She always looked immaculate. Not a wrinkle in her clothes, not a hair out of place—until he got a hold of her. He doubted she would let anyone see her at breakfast in the hotel restaurant before she’d taken a shower. But underneath her soft skin, her muscles were rock-hard. If he had to guess, he’d say she was exercising now.
He resisted the urge to sift through her things, looking for the reason she felt so threatened. He quashed the even stronger desire to examine all her underwear. He consulted the hotel map on the bedside table and found the gym.
She was the gym’s only patron, jogging on a treadmill among the rows of white machines. As soon as he stepped off the elevator, he recognized the pink streak in her ponytail through the gym’s glass wall. Her back was turned to him, and she wore her earbuds plugged into her MP3 player, so she didn’t see or hear him. He sat in a chair just outside the elevator. He would watch her for a few minutes before entering the gym to surprise her.
She was a runner. He knew that right away. She was no dilettante. Her tank top and shorts were soaked through with sweat, as if she’d been here for a long time. Yet she showed no signs of being the least bit winded, or of stopping anytime soon. He wished he could see her face.
He wondered what she was running toward, or running from.
Martin’s words came back to him yet again. She really wanted that gun. This was the first time Quentin had seen her when she wasn’t on parade. She thought no one was looking, and her drive was raw and undisguised. She really wanted that gun. She had a problem, and she would take care of it. If not this way, another way, wheels always turning. Quentin understood this completely.
What he didn’t understand was how she was still jogging, her running shoes padding on the treadmill in time with his heartbeat. He had to exercise in short bursts each morning to keep from wheezing. He was actually jealous that she was healthy and athletic, probably going on ten miles by now.
Suddenly she jumped from the treadmill without turning it off and jogged to the water fountain in the corner. Quentin was poised to go either forward to greet her, or back into the elevator, before she discovered him. Then she bent over to drink from the fountain, and he decided to stay where he was. Discovery or no, if he died right now of an asthma attack, at least he’d had a view of Sarah Seville bent over in her running shorts.
She jumped back onto the treadmill without looking in his direction. He was invisible.
This was stupid. It was like he had a crush on her, which hadn’t happened to him since Vonnie Conner in high school. There was almost no resemblance between Sarah and Vonnie Conner. Vonnie had been blond and busty, like Erin. A cheerleader. Only the feelings of lust, wistfulness, and loss that Vonnie and Sarah evoked were similar. The feeling that he had to have this and he could not have this.
He couldn’t have Vonnie Conner because in high school, he’d been lanky, glasses-clad, and asthmatic, without a truck. There hadn’t been much he could do about that. Sarah he could do something about. He could quit the Cheatin’ Hearts.
No he couldn’t. The band was counting on him. And what would happen to Martin?
What would happen to him?
He could convince her to quit her job. Maybe Martin was right. If Sarah felt she needed a gun to protect herself against a rock star in jail in a different hemisphere, it didn’t say much for her job satisfaction.
But this didn’t feel right, either. She did love her job. Maybe not that part of it, but she wanted to keep it badly enough that she was willing to tackle Quentin. She came on to him hesitantly, as if she wasn’t used to being sexy—though she seemed comfortable enough in those low-cut shirts and high heels. She put on a show because she loved her job. Like Quentin loved his.
The need to go to her, bring her down off that treadmill, and take her was so strong that he could feel the blood shifting in his veins with the gravitational pull.
It was too much.
And Quentin knew now Sarah was holding her cards too close to the vest. He wouldn’t find out why she felt so threatened until she decided to tell him herself. He slipped back onto the elevator and headed for home.
6
Sweetie, I just got your e-mail from several days ago. I am not as “wired” as you are. I have been in Birmingham all week at the Vulcan Regional Duplicate Bridge Tournament. Please come to the evening session after you finish work today. I am sorry that I will not be able to see you on your birthday. I am flying out early tomorrow morning for the Lake Taneycomo Regional Duplicate Bridge Tournament in Branson, Missouri.
Love,
Mom
Sarah stepped out of the shower still invigorated from her run and a long set of Cheatin’ Hearts on her playlist. Running had always helped her handle the stress of Nine Lives. Running with Quentin’s strong, lazy melody in her ears was at once relaxing and terribly exciting. There was no way she could miss her date with him tonight, mother or no mother.
She toweled off and began her hundred-step beauty routine. Before her Natsuko-style transformation, she hadn’t worn much makeup. Natsuko required sultry eyes and clear skin. She called her mother on her cell phone and tried to blow her off between the moisturizer and the liquid foundation.
Her mother asked sharply, “Are you telling me that you cannot spare three hours per year to spend with your aging mother?”
Sarah was overwhelmed with anger that her mother manipulated her, guilt that her mother was right, anxiety that her mother would see her hair, and love. The mirror reflected her hand pressed to her cheek. Her mother’s cheek. The older she got, the more she looked like her mother. The pink hair did not fix that.
“I’m babysitting this band,” she explained weakly.
“The Cheatin’ Hearts,” her mother said. “After you e-mailed me, I looked them up on your Internet. I’ve heard a song of theirs, ‘Come to Find Out.’ Catchy, if risqué.”
“That pretty much describes them,” Sarah acknowledged. “Mom, I don’t want to dis you, but I’m swamped with work today. And tonight, I’m supposed to keep up with one of the band members, who causes problems when left unattended.”
“The one with the green eyes?”
“Since when do you notice?” Sarah asked suspiciously.
“I’m old,” said her mother. “I’m not dead.”
“They’re really more hazel,” Sarah lied.
“Bring him to bridge. He can hang out, as you say.”
“Look, Mom, I’m not mixing business with mother,” Sarah said with finality. She needed to see her mother. She needed to see Quentin.