nna

he silence in the p

of the newspaper. He was wearing a crisp gray shirt, his hair s

I announced, grabbi

sure? The paparazzi and sports blogg

have a business to run. And

rive you," wa

. The plaza security guard looked at me with pity. The early-mor

otos? The injured c

was pregnant

an't even sk

igh and walked t

ted me, was holding a glossy sports tabloid with Beckett's fac

ah sneered. "How much did the former all-star pay

felt the blood

. "Customers are complaining. They don't want

Mr. Henderson, hurried in. He looked

mean, Mrs. Sincla

g me?" I asked,

r business immensely. In fact, we've received a... generous anonymous comme

You said yesterday you wer

ace hardened. "Pack your things,

Sarah s

rity footage to the sports press," Henderso

ed, as Sarah was dra

A text from an

day, Mrs.

black SUV was still at the

ere I left him, his wheelchair positioned near the f

he asked witho

. "My plaza bully got evicted. And the pro

w, but I still know where the bodies are buried. Henderson has a secret fondness for

once-unstoppable athlete who couldn't even walk right now,

ou," I w

my arms around his broad shoulders and b

slowly, his large, calloused hand-a hand made for

is voice rough and possessive against