Play Dead (26 page)

R
YAN GLANCED BACK
over his shoulder into the booth set up for the Board Wars, which had started two hours earlier. All morning he’d been on the lookout for someone stalking Hayley, but so far he hadn’t spotted anyone except for a guy who resembled Steve Fulton. The man disappeared in the distance, walking away from the competition area. The nice thing was most people were wearing swimsuits or skimpy shorts. Hard to hide a weapon.

It was after eleven and the Reaper clothes were just beginning to sell. The dog collars and matching leashes weren’t going at all, despite Andy prancing around, sporting one.

“What’s happening?” he asked as Trent rushed up.

“I’m totally stoked!” Trent grinned, breathless. “ESPN just called. They’ll be here at noon. They want to film the booth and the junior competition this afternoon.”

“Great,” Ryan responded. “That should help your business.”

“I can’t believe it.” Trent shook his head. “The Water Channel and the Outdoor Channel film us, but ESPN hasn’t shown any interest in this event. ESPN covers Huntington Beach’s U.S. Open and the Hurley competition at Lower Trestles in San Clemente but never us.
That’ll put the winners in the big leagues and bring them to the attention of mainstream audiences.”

Ryan didn’t respond. Obviously, Trent’s mind was on the competition, not on the boost this would give Surf’s Up. Ryan thought for a moment about the trust. Maybe the reason Hayley’s parents had left her the business was simple. Her mind was often more on the business than Trent’s.

The Fordhams knew Hayley would keep Trent in the business so he wouldn’t have been cut off from a career he loved. But he couldn’t have blown it and destroyed all his father had built with poor business decisions. Trent had done exactly that after the destruction of the trust.

“I gotta tell Hayley.” Trent dashed toward the booth.

Ryan noticed Laird McMasters watching from his booth nearby. Not many people were buying anything. Ryan hadn’t noticed much activity in Laird’s booth all morning.

Ryan saw Hayley swipe at her forehead with the back of her hand as she listened to Trent, a smile on her face. It was hot under the canvas tent, unusually warm for the beach. She poured a little water from a bottle onto Andy’s head to cool him off.

The oppressive heat meant the concession stands with soda, water and Sno-Kones were doing a great business. A troop of gorgeous girls wearing skimpy silver-lamé bikinis with temporary tattoos on their backs that read
Evian
were parading around the crowded beach, spritzing everyone with the well-known bottled water.

Ryan wished they’d make their way over and blast him. Ryan was wearing a Reaper tee and khaki shorts, but he was still warm. Cooling off left his mind as he saw Hayley racing his way with the retriever at her heels. She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

“How do you predict fashion trends?” he asked. “In case ESPN wants to know.”

“Can you believe they’re coming? I can’t!” She sounded as excited as Trent had a few minutes ago. “This could be huge for Surf’s Up.”

“Huge,” he agreed. Hayley had instantly understood what Trent had not. That was just one facet of her intelligence. She was much more complicated than he’d originally suspected. Ryan needed to protect her at all costs.

He congratulated himself on planting a tiny GPS chip in her tennis shoe last night. No one was going to snatch Hayley away from him. He could find her no matter what.

“The Internet has changed the world. Kids go online and show pictures of what they’re wearing or clothes they like that they’ve spotted somewhere. Teenagers blog nonstop about clothes. Lots of designers listen to them. Now’s the time to expand Surf’s Up’s Web site.”

Hayley’s heart might be with art but she did have a good head for business. “I notice how many kids have on shorter shorts, not the floppy-knee kind. You pointed it out at the exhibition fight.”

“A lot of them are my designs. Some sold at the shop, some at other shops and some online.”

“How can you tell which is which?” he wanted to know.

“It’s the size of the logo on the waistband. The really large ones are from the shop, the medium size comes from other shops that sell our line and the smallest of the logos means they bought it online.”

“Whose idea was that?” he asked, although he had a pretty good idea.

“Mine.” She winked. “This year I’m seeing a lot more online gear. It’s not a scientific study, mind you, but it
tells me to keep in touch with fashion bloggers and keep our Web site updated constantly.”

“How’s Timmy doing?” He watched the kid show a woman a child’s T-shirt.

“Great! He loved meeting the The Wrath and PimpIt. They treat him like one of the gang. He’s eating it up.” Hayley grinned. “I need to get back. I want to see what I can do with the display before ESPN arrives.” She tugged at Andy’s Reaper leash and the retriever trotted off at her side.

He enjoyed watching her flounce back into the booth. What he felt for Hayley was off the charts. He didn’t know how to handle the situation. A bikini-clad bimbo whipped up to him, spraying the air with Evian and interrupting his thoughts. A blast of ice-cold water misted Ryan’s face.

“More?” The pretty girl bobbed up and down in front of him, jiggling breasts that were too large to be original equipment. The sun glinted off the lamé bikini.

His cell phone vibrated. He turned away and pulled it out of his pocket. The screen said Twelve Oaks was calling. Ryan’s heart dropped; this couldn’t be good news or his father’s number would have appeared, not the central number.

“Mr. Hollister?” a female voice asked. “This is Molly Stern, head of nursing at Twelve Oaks.”

Ryan put his hand over his other ear to block out the cheering of the crowd for a surfer who must have locked onto a killer wave. “My father?”

“He’s having some problems. We’ve taken him to UCI Medical Center. It may be a stroke.”

“UCI, not Hoag Hospital?” Ryan asked. He knew Hoag was the best regional hospital in the area. Univer
sity of California at Irvine had a newer facility but it wasn’t as close.

She verified his father had been sent to UCI. Ryan shoved his phone into his pocket. A shudder vibrated up through his stomach and into his chest. He glanced up and saw Hayley handing a smiling customer a leash and collar.

Could be a trick, Ryan suddenly thought. A ploy to separate him from Hayley. He pulled out his phone again and speed dialed the main office at Twelve Oaks.

He half-expected them to say there wasn’t a Molly Stern on staff, but instead they put him through. The same woman’s voice came over the line. “Was my father conscious when he left?” Ryan asked.

“I’m not sure.”

Ryan hung up, his thoughts spinning. He should take Hayley with him, he decided as he headed toward the booth to tell her what happened. But ESPN was expected soon and this could be a big break for her, for Surf’s Up. Trent would be here, of course, but he was likely to muck up things. Trent would keep the attention on the surfers, not the store. Hayley would know better.

Ryan pulled Hayley aside and told her, downplaying the seriousness of the situation. He should have been totally honest, but decided it was better if he went alone. He might have to make a heart-wrenching decision.

The Wrath came over to them. “What’s happening?”

“Ryan needs to check on his father. He’s been taken to the hospital.”

“Could you take care of Hayley?” Ryan asked. The MMA fighter knew the situation and realized the danger to Hayley.

“Sure,” The Wrath replied. He put his arm around
Hayley in a way that would have irritated Ryan normally, but his mind was on his father.

“PimpIt and I will keep Hayley with us. Nothing can happen to her.”

It took Ryan a second to again evaluate the situation. He didn’t see how anything could happen to Hayley if she stayed in the booth surrounded by people with two fighters guarding her. She had the tracking device imbedded in her tennis shoe. If something crazy happened, he could find her.

“Don’t leave the booth,” he told Hayley. “Promise?”

“I swear,” she responded.

H
AYLEY WATCHED
T
IMMY
stand beside The Wrath and take orders for T-shirts. He would tell her the size and she would reach into the appropriate bin and grab a shirt. A clerk from the store handled the money.

Timmy was more lively and happier than Hayley had ever seen him. He loved having something to do and being responsible. Standing next to his hero didn’t hurt, either.

What a great kid,
Hayley thought. In many ways Timmy reminded Hayley of herself. Trent and Farah had been just a few years older, but back then it seemed as if they were grown up and she was a mere baby. Trent could skateboard and surf. She really wasn’t interested in either, but tried hard—to please her father. That’s what Timmy wanted as well.

But pleasing Trent wasn’t as easy because Timmy didn’t have any aptitude—or interest—in board sports. Hayley thought she could help Timmy by explaining to his father that Timmy had his own interests. Trent listened and finally consented to Timmy spending time in the
booth with Hayley and The Wrath, but she could tell Trent didn’t like it and he let Timmy know how he felt.

What would it take to make Trent a more caring father? she wondered. A better marriage, for starters. Courtney was in a fog most of the time. She tried her best to help Timmy but she didn’t work with Trent to be a team.

How well Hayley remembered her own parents’ teamwork. You couldn’t play them off against each other. If her mother said no to something, Hayley learned early on not to go to her father in an attempt to get a favorable response. Russell Fordham would just ask, “What did your mother say?”

Hayley couldn’t decide if Courtney needed an intervention or if someone should talk to Trent about parenting skills. Both, probably. She realized this was a father’s job. Their father had successfully raised three children. Hayley had never been a parent. It wasn’t her place to criticize Trent, but she saw the damage this was doing to Timmy.

Maybe she should talk to Farah. She’d been much nicer yesterday but she hadn’t seen her today. Hayley stopped herself. What was she thinking? These people could be plotting to kill her.
Just keep your mind on figuring out your own mess. Then you can concentrate on helping Timmy.

Still, she couldn’t stop noticing Timmy, seeing how cute he looked when he was happy. She wished she had her sketchbook to capture his expression. She’d secretly done several charcoals of Ryan when she’d been alone in his father’s house.

Her thoughts suddenly shifted. She’d like to have children. Not one child—she’d been lonely growing up—but two or maybe three. She couldn’t help wondering how Ryan felt about children.

Stop! Don’t get ahead of yourself.
She realized how wrong she’d been about Chad.
Give this new relationship plenty of time and space.

She recalled the concerned look on Ryan’s face when he’d said his father had been taken to the hospital. She hoped it was nothing serious.
Don’t let something happen to Conrad now,
she thought. At times like this, Hayley wished her aunt wasn’t so antitechnology. Aunt Meg didn’t have a cell phone. It probably didn’t matter. Aunt Meg wouldn’t have a phone on in a hospital—assuming she was with Conrad. Ryan would contact Hayley as soon as he had news.

“Hayley, look!” Timmy pointed to the wave of people scrambling out of the bleachers and getting off towels, heading toward the area where the booths and concession stands were located.

“It’s the noon break,” Hayley told Timmy. “We’ll be busy now.”

“It’s broiling in here,” The Wrath announced with a mischievous smile. He shucked his Grim Reaper T-shirt to reveal a huge tattoo of the Grim Reaper on a smooth, tanned torso that had obviously been waxed.

“Awesome!” cried Timmy.

“Cool,” agreed Hayley. It was a new tattoo that hadn’t been there at the exhibition fight. It committed The Wrath to the logo she’d created. It pleased her enormously. Soon those tattoos would be seen everywhere, especially after the ESPN film ran.

“It’s hot in here,” PimpIt said as he, too, removed his T-shirt. “Aren’t you sweating?” PimpIt asked Timmy. “You can take off your shirt, too.”

“Naw, I’m okay.”

Hayley couldn’t help smiling. Timmy had to be as
warm as everyone else, but there was no way he’d take off his Grim Reaper T-shirt.

“There’s Aunt Farah,” Timmy cried, pointing into the crowd.

Hayley looked but didn’t see Farah. It was difficult to be sure with all the people and many of them wearing hats or sunglasses. “I don’t see her, honey. It’s probably another woman who looks like her.”

“I guess.” Timmy didn’t sound convinced.

Hayley was uncomfortably warm and itchy. She poured more water on Andy’s head to cool off the dog who had to be suffering in his fur coat. It would be great to take a dip in the ocean, but she’d promised Ryan she wouldn’t leave the booth. And the crush of people coming toward them would be the test for her new line.

She mustered a smile and stood behind Timmy, ready to help answer questions. Nearby, the Evian-spritzing beach bunnies in their silver-lamé bikinis frolicked through the crowded spraying appreciative spectators with ice water. Laird McMasters had left his booth and was flirting with one of the bunnies.

“We could use a misting in here,” The Wrath yelled.

“No kidding.” Hayley looked up at the canvas roof of the booth where a ceiling fan that had been temporarily installed was swirling the air without helping cool off the booth much.

The wave of humanity seemed to crest at the front of their booth. The Wrath was a huge draw. Trent had been concerned that people would cluster around the fighter but not buy anything. That wasn’t the case. They scooped up the autographed posters but also purchased anything with his logo on it.

Hayley wished ESPN could be here to film this. Where
were they? She checked her watch and saw it was after twelve. On a good day traffic crawled along Newport Boulevard onto the peninsula where the contest was being held. They were probably stuck in a slugfest of cars.