Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance Page 11

  Kirk’s heart jumped to his throat, and sharp pangs attacked his stomach. Those men had looked sleazy, and he’d underestimated them with their limp wrists and weak voices. Of course. These could be twenty-first century mobsters, perfectly manscaped ones, complete with manicures and pedicures, but just as lethal and dangerous as Manny, Moe, and Joe.

  “I have to get out of here.” He pulled his phone out and called Jeanine. It rang four times before going to voicemail. “Kirk here. I’m going back to the room. Hope you’re okay. Please meet me there. It’s important.”

  The four women stared at him, wide-eyed and wringing their hands.

  “Good luck to you,” Clare said, grabbing his phone. “I’m calling myself so we can keep in touch. You have to let us know what happened.”

  “I hope your friend’s okay.” Susan put a maternal hand on his shoulder. “I’m a doctor. If she needs anything, give me a call.”

  She took his phone from Clare and called her cell phone, letting it ring before hanging up.

  “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry we distracted you.” Anne was next with the condolences. “I feel so guilty. If anything happens to your friend, it’s all our fault.”

  Only Jill remained stern and strong. She clamped an arm around Kirk and said. “Go get them, Tiger. Show them what you’ve got, and next time, don’t play games. You never know if it’s too late to say you’re sorry.”

  “Great, thanks,” Kirk said, taking his phone back. “I’ll let you know.”

  His entire body was in a state of shock with adrenaline surging through his veins. If those pencil necks hurt Jeanine, he’d kill them with his bare hands. Why had he been so stupid to let her out of his sight? He had to get down there and find her, or alert security.

  “Good luck.” Clare gave him a big hug. “Go and rescue her. Be her protector and love her like she deserves.”

  “No more game playing,” Susan said as she opened the door to the suite.

  Anne looked like she was going to break down in tears. “Do let us know if she’s okay.”

  “Hope you’re not too late,” Jill said as she ushered him out the door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The elevator ascended to the top floor of the hotel and opened to a penthouse suite. Jeanine stepped out of the elevator first, her heels clicking on the deeply veined marble floor. A baby grand piano sat among Roman style vases and busts, and the view from the floor to ceiling windows was filled with city lights.

  A large floral arrangement was prominently displayed at the entry table next to bottles of champagne chilling in an ice bucket.

  “For you, my lady,” Thaddeus said, plucking the card and handing it to her.

  “How did you know my name?” Jeanine asked.

  “Your ‘brother’ introduced you two,” Royce said. “Did you need to check up on him?”

  There was always one wise guy in the mix, and frankly, Jeanine had never been with more than one man at a time—at least outside of her fantasies.

  “Have some champagne.” Thaddeus twisted the wire cage holding the cork on the bottle and popped it, spilling a small stream onto the polished floor.

  Palmer picked up a towel and swabbed it down while Thaddeus poured Jeanine a flute. Jitters danced in her belly at what she was about to do. Could she hold it together, knowing that there were four men watching her?

  Maybe it would go better if they blindfolded her. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about who was doing what to her. She took a sip of the champagne and felt it bubbling down her throat.

  “What kind of music would you prefer?” Thaddeus asked, leading her further into the suite. His hand was clammy and when he ran his finger up her arm, it felt like a snail being dragged over the small hairs of her arm. Ewww.

  “How about doing a few lines first?” Ethan smirked. “Get some up your nose and calm those nerves.”

  “I’m not nervous,” Jeanine said. She twisted away from Thaddeus. “But I’ve kind of lost my appetite.”

  “We have weed or ecstasy,” Royce offered, walking into one of the rooms.

  “No drugs,” Jeanine set her champagne flute on the coffee table. “Actually, I’m going to back out of this. You guys have been very entertaining, but I do need to go to work tomorrow.”

  She clamped her purse close to her side and turned to the elevator.

  “Not so fast.” Ethan yanked her arm. “You promised us a good time.”

  Jeanine tugged, but he held her firmly, not letting go.

  Every instinct warned her to get away fast. Her self-defense training kicked in, and she bent the man’s pinkie back until it snapped.

  Ethan let go, howling in pain and she followed up with a roundhouse kick to his head. He slammed against the wall and slid down still holding his hand and yelping.

  Jeanine got into a defensive posture, her fists protecting her face and chest.

  “I think you’d better leave,” Thaddeus said. “You’re not welcome here anymore.”

  “Tell that scum, no one forces me.” She backed up to the elevator and punched the button. “I’m not a victim, and I don’t do drugs. Goodbye.”

  When the doors opened, she stepped in, not taking her eyes off the other three guys who stared at her, but didn’t make a move to approach her. It wasn’t until the elevator was safely descending that Jeanine started shaking, unable to suck in enough air. Small stars popped across her field of vision and her head reeled with dizziness.

  That was a close call. If the other men had tackled her, she would have lost the fight. They would have crushed her and raped her, beaten her, and maybe even strangled her. What was she thinking going into a room with four complete strangers?

  A chilling thought swept over her, turning every nerve ending into ice, and she became that girl hiding in the closet while her foster father searched for her.

  Come out, come out, wherever you are. I’ll find you and if I don’t, I’ll find Tina or Madge and make them love me. How would you like that?

  No, you leave them alone. They’re too young.

  Ah, there you are, my pretty. Come now, I won’t hurt you. It’ll feel real good, just like last time. I promise.

  But I don’t feel like it today. I have homework.

  You can have some wine. It’ll make you feel so good. You’re a lucky girl because you’re so pretty. Every man wants to make you feel good.

  The elevator doors opened and Jeanine looked up at the people entering before realizing she was balled up on the floor in the corner, retching her guts out.

  “Miss, are you all right?”

  “Are you hurt?”

  A man propped the door open while another alerted a security guard. “There’s a women sick in the elevator.”

  Jeanine’s face was wet with the wine she’d thrown up, and her head was spinning while her stomach continued to clench.

  Two security guard picked her up. “Miss, had too much to drink? What room are you in?”

  “I’m okay. I’m fine now,” Jeanine struggled to speak. “I’m sorry I made a mess.”

  “Let’s take you back to your room,” one of the guards said. “We have a doctor on call, or would you prefer to go to the hospital?”

  “I probably had too much to drink. Room is good.” She handed him her purse and gave him her room number. “The keycard’s in there. I just need to lie down.”

  Her heart was still pounding, and her muscles were tight and shaky as cold sweat bathed her face. It was embarrassing to throw up in the elevator. What was going on with her? Had she lost consciousness or was it the flashback that had caused her to lose herself?

  The guard’s firm hold on her was comforting, because her legs were wobbly and the high heels were too much. One of the guards spoke on his communicator. After he called for the doctor, he answered another call for a man with a broken finger.

  She didn’t want to think about it or deal with it. They wouldn’t report her, would they? She’d never thought about the trouble she could get into with
her risky behavior of picking up men she didn’t know. But then, she hadn’t had a mother to warn her about these things.

  Her head spinning, she let the guards help her into her room.

  “The doctor’s on his way,” one of the guards reassured through the open door.

  “You mean, she’s on her way and already here,” a woman said. She stepped through the door. “I’m Dr. Susan Sanders.”

  * * *

  Kirk pushed the elevator button frantically, then dashed down the stairs. He tore down more than four flights of stairs and sprinted for the wine bar.

  People stopped to stare, and several darted out of his way. A security guard ran toward him, but he dodged the older man and pushed his way into the private reserve lounge.

  The men and Jeanine were missing.

  “May I help you?” the bartender asked, his eyes shifting to the guard hurrying toward them.

  “The blonde I was with earlier. Where’d she go? The one who cleared the pool table?”

  “Sir, sir, what seems to be the problem here?” The guard approached and spun him around.

  “My friend’s missing. She was last seen here with four suspicious men. They could have kidnapped her.” Kirk ran his fingers through his hair. Of course he sounded like a maniac, but with the way his blood pressure was surging, he felt he’d explode if he didn’t find her.

  “She left with them on her own,” the bartender said. “She seemed pretty happy about it.”

  “Do you know where they’re staying? Who they are?” Kirk spun toward the bartender.

  “I can’t divulge that kind of information,” the bartender said, shrugging while he wiped down the inlaid counter.

  “Is your lady friend over eighteen?” the guard asked. “Because if she is, then no crime’s been committed.”

  “At least not yet. Look, she’s outnumbered. I’ll feel responsible if anything happens to her. She has emotional issues, and I shouldn’t have let my guard down.”

  “Let me guess,” the bartender said. “You left with a group of women, but the night didn’t turn out the way you expected. Your friend’s somewhere having a four way deal, and now, you’re jealous.”

  Kirk’s jaw dropped and he sputtered, “I am not jealous. I’m responsible. My friend is emotionally vulnerable.”

  “Then why didn’t you stick to her like glue?”

  Of all the surly, uncooperative help in this hotel. Kirk turned to the guard. “I want to view the surveillance videos. Take me to security headquarters.”

  “I can’t do that. Not unless the police request the videos. Now, go back to your room and sober up. I’m sure your friend will turn up eventually.” He winked at the bartender, and the two men had a chuckle.

  Kirk walked off, fuming. No one was going to help, and if he was being logical, the entire kidnapped by pimp scenario did seem farfetched. Jeanine had decided to have a good time and by the time they got together to compare notes, she would have a lot to talk about.

  This entire outing wasn’t fun anymore. He’d been a fool, thinking there was more to Jeanine than a woman who loved sex too much. What had he expected? A genuine friendship where he would crack her icy heart open and find a sweetheart rose buried inside?

  He walked by a loud, country-style bar where patrons were riding fake bulls and slugging back beers. Several college-aged girls gawked at him and giggled, flinging their hair and making come-hither eyes at him.

  His heart was too sour to pay attention to any of them, no matter how hot their bodies were, or how glittery their belly button rings beckoned.

  One of the elevators was closed for cleaning and the other one was full, so he ambled up the stairs and went back toward his room.

  His eyes narrowed. A woman furtively shut a door and skittered down the hall as fast as she could without running. It was Susan coming out of his suite.

  How’d she get the keycard and what was she doing?

  “Hey, you.” Kirk caught her after a few long strides. “What are you doing coming out of my room?”

  “Oh, Kirk.” Susan blinked, fanning herself. “That was your suite? I’ve good news for you. Your friend’s resting in there.”

  “Is she okay? How’d you find her?” He turned back toward the suite he and Jeanine shared.

  “I’m a doctor, remember? I was just about to call you.” Susan waved him off. “Be nice. She’s shaken up.”

  “Thanks.” Kirk ran back to his suite and slipped the keycard into the slot.

  “Jeanine? You okay?” He stepped in and bypassed the sitting area, heading straight to her room. The door was partially open, so he pushed his way in.

  She lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. Her cocktail dress was scrunched inside a dry cleaning bag, and she wore a white robe provided by the hotel. She didn’t acknowledge him.

  “Hey, what happened?” He lowered himself onto the mattress and took her hand. Her hair was matted on her forehead and her face was scrubbed clean. “Talk to me.”

  “I broke his pinkie.” She covered her face with both hands and rubbed her cheeks, looking so young and vulnerable, as if she’d gotten into trouble at school.

  “You were in a fight?” He couldn’t help sweeping her hair from her forehead, looking for bruises.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She exhaled loudly, still without making eye contact. “This has to stop. I can’t do this anymore. It’s not worth it.”

  He squeezed her hand and brought it to his chest. “What did they do to you?”

  “Nothing. I walked out.” Finally, she turned to him and held his gaze. “One of them didn’t want to let me go so I broke his finger. Then I kicked his face in and the others let me go.”

  “Oh, baby.” He leaned over her and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank God you’re okay.”

  She let out a loud gasp. “I’m not. I’m a freak. I went up there to have sex with all of them.”

  “But you didn’t. You said you wanted to back out.” He rubbed her back and cradled her in his arms.

  “Only because I got cold feet. Was I a tease? Should I have gone through with it?”

  “No. Of course not.” He gripped her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “Consent has to be a hundred percent and can be taken back at any point. You never have to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

  “I always talk myself into it—being okay with it. Why can’t I do it anymore? What’s happened to me? I don’t usually get freaked out.”

  “Something didn’t feel right. You have to trust your gut.”

  She took a deep breath and touched his biceps with both hands. “I’m not freaked out by you. When you kissed me, it felt different. Why?”

  “It was different for me, too. Maybe it’s because we’re not strangers.” As he said these words, something lurched in his heart. Jeanine hadn’t been simply different, she’d felt like she belonged to him.

  “Have you ever enjoyed kissing? Just kissing and nothing else?” Her expression softened and those gorgeous eyes of hers dilated. A healthy blush rose on her cheek. “I mean before me?”

  “Nah.” He chuckled softly. “I don’t usually kiss.”

  “Neither do I,” she admitted. “It’s all about fucking and getting off. Kissing seemed like a waste of time.”

  “You ever kissed a boy when you were little?” He propped himself on one arm and stroked her long, flowing hair. Even though they were in a hotel room, he could picture them as teenagers lying on a giant beach towel watching the sunset as the waves churned a steady swish.

  “How little is little?” Her voice turned wooden and her eyebrows pinched into a V. The walls that had softened only a moment ago returned, seemingly higher than before.

  His radar for trouble put him on alert. She was hiding something, and it had to do with her childhood. She’d already told him she was a foster child, but that shouldn’t have made any difference whether she’d ever kissed a boy before.

  “I kissed my first girl in kindergart
en.” He opted to make light of her reaction, hoping for a smile. “Don’t tell me you’re more precocious than me.”

  She turned her face away. “I don’t like kissing.”

  The words to taunt her were on his lips. It sure seemed like she’d enjoyed kissing him on the airplane and in the taxicab, but his suspicion that something was seriously wrong stopped him.

  Her body was stiff and tense and she lay still, petrified, like a wounded animal. Her hands had gone back to her chest, holding the robe tight, and when she turned back to look at him, her eyes had again taken on that hollowness he’d glimpsed before on a buddy who’d come back from war, broken emotionally with post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD.

  Kirk removed himself from the bed, feeling like an intruder to her pain. He was a baseball catcher, and he relied on his intuition to tell him if his pitcher was struggling, or if the batter was looking for a certain type of pitch. Right now, his spidey sense was telling him to leave her alone, that she’d already revealed too much for her comfort level.

  “I’ll let you rest. Do you need anything? Water? Are you hungry?”

  “I’m fine, Kirk.” Her voice was smooth, but expressionless. “I’m always fine. Thank you.”

  Slowly, he backed to the door and let himself out. He wasn’t an idiot. PTSD. Sex addiction. Detachment syndrome.

  It all added up to sexual abuse at a young age, maybe as far back as she could remember.

  The chill that grabbed ahold of him brought him to his knees and he collapsed in front of the loveseat, holding his head between his arms.

  His stomach soured and he swallowed bile, but his heart churned and overflowed with a swirling set of emotions that threw him off-balance.

  Kirk was not a man who cared about anyone other than himself. He was no hero, definitely not a protector, a guy who worried about women and saved them from bad guys. Leave the saving to the SEALs, the firemen, and the tough cops. He was a ballplayer, a charmer, and an entertainer.

  But Jeanine was different. She wasn’t a damsel in distress. She was the opposite of needy—a tough cookie.

  And now that he knew—now that he’d pried her hardened shell off, had taken her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, even lovingly—now that he’d worried over her and caught a glimpse of her past, he could no longer walk away without leaving a big hole in his heart. The fact that he knew, but did not try to fix it would kill him. To all her friends and associates, she was perfectly put together, and he doubted any one of them knew what was really going on behind her tough façade. She would never ask for help, would never admit to needing it.