That had brought Thad right out of his chair. “If you’re implying that we made this up for publicity, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Sit down, Mr. Owens. I’m not implying anything. Just pointing out a few facts.” He brushed the corner of his mustache with his thumb. “You say you were kidnapped, but you have no description of the perpetrator. It’s possible he was after your watches—worth over twenty grand, as you pointed out—but all he got was your phone and wallet.”
“Explain that gun we handed over,” Thad countered. “Instead of doubting us, why don’t you see if any limo companies reported having one of their cars stolen?”
“We’re doing that right now.”
Not long after, Burris had left them alone, which was when Thad had launched into his initial “staring at your ass” rant.
The officer had kept them waiting nearly an hour, during which time they agreed it was highly unlikely Adam’s sisters would have had the resources to pull something like this off. “Then who?” Olivia said, thinking out loud.
Thad shook his head. “That’s the question.”
Officer Burris returned with the news that the Nevada Highway Patrol had found an abandoned limousine northwest of the city that had been stolen from a local transport service.
“We’ll look at security tapes from the hotel,” Burris said before he showed them out. “Unless they give us more information than you have, it’ll be hard to find this guy.”
“What about the gun?” Thad asked.
“We’ll put a trace on it. Don’t get your hopes up.”
Burris wasn’t happy that they were scheduled to leave for Chicago the next day, but Olivia couldn’t wait to leave Las Vegas behind.
*
It was nearly dawn when they got back to the hotel. Thad had finally stopped berating himself for not paying attention to the driver’s appearance, but as they got off the elevator on their floor, something else was bothering him. “Liv, promise me you won’t ever again mouth off to somebody who’s holding a gun on you.”
“I can’t help it. I hate being pushed around.”
“I get it. You’re a soprano.” He gazed down at her. “But let’s agree that men like him aren’t as enlightened about the artistic temperament as I am.”
She smiled. “One of the best things about you.”
He opened the door of their suite with the new key card they’d gotten at the desk. As she stepped inside, her flamenco shawl fell to her elbows, and she caught her image in the mirror across the room. Tangled hair, dirty face and arms, gown filthy from where she’d fallen. The thin silver chain must have broken when she’d fallen because her necklace and its silver star charm were gone.
“Liv, I don’t mean to be insensitive, but did something happen to your breasts tonight? They’re still sexy as hell, don’t get me wrong. But they seem to look a little—I don’t know—different than they looked at the start of the evening.”
She jerked the shawl back over her shoulders, but not before a quick glance showed that, without support, her breasts were spilling from the V of the gown, and they’d also lost some of the perk. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Forget I said anything.”
“I will.”
He eyed her bedroom door. “Maybe after a quick shower . . . ?” But even he knew their window of opportunity had passed.
She pushed a strand of hair from her face with a grubby hand. “We’re dirty, exhausted, and we have to leave for the airport in three hours. So much for our night of passion.” And maybe that was for the best.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Chicago.”
She fingered the fringe on her shawl, not quite looking at him. “What if this is a colossal sign from the universe that we’ve gone as far together as we should?”
“That’s defeatist thinking. Knock it off.”
“But you have to admit—”
“I admit nothing. If you want to be a champion, Olivia Shore, you have to stay in the game.”
And that’s what this was to him. A game.
*
In the morning, the police returned Olivia’s phone and purse, which they’d retrieved from the limo, the twenty dollars still folded neatly inside. Thad had spent what was left of the night canceling his credit cards, ordering a new phone, and reliving what had happened. He didn’t sleep until their flight back to Chicago, and when he awoke, he saw Olivia sound asleep herself, lips slightly parted, purple headphones cockeyed on her head. She looked young and defenseless, far different from the furious woman who’d gone after their kidnapper last night.
Henri had booked them into the Peninsula Chicago on Superior Street. Thad’s condo and Olivia’s rental apartment weren’t far away, but they’d agreed it would be inconvenient to shuffle back and forth for their engagements, so the hotel would be their home for their last three nights.
The three nights Olivia insisted were all they would have together.
For the first time in his life, Thad had lost control of a relationship. He had to turn that around.
Their suite at the Peninsula had a baby grand piano and a wraparound terrace that looked out over Lake Michigan. While Henri waited for his room to be ready, he camped out with his laptop, and Paisley took off for Sephora.
Liv gave Thad her Queen of Sheba look. “I want to walk.”
He wanted to do more than walk, but not with Henri temporarily working in their suite. “Fine with me.”
She changed from flats into sneakers and traded her trench for a fleece jacket he’d never seen—one more item she’d stuck away in those 799 suitcases she traveled with. On their way out the door, she stole the Chicago Stars ball cap he was wearing and stuck it on her own head. “It makes me feel young,” she said, as she pulled her ponytail through the hole in the back.
“You are young,” he pointed out. “Relatively.”
“I don’t feel that way.”
“Thirty-five is only old in football years.”
“You’re almost forty, so that makes you ancient.”
“I’m not almost forty. I’m thirty-six.”
“Going on thirty-seven.”
“Not yet.”
“Je m’excuse.”
They turned onto Michigan Avenue. The day was sunny, but cold and crisp, thanks to the spring chill coming off the lake. The chill hadn’t discouraged the pedestrians bustling along the wide sidewalks with their shopping bags from Nike, Bloomingdale’s, Chanel, and the Apple Store.
“What are you going to do with yourself when your football career is over?” she asked.
“Not sure.”
“Give me a hint.”
“I don’t know. I’ve been doing some work with a friend.” Work he wasn’t ready to talk to anybody about. “I’ve got an idea. The Omni’s close. Let’s check in for a couple of hours. Just you and me.”
“It’s too pretty to go inside.”
“It’s cold, and you’re nervous. Afraid you can’t keep up with me, aren’t you? Afraid you’ll be a dud.”
“I’m not afraid I’ll be a dud.” She stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets. “Okay, I might be a dud.”
He laughed. “You’re adorable when you’re insane.”
“Dude! It’s Thad Owens!” Three guys in hoodies and backward baseball caps strutted toward them. Early twenties. One wore jeans, two were in cargo shorts even though the temperature was in the forties.
“We’re big Stars fans.” The tallest bro, ablaze in neon-green sunglasses, stopped in front of them.
“Glad to hear it,” Thad replied, as he usually did.
His companion, whose hoodie advertised his preference for Miller Lite, poked the guy next to him. “Except Chad. Bears all the way.”
“Bears suck,” Neon sunglasses declared. “So does Clint Garrett. You should be playing.”
“If I was better than Clint, I would be,” Thad said mildly.
Neon sunglasses snorted. “What about those interceptions he threw against the Patriots?”
“It’s easy to be a quarterback when you’re home on your couch.”
Sunglasses missed the dig. “And that pick six in St. Louis? What about that?”
Thad set his jaw. “Happens to the best of us. Nobody in the League has a stronger arm than Clint or quicker feet. The Stars are lucky to have him.”
“I still say—”