Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [27]
“Your boyfriend was that guy visiting your brother the other day?”
“Scooter. We’ve been together just over a year.”
At the two-hour mark Zak noticed she’d begun limping badly. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t want you to overdo it, and I’ve got things to do, so why don’t we just say you won?”
“Finish this game?”
“Okay.”
Afterward they packed up their rackets while two men who’d been waiting impatiently for an open court began warming up. Zak walked her to her car, a white Lexus SUV identical to the one she’d rolled in February, parked in the main lot near the paved trail that circled Green Lake, the most popular walking trail in the city. As they approached her car, she said, “No wonder you’re always getting hurt.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not exactly a natural athlete, are you?” Zak smiled not at how many times she’d made him look like a fool on the court, but at how wrong she was in her estimate of his athleticism. He decided not to tell her he was planning a sixty-mile ride later in the day, that the road rashes she’d seen were the result of daredevil stunts, not the boneheaded mistakes of a novice she assumed they were.
“Oh, my Lord,” she said.
“What?”
“Somebody’s been in my car.” There was no sign of forcible entry, but somebody had rifled through the CDs, emptied her glove box, and taken a spare racket out of the case. “The racket alone is worth six hundred dollars. At least it’s still here. Everything’s still here. It’s just messed up. I wonder why they didn’t take anything.”
“Maybe they were looking for cash. You sure you locked it?”
“Yes. I wasn’t even parked that far away. Half the time I could see the roof from the tennis court. How could this happen with all these people around?”
“I don’t know, but you’re shaking.”
“I’m cold. I’ve got some warm-ups in the back…if they’re still there.” She opened the back door and sat on the seat with her feet in the parking lot, slipping into a pair of sweatpants. “Do you think I should call the police?”
“Of course.”
“I wonder how they got in without breaking anything?”
“Does anybody else have a key?”
She was quiet for a few moments. “Maybe I’ll call the police when I get to school. Gee. I’m scared to get in now. Isn’t that funny?”
“Why don’t we walk across the street and get some coffee at Starbucks? Give you a chance to let this wear off. We can sit in the sun and dry off, and I’ll walk you back.”
“I thought you had somewhere you had to be.”
“I have time.”
“Sure. That would be nice.”
They locked her car and walked across the field past the children’s playground, Nadine choosing to carry her expensive rackets rather than leaving them in the Lexus. She ordered a mocha while he had a soy latte. They paid individually and sat at a table on the sidewalk at the busy intersection, watching cars and pedestrians, joggers, bicyclists, and women pushing prams.
“Is your boyfriend the jealous type?”
“I guess you could say that.” She sipped her mocha and gazed across the street at two women jogging side by side. “I don’t want to talk out of school, so I really shouldn’t say anything more about him.”
“What? You think I’m going to tell him what you said?”
She crossed her legs and looked him in the eye. “Scooter doesn’t like you. Not from that first time at the fire station. I think it was because you saved me. It makes him feel insecure. He’s a complicated personality. Don’t judge him too harshly. He’s got a lot of good qualities that most people don’t see.”
11
August
Everyone in the camp was embroiled in a conversation except Zak, who slumped in the camp chair and stared into the fire. Building a fire was careless and dim-witted—but worse, each of the cyclists, including him, had chosen the cowardly path by not insisting they put it out. Certainly if he hadn’t been playing Hugh, Muldaur would have reverted to his fire officer role and taken charge.
Stephens was talking to the Jeep guys about the economy and various hot market tips he’d either heard about or invested in recently. Even though Scooter probably had control of more money than