last swig from her coffee. A little tennis couldn’t hurt. Lord knew she missed it. Maybe the body was ready for the test. When she looked down at her arm, she smiled.

  She was holding the cup in her left hand.

  ***

  If no one told him, Jake would have never guessed Summer had been injured. Not that he knew much about tennis, but the agile beauty on the court in front of him certainly didn’t move like a person in chronic pain. In fact, he was sure he detected a hint of a smile.

  He couldn’t help smiling himself. Watching a bombshell like her was not the worst assignment he could think of. He loved how her long, blond braid tickled the top of her rear when she strutted across the court. Trim and tight. Just the way he liked his women. He could tell this morning just by how she felt under him.

  An angel in white, he thought, loving how the milk colored outfit hugged her in all the right places. Feeling a sudden breeze, he lifted up his sunglasses. When it registered with hardened nipples against her dress he smiled, secretly thanking God for inventing spandex.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” A tall tan man with grey hair and a white, Nike sweat suit came up behind him.

  “She sure is,” Jake agreed. “She’s amazing to watch.”

  “Yup, I heard she showed up this morning looking for a Steve, her hitting partner. I had to see with my own eyes.”

  “She wasn’t expected back so soon, huh?”

  “She wasn’t expected back at all. The doctors said she’d be lucky if she could have even fifty percent of her range of motion. Shame too. She has a two-handed backhand that would make you cry.”

  “I believe it,” Jake mumbled, his eyes transfixed on the court. For as much as he was impressed by her beauty, he was completely stunned by her athleticism. Watching her was a sport in itself. The way she would sail through the air with the grace of a dancer then pound the ball with the force of a lumberjack. A forehand return exploded off Summer’s racquet and skidded dead on Steve’s base line. She gave a fist pump, then strutted to the back court picking at her strings as she went.

  “A lot of people thought she’d give it up.” The man paused, his attention on the court when she nailed a deadly swing volley. “But they don’t know Summer.”

  Jake nodded, watching as she pranced back to the base line, jealous of the ball she pulled out from under her skirt. “You seem to know her pretty well.”

  “Are you kidding? I practically raised her. She’s been here at the school since her deadbeat father dropped her on my doorstep.”

  Jake turned suddenly realizing who he was talking to. “Wait a minute, you must be Anston Vitalie. You own this place.”

  “That’s me.”

  In Jake’s research, Vitalie’s name had popped up once or twice. From what he understood he was the owner of the Vitalie School and the head coach for the kids who attended. Jake extended his hand to him to shake. “I’m Jake Harrison. I’m a friend of Summer’s.”

  “Well, a friend of Summer’s is a friend of mine.” He accepted Jake’s gestures then turned his attention back to the court. “I’m glad she has some friends to support her. She could use all the help she can get, especially with that maniac on the loose.”

  “Yeah, well, actually that’s why I’m here. I am a private investigator. I’m sort of overseeing the investigation.”

  “Really?” he smirked. “I hope you can light a fire under law enforcement better than Geoffrey Martin can.”

  Jake cocked his head, mentally noting the angry tone in his voice. “I take it you’re not a fan of his.”

  Anston let out a breath. “Let’s just say I don’t trust him. He’s an operator. He doesn’t care about anybody but his own damn self.”

  “How do you know?” Jake asked.

  “He and I used to be partners. We opened the Vitale Tennis School fourteen years ago. It has my name because I put up most of the money. Anyway, we both loved the sport and we liked coaching and it just sort of happened.”

  “And now it is a huge success.”

  “That’s right.” He smiled. “Out of the top twenty men and women tennis players in the world, about half attended here. Most have big time endorsements now.”

  “That means a lot of money for you.”

  “I’m a coach not a manager. Geoffrey was the one who was into the business end of it. I just wanted to play the game, but Geoffrey had his own agenda. He would hone in on promising players and shop them around like prize cattle. That’s what he did with Summer. Now he’s trying to do the same with Nila Norcova”

  “Wait a minute, why is Nila hanging out with Geoffrey if she is still affiliated with you?”

  “I don’t own these girls.” Vitalie replied. “They can do what they want. That’s why I haven’t said anything to Summer about her engagement to him.

  “You think it’s a bad idea, huh?”

  He shook his head. “Why do you suppose a girl like that would be with a guy like him? You know how many good decent men out there would kill to be with her?”

  Jake sucked in a breath. “I have a pretty good idea.”

  “I just hope that jerk isn’t taking advantage of her.”

  Jake turned back toward the court watching as Summer patted herself with a towel. “Let me ask you a question, Mr. Vitalie. This engagement between Geoffrey and Summer—do you think he loves her?”

  Anston chuckled, his gaze meeting Jake’s. “I think he loves what she’s worth.”

  ***

  “So how did I look?” Summer beamed, throwing her bag in to the trunk of her cherry-red Porsche. She tossed Jake the keys then slid into the passenger side.

  “Not bad.”

  “Not bad! Jake, it was awesome.”

  “How does your arm feel?”

  She wanted to say “great” but she’d be lying. Unzipping the front of her white sweat jacket, she reached up and rubbed her left shoulder. “I guess I shouldn’t expect too much on the first day, right?”

  “Healing takes time,” he replied. “Got to be patient.”

  He said it like he knew. She glanced at his arm and the scars exposed below the short sleeve. “Thanks for driving,” she finally said. “I haven’t played in a while and I am sort of tired.”

  “No problem. Actually, I’m kind of psyched. It’s not everyday I get to drive a Porsche with a three point six, sixty-eight-hundr
ed horse power engine. You were smart to go with a six-speed manual overdrive instead of the five-speed automatic. Way more efficient.”

  “I liked it because it was red,” she corrected “and I don’t speak your language.”

  He licked his lips and pulled his sunglasses up to his head. “I should have known a classy girl like you isn’t fluent in grease monkey. So what kind of fuel do you use?”

  “The kind that makes the car go,” she answered as if it were a question. Leaning toward him, she turned up the air conditioning.

  “Not full blast!” he cautioned. “It taxes the engine.”

  She leaned back in her seat, watching him drum his fingers on the wheel with one hand while he leaned against the door with the other. “Okay, I have to ask,” she blurted when curiosity got the best of her. “How would someone like you know all this stuff about cars?

  “What do you mean?”

  She pulled at his Ralph Lauren T-shirt. “You certainly don’t look like a mechanic to me.”

  He cheeks reddened with a smile. “I don’t know. I drive them. I ride in them. I just thought they were worth finding out about. So do you use regular unleaded or premium fuel? Say regular and break my heart.”

  “Do I look like someone who pumps her own gas?”

  “You know, you should really use premium with an engine like this. Even if you don’t run the car on the track, it needs the premium. It keeps the insides clean.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  He slid his hands around the steering wheel, pushing back against the seat. “Okay, let me put it in terms you would understand. Would you use generic shampoo to wash that hair of yours, or would you prefer the high-end, expensive imported stuff from Europe?”

  “Those are my only two choices?”

  “But you get my point, right? High performance things deserve high maintenance.”

  “So I deserve premium fuel. Is that what you mean?”

  “Exactly. Which is why I would like to invite you to my place for dinner.”

  There was the charm again. She swallowed a giggle and raised a brow. “Do you cook?”

  “No, but I do know how to dial a phone.”

  “Smart ass,” she laughed, then smacked him on the shoulder. ”Don’t worry. I mean that in a good way.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “No really,” she insisted. “I forgot how much fun it was to be funny.”

  “Well said.”

  “I mean it.” She leaned against the door and angled her body toward him. “I really had a lot of fun today. I’m playing tennis again and I have you to thank for that.” She reached out placing her hand over his on the gearshift. “Maybe you’re not such as bad guy after all.”

  His cheek wrinkled around his mouth when he smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself.” She heard him mumble as the car’s engine roared in her ears.

  Chapter Four

  The ocean air stung her wide eyes as Summer leaned out the car window. Mammoth beachside mansions whizzed by her, too quickly to get a good look in between the privacy fences. Exotic sports cars sat idle in circular driveways while well-dressed, tanned people zipped around on fully loaded golf carts. This was where the elite lived. The rich of the rich.

  How the hell did Jake even know how to get here?

  “Jake,” she said, pulling her head back in the car. “When you said you lived in a ‘gated community,’ this is not what I envisioned.”

  “Well, what did you think I meant? Prison?”

  “That was closer to my impression than this.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “You flatter me.”

  He turned down a private road, then went another mile or two before stopping at a wrought iron gate. Reaching out the window, he pushed some buttons on a key pad and waited for the doors to swing open.

  “It’s a little off the beaten path, but it’s home.”

  He pulled around the three-tiered fountain then let her out at the foot of the steep staircase. “Don’t trip going up,” he warned. “It’s marble so they can get slippery right around dusk.”

  She pushed the car door closed behind her. The sharp scent of the ocean told her they were way out on the barrier islands, and the incredible quiet told her they were secluded. No boat motors humming in the water, or sea planes buzzing over head. This was truly an obnoxious cliché of a tropical paradise.

  Except it wasn’t obnoxious.

  ”You’re kidding right? You don’t seriously live here, do you?”

  “Why do you keep asking me that?”

  “I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect...this.” She spun around in a three-sixty pirouette. “This is a classy beach bungalow on its own barrier island. How does a guy like you wind up in a place like this?”

  “I don’t know,” he fished around his jean’s pocket for the house key. ”I guess I’ve always been a big fan of Gilligan’s Island.”

  “Jake, I’m serious. Look at this place. The house, the gardens. It’s amazing.”

  “Glad you like it.” He winked then padded up the stairs in front of her with the bulk of their Chinese food. “Years back, I spent some time in the South of France and I really dug their architecture. Anyway, I saw it and I liked it.”

  She looked up at the stately front door, stained glass inlayed in oak. Gigantic windows on either side gave a clear view right through the back of the house to the ocean. “It’s not huge,” he explained with his hand on the knob. “It’s only two bedrooms but you can’t beat the view.”

  She followed him through the door and stood in the foyer. It was as if she had stepped into a magazine. The entire back of the house was glass, looking out at nothing but ocean. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn she was standing in the sand.

  “I’ll take this stuff to the kitchen.” He slipped the plastic bag from her hand then pointed ahead of them to the great room. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  “No problem” she mumbled, eyeing the hand carved moldings on the ceiling. “Wow, who painted those landscapes up there?”

  “The same over-the-top guy who put in the marble stairs. Hey, can you use chopsticks? I can’t remember where I keep the silverware.”

  “Chopsticks are fine.”

  Summer had searched for three years for something just like this. Cozy enough for just one or two people, but big enough to house every luxury. The living space was one big room with a kitchen and dining area nestled next to a stone fire place. At the far end of the room was a small kidney shape pool with a low far wall, allowing the water to pour like a waterfall to a smaller basin below. It was completely landscaped with live plants and grass with gas-operated tiki lights strategically placed around it.

  She padded up to the water edge, looking down at the lanai a few feet below. “Cool pool.”

  “You like it? It’s kind of high maintenance but it has is own sprinkler system to water all the plantings.” He popped his head up from below the kitchen counter and waved two forks in the air. “Found the silverware.”

  “Do you swim a lot?” she asked running her hand over the surface.

  “On occasion. It’s more for entertainment purposes.” He opened the fridge and leaned on the door. “You want something to drink? I got some beer and decent stash of wine.”

  “Ice water is fine, thank you.” Pulling out a bar stool, she sat down at the kitchen island and watched him unscrewed a glass of mineral water. Jake wasn’t one of her father’s normal stooges if he could afford a place like this and in a sick way that flattered her. If Al had hired Jake to hurt her, he’d sent one of his best men to do it.

  “Jake, can I ask you something?”

  He poured the water into an ice-filled mug. “Shoot.”

  “I was just wondering about this place. It just doesn’t seem like the place a guy like you would live.” She cocked her head, hoping it sounded like a question.

  “I made a few good investments,” he said. “Nothing like the mountain of money your throne sits on, but I g
et by.”

  “I’m serious. All I know about you is that you are a friend of my father’s, you drive a BMW, hate being snuck up on, and live in a three million dollar paradise.”

  “Those are the highlights, babe.”

  “Fine, forget I asked. You have dealings with my father, so maybe I’m better off not knowing.” She waited for a reaction but got nothing. She watched him arrange the plates and silverware then seat himself on the stool across from her.

  “Tell you what, sweetheart. How about if I ask you a few questions? I sort of have a policy to have at least some clue about the people I work for.”

  She eyed him as she picked up her glass. “Ok, what exactly do you want to know?”

  “Well, for starters, what’s it like to be so good looking?”

  She laughed. “You professionalism impresses me.”

  He poured himself some chardonnay and looked at her over his glass. “You know, you have a beautiful smile. You should use it more.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I also think there is more to you than just a pretty face.” He replaced the cork on the bottle. “I watched you today and you’re one hell of an athlete. I’m just curious about the rest of your life.”

  She had stock answers to questions like these. One’s that were so rehearsed even the magazine interviewers were sick of them. “I play tennis. That’s it.” She opened a box of sweet and sour chicken and dumped some on her plate.

  “No, I mean other than tennis,” he prompted. “I can read about your career anywhere. I want to know about you.”

  “There is really not much to tell,” she sighed. “My mom died when I was young, my Dad is well…my Dad. I don’t have any siblings. I play tennis. There isn’t anything else.”

  “You lonely?”

  She stopped chewing mid bite. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I don’t know. It can be lonely at the top. I was just wondering if you felt that way.”

  “You say it like you know.”

  “Just what I have heard.”