Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) (20 page)

Had Adam ever crossed paths with Ben?

Mike called Adam, who answered on the fifth ring, his hello groggy and irritated. “Do you know what time it is?” Adam asked.

“You mean your kids aren’t bouncing on your bed? Like they did to me when I was there?”

“They know better. Why are you up?”

“Long story.”

“Then I don’t want to hear it. Too tired.”

“Then give me information, and I’ll let you go back to bed.”

“Fine.” Mike heard him flop against his pillows. “Hurry up.”

“Did you ever play ball with a Ben Reynolds, probably in the minors?”

Adam repeated the name, then yawned loudly. “Don’t think so. I played with a couple of Bens, but not—”

“Who?”

“It’s too early for this.” Adam blew out a sigh. “I played with Benji Humbrecht before he retired.”

Mike remembered Humbrecht enough to eliminate him. “Not him.”

“The only other one I can remember was that head case Ben Raines.”

Despite that name being in the article, Mike hadn’t expected to hear it from Adam. “Who?”

“Ben Raines. He was a pitcher when I was in Triple-A.”

“What’d he look like?”

“I don’t know—six foot, dark skin, curly hair.”

“What color hair?”

“Dark. Black, I think.”

“Do you remember his age?”

“Sheesh, Connor. Hold on while I look that up in my diary.”

Mike grinned. “I always suspected you of that.”

“Yeah, right. Why are you asking this stuff?”

“I thought you didn’t have time for it.”

“We got in from a road trip last night. I didn’t get to bed till three.”

“Then you’ve had more sleep than me. Come on, Adam. How old was he?”

Adam groaned, then was silent for several seconds. “I think he was twenty-six or seven when I knew him.”

“You sure about the name?”

“Of course I’m sure—”

“It wasn’t Reynolds?”

“Dude. We all made jokes off his last name. When it Raines… Yeah, it was definitely Raines.”

Okay then. “Why’d you call him a head case?”

“Because he
was
. I saw him during my first spring training, and I remember hoping he was the best pitcher in the league or I was in trouble. The guy could throw almost a hundred miles an hour, and he had four good pitches. But it didn’t take a thing to get in his head. Guys would yell stuff from the dugout, and he’d get rattled. He’d hit batters on purpose, then he’d throw harder and miss his spots. After that, it’d be like batting practice.”

“What else?”

“He had a temper like nothing I’ve ever seen. A few of us used to hang out where he did just to watch him act like an idiot. We thought it was funny until he threw a chair that about took my head off.” Adam talked through a yawn. “I think he got arrested after that one. Actually, it was kind of sad. He could have been winning Cy Youngs, you know? But he couldn’t control himself. A few times we’d hear that he’d taken things out on his girlfriend, and we’d watch the stands, and she’d be gone.”

“Did she press charges?”

“You know, Mike, I forgot to ask him. What’s going on?”

“Long story,” he repeated.

“Well, I’m awake now.”

If Raines had changed his name to Reynolds, there had to be darker secrets in his past than domestic abuse and failed baseball dreams. “It looks like this guy changed his last name, Adam. Can you think of any reason why?”

“No. I only played with him part of a year, and I think halfway through the next season, he was out of baseball.”

Mike’s home run, most likely.

A whole decade had passed from his and Adam’s last memories of Ben. What had happened during that time? “Thanks, Adam. Sorry I woke you.”

“You’re not gonna fill me in?”

“Later. I’ve got to make another call.”

In the kitchen he flipped through his wallet for the police officer’s business card, then stood there, fingering the card. Either he was about to make a fool of himself or he was on to something the police needed to know.

He pictured Betsy. Pictured Dana.

And called the officer’s number.

Meg unlocked her kitchen door and walked inside. Somewhere in the house, Terrell’s laughter mingled with Samuel’s coos, and Meg leaned against her door, soaking in their innocence.

“Meg?” Jill’s voice sounded in the family room. She popped her head into the kitchen. “I thought I heard you. How’s Dana?”

“Awake. Alert.” Meg tossed her purse onto the table and sank into a chair. Amazingly Dana’s injuries had consisted of a concussion, some facial bruising, and stitches to the gash on the back of her head. The physical trauma had resulted in no life-threatening injuries.

The emotional damage Dana had yet to deal with.

“Any idea how long she’ll be in the hospital?”

“No.” Meg closed her eyes at the image of Ben pummeling Dana with those big fists. Why hadn’t she left him?

“Is she pressing charges?”

“I hope so. When she gets out, she’s staying with family in the city.”

“That’s a start.”

But would it last? A yawn split her face. Five hours of sleep wasn’t enough. Thankfully Terrell had slept through everything, waking only as they pulled out of Ben’s drive sometime before midnight. Nothing of what she’d seen and experienced would scar him. “Has Mike stopped by?”

“No. He still isn’t answering his phone?”

“He’s probably got it off so he can sleep.” Meg pictured him at the table, the moonlight bright on his face, concern in his eyes. The memory warmed her. He’d been silly to stay at her house, but honestly? She was thankful he’d done it.

Samuel fussed in the family room, and Jill returned there to take care of him.

Meg yawned her way to the front door. She opened it and scanned the quiet, serene neighborhood. Who really knew what went on in their neighbors’ homes? Had Dana’s neighbors known? If a woman here lived through what Dana had, would Meg be able to spot it?

Mike’s black Range Rover turned into her drive.

A smile relaxed her mouth. Even her shoulders eased, and for once Meg didn’t fight it. Mike had been safe and strong last night, exactly when she’d needed him.

She jogged down the sidewalk and grabbed his good arm as he closed the Range Rover’s door. “Hey.”

He flashed her the grin she hadn’t seen since his injury. “What’s this?”

“Stop it,” she said, trying—and failing—to bite back her smile. His eyelids hung low over bloodshot eyes. “You look exhausted.”

His nod was weary. “Did you get some sleep?”

“Yes.” It hadn’t taken long after the orange juice to fall asleep, and she’d slept until Terrell woke her. “I thought you went home and went to bed.”

“No. I’ve been—busy.” He looked at the open front door. “Where’s Terrell?”

“Inside with Jill. I’ll get him.”

“No. I don’t want him around.”

“Why?”

He held up a finger and walked to the front door and closed it quietly. He jerked his head at the side yard and started in that direction.

Meg jogged to catch up.

When she fell into step beside him, he sent her a vacant smile and wrapped his muscled arm around her shoulders, pulling her snugly to him.

Meg caught her breath and, after the briefest hesitation, leaned against him. If she regretted it later, she could always blame it on the day. “Are you okay?”

His voice above her was husky. “I called my sister.”

“Betsy?”

“Yeah.”

“How is she?”

“She’s good.”

He removed his arm, lifted his hand to his face. He faked a yawn and rubbed his eyes, but he couldn’t fool her. The temptation to reach around his waist and pull him to her was strong.
I know you, Mike.

And he knew her. Despite their mistakes, they understood each other as well as anyone else on earth did. Divorce couldn’t take away the good that had come before the bad.

He stopped her between the house and the bushes separating the Ashburns’ lawn.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

The muscles in his jaw tensed. “I called the police this morning. At some point, Ben changed his last name, and half an hour ago I found out why. He’s wanted for murder.”

Sunlight was fading, but warmth still fell on Mike’s face. He adjusted his position in one of the Ashburns’ deck chairs and closed his eyes. He could fall asleep and not wake up until the sun went down tomorrow.

Jill’s and Meg’s faint laughs reached him from the kitchen. After a day like this, laughter was a welcome sound.

Behind him the deck door slid open. Meg spoke, voice soft as if she smiled. “Do you want anything to drink, Mike?”

“No. I’m good.” He crossed his ankles and let his head slump to his shoulder. Five minutes, and he’d be out.

The door closed.

His breathing slowed. His whole body relaxed. Make that two minutes.

“You awake?”

He flinched at Clark’s voice beside him. “Barely.” With one squinted eye he watched Clark lower himself onto another deck chair and stretch out, hands propped behind his head. Mike closed his eyes again. “Is Samuel asleep?”

“Just about.” Clark’s chair squeaked. “What a day, huh?”

Mike grunted.

“So what’d this guy do? Jill didn’t have the details when she called me.”

“He killed a former girlfriend’s best friend.”

“Wow. Do they know why?”

“She talked his girlfriend into leaving him. I guess he told someone he was going to convince the friend to talk his girlfriend into giving him another chance. Doesn’t sound like it was premeditated, but no one saw her alive again.”

“What about Ben?”

“He emptied his bank accounts before anyone found her. I guess he got himself a new identity and came out here.”

Clark’s chair creaked again. “You worry about him coming after you or Meg?”

“He doesn’t know we found Dana.” Knowing Ben Raines, murderer, was loose wasn’t going to keep him awake tonight, but he’d enjoy his sleep more when the man was found. He pictured Ben standing on the front step, that smirk on his face.
How are you enjoying the cast?

“Is your finding Dana all over the news?”

Mike glanced at Clark. “Evidently you don’t listen to sports radio.”

“I’m a working man.”

“Yeah, rub
that
in.”

Clark chuckled. “How’s the arm?”

“Bearable. I haven’t noticed as much pain since this morning. I’m starting cardio workouts tomorrow. Only a week, and I’m turning flabby.”

“If you’re flabby, I don’t want to know what I am.”

Mike eyed him as if debating. “Lard ball?”

“Dude.”

Mike laughed, then glanced at Clark to make sure he hadn’t offended him.

Clark grinned.

Who’d have thought he’d become friends with a pastor?

“So,” Clark said, “now that a week’s gone by since you were atta—”

“Since my injury.” The word
attacked
was not allowed.

“Right. Injury. Do you look at anything differently?”

That was an odd question. “Well.” What did he say? “I guess the first thing I’ve learned is to keep my back to a wall. And that I really need to find a hobby, something one-armed-men-who-don’t-want-to-move-because-of-the-pain-it-might-cause-them can do.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Thank you. What else?” Beyond the trees edging Clark’s lawn, an airplane approaching O’Hare Airport lowered its landing gear. The sound of its engines grew after it passed overhead. “I’ve learned my son doesn’t think I can eat with one hand and that it’s good for invitations to Meg’s.”

“I bet you’re milking that one.”

“She’s a better cook than I am.”

“Didn’t say I blamed you. Anything else?”

Anything else? What difference had this week made on him? He’d been attacked, operated on, and knocked out of his career. Had found a woman beaten by a guy already wanted for murder. And all in less than seven days.

But had he learned anything? “Was there anything I
should
have learned?”

“I don’t know. I wonder if living through a week like you’ve had makes a person examine his life.”

“A week like this? You mean this isn’t normal?” He dropped his head against the deck chair. “What a relief.”

“Do you take anything seriously?”

The words were couched with a grin, but the message was clear. “It’s a minor character flaw.” Mike smirked. “When things get rough, I turn into Mike Connor, super smart aleck.”

Another plane descended with its wheels down.

Mike waited for the sound of its engines to fade before speaking again. “I was like this when I left Meg. For the rest of the season, I was the clubhouse comedian.”

“How come?”

Why
did
he gloss over the rough areas in his life? He pictured his first dinner at Meg’s house, the way he’d laughed and smiled and pretended her coldness didn’t hurt when instead he ached to hold her and tell her how sorry he was. Of course, he’d said he was sorry, but maybe the way he’d said it had not conveyed the remorse he’d felt for years. His life might be completely different had he gone home after that road trip so many years ago.

His throat felt swollen. He cleared it and turned his head toward the bushes that separated Meg’s yard from her neighbors’.

Clark shifted. “You okay?”

A comical retort formed on his lips, but this time Mike bit it back. Was he?

No.

“My life stinks.”

His chest felt as if it were caving in. Sure, his baseball career was as great as he’d imagined, and the money was crazy. He owned two dream houses, undecorated shells that they were, and sweet cars most men only dreamed of.

But after that, beneath the smile and the jokes, lay the truth that the life he longed for, the life he’d once lived, lay torn apart. And despite reuniting with Meg, despite his growing relationship with his son, he saw no hope for that life to be restored.

What were his options? Start over with another woman?

He’d tried that, had already made the same mistakes, but after all this time with Meg, nothing seemed to be changing there, either. Sure, she’d cuddled up to him this morning, but would she have done that twenty-four hours earlier? No. Would she do it tomorrow? Next week?