Page 56 of First Star I See Tonight (Chicago Stars 8)

“A bruised jaw. Some sore ribs. I’ll take care of it. And before you say anything, I’m not reporting this to the cops.”

He was surprised when she didn’t argue. Maybe she understood that if he reported this, the story would hit national news, the press would be all over him, and without surveillance video, the police wouldn’t be able to do squat. All he’d end up with was publicity he didn’t want.

She shoved the pencil behind her ear. “Something’s not right about this, and I don’t want you going back home yet. You’re sleeping here tonight.”

He regarded her incredulously. She had to be kidding. He tossed down the ice pack. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I hide behind a woman’s skirts. Or, in your case, an ugly T-shirt.” He made it outside the building before she could yell at him about sexism and all that other crap.

He got home without a problem. His jaw hurt like a bitch, and he needed to get cleaned up, but before he did that, he crossed through the kitchen and went out into his garden.

As always, the good scent of dirt and green growing things did their work. He loved this place.

The illumination from a pair of headlights shone over the wall from the alley behind the building. The same headlights that had followed him home. With a sense of resignation, he pulled out his cell and hit the contact button. “Go get some sleep, Sherlock. I’m not going anywhere.”

12

Piper woke Dell up the next morning. Spiral’s recently fired bouncer glared at her from his open apartment door. Scrubby blond stubble covered his jaw, his eyes were sleep crusted, and he wore only a pair of boxers. “What the hell do you want?”

She’d already seen what she’d come here for, although not what she’d expected. Dell looked like he’d had a hard night, but he wasn’t bruised or cut. He bore none of the signs of injury Coop had inflicted on his unknown assailant last night. Whatever else Dell had done, he wasn’t the culprit behind the ambush.

“Verifying your address,” she said. “Tony wanted to make sure you got your severance check.”

“Tell Tony to go fuck himself.”

“I’ll do that.”

As she began to turn away, he stepped into the hallway, his belligerence replaced by the smarmy come-on tone he used with the swishy-hairs. “Hey, you wanna hang for a while?”

“Not so much, but thanks for thinking of me.”

One suspect eliminated. Now she had to find Keith and Taylor. As for the possibility

that Prince Aamuzhir had discovered he was the owner of a phony Super Bowl ring and wanted revenge . . . That was going to be much more complicated.

On her way to Lincoln Park, she contemplated the e-mail she’d gotten from the limo owner that morning about her tip from the royals, from which she’d learned she’d received only half of what the male drivers had been given. She’d worked harder than most of them, but in the world of the royals, gender trumped everything. She should have seen it coming, but the injustice still made her livid.

The woman who answered the door of Heath Champion’s luxurious Lincoln Park home was several inches shorter than Piper, with curly auburn hair and a friendly smile. Nothing about her well-scrubbed, girl-next-door appearance matched Piper’s preconceived notion about what the wife of a megasuccessful sports agent would look like.

“You’re Piper,” she said. “I’ve heard all about you. I’m Annabelle.”

“And so the warriors meet,” a male voice said from inside the house.

Annabelle laughed, stepped aside to let Piper enter, and took Piper’s black bomber jacket.

The luxurious hallway of the house, with its tumbled marble floors, modernistic bronze chandelier, and S-shaped staircase, would have been intimidating if it weren’t for a purple stuffed puppy, discarded marker pens, an unidentifiable Lego structure, and the array of sneakers scattered around. “Thanks for letting me charge in so early,” Piper said.

Heath appeared from around the corner, a curly-haired toddler wearing a pink tutu and a blue flannel pajama top at his side. “What’s up? You sounded mysterious on the phone.”

Piper shot Annabelle an apologetic look and sidestepped a black-and-gold Star Wars figure. “Maybe we should talk in private.”

Heath retrieved his cell phone from the toddler. “Annabelle would just worm it out of me after you leave.”

“That’s true,” Annabelle said with a self-satisfied smile.

Heath grinned. “My wife has built her business on keeping other people’s secrets. She’s a matchmaker. Perfect for You. You might have heard of it.”

“Of course.” Piper had done some research on Heath since their first meeting and unearthed a very interesting story about the way he’d met Annabelle Granger Champion.

They settled at a lacquered kitchen table in front of long windows looking out on a fall garden. As the toddler, whose name was Lila, consumed a bowl of raspberries, Piper told Heath and Annabelle about last night’s attack on Coop. Both were understandably concerned. “Are you sure he’s okay?” Annabelle said.

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