Page 5 of A Game of Deception
“This might hurt,” she said, finally looking me in the eye.
“I’ve had worse,” I said, my voice coming out like I’d gargled gravel.
Her mouth twitched with what might’ve been a smile—gone so fast I questioned if I’d seen it at all. “I’m sure you have.”
She started cleaning the cut with antiseptic wipes. Her touch was gentle, but as the alcohol bit into my open wound, I flinched.
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding remotely apologetic.
I couldn’t help staring at her while she worked. Everything about her had blossomed with age—no more braces, just perfect teeth. Her hair stopped at her shoulders now instead of flowing down her back. But those eyes hadn’t changed a bit. Same shade as Jimmy’s.
“There’s a piece of glass,” she announced, picking up tweezers. “This is gonna sting.”
I nodded and braced myself. She leaned over my hand, focused entirely on her task. The scent of vanilla drifted from her skin—subtle but unmistakable.
The tweezers dug into my cut, and I sucked air through my teeth.
“Almost got it,” she said, her voice unexpectedly soft. “There.”
She held up a bloody glass shard like a trophy before dropping it into a dish and returning to clean my wound.
“So,” I said. “Sports medicine.”
“Yes.” She kept her eyes on my hand. “I’ve been on staff for three months, getting everything ready for the launch.”
“And your father bought the team.”
That got me a quick look, amusement flashing in her eyes. “He didn’t buy it, Mr. McCrae. He created it.”
The correction dangled between us, and my jaw clenched. “Quite a coincidence,” I said. “Me being hunted for this team. Not to mention becoming available at the exact moment your father was completing his roster.”
She dabbed antiseptic cream on the cut, her touch businesslike, completely unbothered by my accusation. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Mr. McCrae.”
Neither did I.
She wrapped gauze around my hand, taping it with mechanical efficiency. Her fingers burned hot against my skin.
“So,” I said. “How long have you known?” I blurted out the question that’d been stuck in my throat since I spotted her at that podium.
“Known what?” Her voice played innocent, but when her eyes locked on mine, they told a completely different story.
“That I was coming to Miami.”
She finished my bandage and rocked back, stripping off her gloves. “About as long as you have, I imagine.”
“Bullshit.”
A tiny smile crept across her face. “Keep this clean and dry. New bandage every day.”
She stood, collecting the first aid supplies while turning her back on me. I pushed myself up from the chair.
“Why?” I demanded. I wasn’t letting her off the hook that easily.
She spun around, face blank. But her eyes held something I couldn’t decode.
“Why what, Mr. McCrae?”
“Why am I here? Why areyouhere? Why did your father create this team?”
