Stealing Home

chapter 9



LORELEI WAS AT her very first professional baseball game. She was seated four rows up and directly behind home plate with a great view of the field. In spite of herself she couldn’t help feeling excited as Coors Field filled with enthusiastic Rush fans.

Pregame music blared through the speakers—hard-hitting rock ’n’ roll. The smell of vendor hot dogs and cheap beer lingered on the air, mixing with the crisp scent of the freshly mowed ball field. The noise level grew as the crowd shuffled in and began waiting anxiously for the game to begin. Lorelei snuggled deeper into the gold and green Rush jersey Mark had given her to wear. Though it was short-sleeved it was so large on her that the sleeves came down past her elbow.

The Rush were currently on the field for their pregame warm-up. She’d spotted Mark the minute he’d strode onto the field. Of course he was the one with all the catcher’s padding and the big glove, but it was more than that. It was the way he moved. So graceful and confident.

A sharp thrill had shot through her when he separated from the team and stalked toward the plate in front of her. After walking around the plate three times and whacking his fist in his glove twice, he’d turned his head toward her and shot her a warning look through his helmet cage. It clearly said, You disappear, you pay.

If she was honest with herself, Lorelei wasn’t so sure she wanted to skip out just yet. She had a chance to watch Mark “The Wall” Cutter work his magic live and up close. And after what had happened between them in his kitchen she had to admit she was more than a little curious about him.

Besides, she could always bail later.

Yeah, then he’d have her arrested and charged with theft and drugging him. And that was no laughing matter.

Lorelei realized she was glaring at the back of Mark’s jersey. She still hadn’t figured out how to get the money.

“You missed our meeting today, Lorelei. I’m very disappointed in you.”

Lorelei started at the voice coming from behind her and glanced up, tried to turn her head.

“No! Don’t turn around. He can’t see me talking to you!”

Dina. She couldn’t stop the chill that ran down her spine. Lorelei’s gaze whipped to Mark as her heart started hammering. He wasn’t looking, thank God. The last thing she needed right now was him seeing her with his ex-wife. Twin surges of panic and excitement darted inside her at what this unexpected meeting meant. The money wasn’t lost after all. She kept her eyes locked on Mark and replied, “I won’t turn around.”

“Good. Now, where is it? Where’s that stupid prick’s lucky charm?”

Lorelei frowned at that nasty comment. That was a bit harsh, even coming from an embittered ex-wife. “I don’t have it on me.” It was still with the hotel concierge. “But he knows I took it and is holding me hostage until I give it to him.”

Impatience sharpened Dina’s tone, raising it almost a full octave. “Well, that’s not very smart of you, is it? And that’s your little problem to figure out. You do want the money, don’t you? God, just look at him out there. He thinks he’s something special, doesn’t he?” She let out a huff of air and snorted. “He’s not going to be so special after I’m through with him.”

Unease began to creep along Lorelei’s nerves. Dina was sounding downright nasty. Something was off about this whole thing—she could feel it. Glancing out at the field warily until Mark came into view; she took a deep breath and watched him. Her tone was guarded when she replied, “Well, he is a pro ballplayer. That does make him somewhat unique, I would think.”

Another snort sounded behind her, full of derision and sarcasm. “Oh, he’s unique all right. Uniquely stupid. Do you know that he thought I wouldn’t catch on to why all of our old friends began snubbing me? That I wouldn’t know why I wasn’t being invited to all the big social events anymore? I made him look good and he threw it away. Threw me away. And he made me look like a fool. He’s going to pay for that. Top dollar, too, because he needs his precious little necklace.”

The unease crept up another notch, but she kept her eyes on Mark. If he knew who she was talking to she’d be so done. There’d be no wiggling her way out of this one. “Is that what this is all about, Dina? Payback for losing your membership to the rich people’s club? I thought he cheated on you and abused you.”

Something very close to venom snaked into Dina’s voice, “I belong to that club. It’s mine.” It sounded so very different from the wide-eyed, abused ex-wife tone Lorelei had experienced before that she couldn’t help swiveling her head around. Before she’d succeeded, a cold, bony hand splayed across her cheek and pushed her back.

“I told you not to turn around!”

Well, excuse her. Irritation bloomed in her chest. If she didn’t need the money so bad she’d tell Dina just where she could stick it after that little stunt. But she did need it, so she remained cool and apologized instead. “I’m sorry.”

Apparently mollified, Dina leaned in close and said emphatically, “He did cheat me! I did everything for him and what did I get for it, huh, Lorelei? The bastard took out a restraining order against me. Me! I’m the victim—not him. I got publicly shunned and humiliated for that stunt. He ruined my life. Now it’s his turn.” Suddenly she gasped in outrage and demanded, “Get me the cross, Lorelei. Bring it to me at this address”—she shoved a piece of paper into Lorelei’s hand—“and the money is yours. I want to see him humiliated. Shit, I have to go.”

The noise level in the stadium rose as fans grew impatient for the game to get under way. Lorelei whipped her head around just in time to see Dina’s tall, slender form slip quickly into the crowd and disappear. She tucked the paper quickly into her pocket and frowned. And just what the hell was Lorelei supposed to think about all this, because it was pretty damn apparent that the wool had been pulled over her eyes. A restraining order? What the hell?

Now she understood why Dina needed her.

Before she got a chance to mull it all over, a female voice startled her. “Excuse me, are you Lorelei Littleton?”

Tearing her gaze from where Dina had been, Lorelei turned her head and glanced up. A tall, fit-looking woman about her age stood a few feet down, a tentative smile on her stunningly gorgeous face.

“Yes, I’m Lorelei.”

The woman slipped into the empty seat next to her and chuckled. “Oh good.” She held out a hand. “I’m Mark’s sister, Leslie Cutter. It’s nice to meet you, Lorelei.”

At a loss for words, Lorelei shook her hand and studied Mark’s sister. Took a moment to calm her racing heart. At least she knew Leslie hadn’t seen anything—the stadium was way too crowded and people were still standing up milling about.

There was a definite resemblance in the blond hair, the set of the jaw, the shape of the eyes. The color and expression were very different, however. Hers were hazel and Mark’s were that pale gray. And his were sulky half the time.

“Y’all are wondering why I’m here, aren’t you?” Leslie asked in that softly Southern accent reminiscent of her brother’s, only stronger.

Lorelei glanced at Mark just in time to see him salute to his sister. He didn’t even look at her. Obviously he hadn’t noticed anything, either.

Forcing herself to relax, she answered, “I was wondering that, since I didn’t even know Mark had any siblings. In fact, I don’t know Mark all that well at all.”

The beautiful blond tossed her head back and let out a hoot of laughter. “That’s just like my brother, all right. Mr. Enigma.” Leslie reached for a drink tray she’d set on the floor and handed Lorelei a cup. “Here you go. Mark said you’d probably go for a soda during the game, so I brought you one.”

How’d he know that? She had been planning on a soda.

Not sure whether to be angry or flattered that Mark had sent his sister to babysit her, Lorelei grabbed the cup and took a sip of the soft drink through the straw. “Thanks, Leslie.”

“No problem. So, Mark tells me that y’all have been seeing a lot of each other lately.”

Lorelei shifted in her seat and eyed his sister warily. “You could say that.” How much did she know?

Leslie took a sip of her drink and pointed the cup and straw toward the field. “It’s nice to hear that he’s been spending a significant amount of time with the same woman. Since his divorce, there hasn’t been anyone who’s occupied more than a few weeks of his life at a time.”

Lorelei watched as Mark sat on the ground and stretched. The number seventeen slithered over his back as he bent forward to stretch his hamstrings. He was surprisingly flexible. Hmmm. Maybe he did do yoga. “Is that so? He hasn’t dated anyone exclusively?”

Ripping her gaze from Mark, she turned to look at his sister. Leslie shook her head, her pale blond hair swinging with the movement. “Nope. There’s been no one. Until you, that is. When Mark called me and asked me to come meet you, told me that you were very special to him, I was thrilled. He’s been playing at being the single bad boy long enough.”

She wasn’t dumb enough to tell Leslie the truth, but her conscience nipped at her, making her inwardly flinch. Now she was going to have to lie to Mark’s sister and for some reason that bothered her. Maybe her conscience was kicking into overdrive, trying to make up for completely deserting her when she’d met Dina.

Glaring again at the hulking catcher, since her lying to his sister was his fault, Lorelei said, “I’m glad to meet you, too, Leslie. You’re the first of Mark’s family that I’ve met.” That, at least was true. “I thought they were all back in Florida.”

“Most of us are. I just moved here a little over a year ago. A change of scenery and all.” Leslie’s gaze followed a Rush player until he jogged in front of them. Then she put her fingers in her mouth, whistled and yelled, “Whoo! John Crispin, you stud!”

The rugged-looking, unshaven player flashed a smile and raised his mitt, pointing it toward Leslie. Then he twisted on his cleats, sent a spray of dirt flying, and dashed away.

Lorelei held back a smile as Leslie sighed and said, “That’s a whole lotta man there, Lorelei. I swear to y’all, his kisses will melt the panties right off a gal.”

Lorelei almost choked on her soda. The bubbles went up her nose, making her eyes water and her sinuses sting. Waving a hand in front of her face, she croaked, “Is that so?”

She wondered if Mark could hear them, because just then his head whipped around and he sent her a piercing stare, his eyes as cold as ice behind the metal of his face cage. Tension emanated from him, flowing out in frustrated waves toward her. Or maybe he was just psychic.

“Looks like Mark’s in one of his moods tonight.” Leslie blew him a kiss. He jerked his chin up, paused, and then turned back around, his movements abrupt. “Unless he gets that under control and focuses, he’s going to play like crap.”

Lorelei slid farther down in her seat. “Hmm, wonder why he’s in such a bad mood?” she muttered vaguely. Like she didn’t know exactly why he was in such a foul temper.

Leslie propped a booted foot on the seat in front of her and leaned back, turning her head toward Lorelei. She grinned. “I tell you what, to make things interesting, every time Chicago scores a run, I’ll divulge a little secret about him. Something he’d be completely mortified to know I told you. And for every run the Rush scores y’all gotta dish about you.”

Lorelei glanced at Mark and back at Leslie. “Seriously?” Leslie nodded. “He doesn’t have his lucky charm, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Won’t it be fun?”

A chance to learn some intimate details about him. Lorelei pursed her lips and considered. Then she glanced at Mark again as the game got ready to start and smiled.

She hoped he played like crap.

MARK SWORE AS another ball slipped past his glove and a runner took home. The crowd roared in discontent, announcing another f*ck-up of his. Damn that was a stupid mistake. He’d misjudged the ball bounce from left field and his glove had missed it by a mile.

Trying to shake it off, Mark shoved his mask up, yanked off his catcher’s glove, and watched as Peter Kowalskin jogged over.

“What’s the deal tonight?”

Mark clenched his jaw and glared at a Chicago batter as he warmed up on deck and blew a kiss at him. “Jackass. Why don’t you come here and do that again, Gregor, you p-ssy.”

“Hey. He might be a p-ssy, but you’ve got to get your head in this game.”

Mark shoved his hand back into his glove and slammed his cage down. “Yeah, I got it. Let’s do this.”

Kowalskin reached out and smacked the top of his helmet. “Damn straight. Let’s do this thing.”

Nothing was sweeter for Mark than the time he spent behind home plate. Not even sex. And nothing pissed him off more when things were going bad.

Two up, two down. Top of the fourth. He watched as Kowalskin took the ball back to the pitcher’s mound and readied himself for the next batter. Mark assumed the position, muscles alert and ready for action. Adrenaline raged as he watched the batter stride to the plate and stop short of the box. A few swings, a dig of his cleat into the box dirt, and the Cub settled in for the pitch.

Mark signaled to Peter for a slider and narrowed his eyes when the pitcher shook his head, rejecting the pitch. Reassessing, Mark signaled for a curve and raised his glove when the pitch was accepted.

As he shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, his eyes zeroed in on the ball as it was pulled back like a rock in a slingshot waiting for release. He could feel it, almost see the play before it happened, knew a split second before the ball came flying high and fast on his glove side, just inside the strike zone.

He reacted instantly as the batter swung hard, hitting his knees in a butterfly stance. Reaching, he felt the sharp sting of leather hit his glove and heard the resounding thwack.

The umpire behind him yelled out, “Strike!” The batter swore and stepped out of the box.

Mark looked at his glove hand and opened it, the white leather of the ball bright in the early evening sun. The roar of the crowd echoed in his chest.

He was back, baby.

Mark stood and loosened his shoulders, rolled his head from side to side. Man, that felt good.

As the play began again, he finally tapped into the focus that made him one of the best catchers in the major leagues. As he called pitches and caught every ball, adrenaline tore through him, pumping him more and more.

When a ball whipped into the strike zone followed by a furious swing, Mark shifted forward and caught it.

As the crowd went wild, blood rushed to his head making him feel intensely alive. This was what the game was all about for him. The thrill, the total head-rush. It was him against them—a test of courage, skill, strength, and reflexes.

It was a fast-paced battle of brains and finesse. And Mark loved it like nothing else.

He shut down every attempt at home for the rest of the game, using his toned body and calculating mind to make out after out. Whereas the last game he’d gone to the field in a fit of temper and bad mouth, tonight the attitude from him was minimal. After a few initial bumps, he was totally, completely in his zone.

At the bottom of the ninth the Rush came out on top 4–3, ensuring them one game closer to solid season standings. Intense relief flooded him as he made his way down the line, shaking hands with his teammates.

He’d been able to play a winning game without his good luck charm. Part of him wondered why that was. The other part of him was afraid he already knew. Because there was only one thing different in his life, in his routine that could be attributed to the abrupt change of fortune. Only one thing it could possibly be.

Heading to the locker room still riding high on the Rush’s victory, Mark stopped at the edge of the field and glanced into the stadium seats. And there she was. Lorelei. Sitting with his younger sister, Leslie, their heads together, laughing like they were lifelong friends.

Suddenly Lorelei glanced up and their gazes locked. His chest squeezed tight around his lungs, making it hard to breathe. He dropped his gaze and stepped off the field into the dugout, heading to the locker room.

He didn’t want to think about her. Didn’t want to feel anything for her. She already spent too much frigging time in his head. But there was one nagging suspicion about her he wasn’t going to be able to deny much longer. And he didn’t like it one little bit.

“Hey, Wall. Good game tonight.”

Mark glanced up to see Rush newbie JP Trudeau waiting for him. The kid had taken a beating tonight at shortstop and looked like someone had hit him with a sledgehammer. He had a nasty split lip swelling up on him—courtesy of a collision with a runner at second. His jersey was streaked brown with dirt.

“You look like shit, JP. No girl’s gonna want to kiss you tonight with an ugly lip like that.”

The young player began to smile and winced. “It’s okay. I’ll just have her kiss another part of me instead.”

Mark’s laugh echoed down the long corridor. “Now you’re thinking like a real baseball player, rookie.”

Together they walked on the painted concrete toward the locker room, the young shortstop towering over Mark. Pushing open the door to the greeting of laughter and celebratory yells, they entered the locker room and crossed the rug with the Rush’s logo of Goldpan Sam and his pickax on it. As he passed his teammates they slapped his back and congratulated him on the win.

“Damn good comeback, Wall. You kicked ass out there.”

“Another game like that, Cutter, and we move one step closer to that sweet-ass Series.”

Mark stopped in front of his locker and dropped to the bench, sweat running down his temples into his damp hair. A bead slid down his throat and soaked into his jersey as he leaned his head back against the metal locker and listened to the guys razz one another.

As the sports reporters made their way into the locker room, he closed his eyes and grinned. He’d pulled it off tonight. He’d played a damn good game without his cross. He’d found his zone. Damn his superstitious hide, but he knew it could mean only one thing: He had a new lucky charm.

It went by the name of Lorelei.