Page 72 of Putting Out
Reilly snorted and sat on a stool. “There’s an ad campaign for you. I’m surprised McDonald’s doesn’t put you on the payroll. All right, I’ll eat the healthy stuff. For fifty-six days I can do anything.”
“Not me. I’m going for some fries.” Kenny stood but Reilly reached out to grab an arm. “Sit. If I have to eat this then you have to eat it, too.”
“Why?”
There was no good reason other than the fact that she didn’t want to be tempted by the smell of his hot, greasy fries. “Moral support?”
“The hell with that. I need my fries. I’ll be back.” Kenny started toward the front door, but stopped abruptly when he spotted several packages stacked on the glass table in the foyer.
“What’s all this?”
Pierce glanced over his shoulder as he continued to cut avocados into wedges.
“Two boxes from UPS, a bunch of mail, and a box from Fed Ex. The Fed Ex guy’s name is Doug. I tipped him and then he asked me out. We’ve got a date later.” Pierce wiggled his eyebrows for effect, but Kenny’s eyes were still on the boxes.
“Who the hell knows she’s here?”
“Please, will you relax?” Reilly could feel the tension coming from him as he straightened to his full height almost as if in preparation for battle. “Plenty of people know I’m here. Gus, Erica and Pop and Grams. It’s probably some care packages from all of them.”
Reilly walked over and picked up the first small square box and shook it a few times.
“Are you insane?” Kenny charged at her reaching for the box. “What if it’s a bomb?”
Reilly held the box away from her body and out of his reach much like she did with her dolls when he was after them, and shook it a few more times.
That was how much she didn’t think it was a bomb. “You, my brother, are starting to get paranoid.”
Reilly set it on the table and opened it, pushing back the four sides of the box.
“Oh, my God!” she screamed, bringing her hands to her mouth in shock.
“See! I told you. What is it?” Kenny pushed her out of the way and ripped the box out of her hand, clearly prepared to fall on it if he had to.
“Oatmeal and raisin cookies,” Reilly laughed. “Quick, get the extinguisher.”
“It’s not funny. It could have been anything.”
Reilly began to open the second box while she mocked her brother. “You’re right, it could have been snicker doodles. You know how I hate snicker doodles! What the hell…”
Reilly dropped the second box on the floor as the potent and overwhelming odor of something rotting assaulted her senses. It was the one from Fed Ex. She took a step back not wanting to see what could produce such a smell.
Kenny pushed his arm over his mouth and kicked up the lid of the box. Inside was a fish. A dead fish.
“Shit.” Squatting down he carefully pulled back the edges of the box. The fish was large and stank to high heaven. A note sat folded on top. Kenny picked it up and scowled. Reilly took the letter from him and read it aloud.
“I can’t breathe for wanting you. Not having you is like not having air. Please don’t play in the American. Please don’t let all of them have you. At least know I’m close.”
Reilly crumbled the note in her hand and glanced down again at the fish. “I think it’s a grouper.”
Kenny shot her an angry look. “Will you get serious! Do you know what this means?”
“The Mob doesn’t want me to play in the American?”
“It means the freakin’ Breathe Guy knows where you are. He knows you’re in Savannah. He knows the damn address. How the hell is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” Reilly snapped. She wasn’t any happier about the fish than he was. Or the note letting her know he was close. But she could either be afraid or she could put the incident in its place. It was just a stupid fish. A stunt.
“He’s a crackpot, Kenny,” she said with more calm than she felt. “That’s all. It won’t be the first time a professional athlete has had to deal with one. It won’t be the last. Toss the fish and go get some lunch for yourself. We’ve got an afternoon of studying old American footage ahead of us.”
