Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Athena

I frown as I stare at my phone screen, wondering if I'm overreacting but not confident enough in my navigation dating norms to know for certain.

The text from Cam is normal…

And yet, it's somehow completely off at the same time.

Sighing, I rub my forehead, snag my stuff from my desk and decide…fuck it.

If he's fine, I'll apologize.

If he's not, I'll have acted instead of spinning in circles, staring at my computer screen, worrying and unable to focus on the new leads that have come through. Leads that I haven't been able to make sense.

The pieces are here, I know it.

But I can't put them together.

Ugh .

It'll come. I know that, know I can't rush this. But sometimes I wish my job leaned more toward the TV version of being an FBI agent—clicking away on my keyboard for a couple of minutes, shaking down some baddies on the street to find the other bad guys, or better yet, the bad guys revealing themselves, tying up the case in a neat little bow, thus allowing us to move onto the next case, all in less than an hour.

Unfortunately, real life isn't that easy.

But I'll figure it out. I'll crack this.

For Tommy.

For me.

It may take more time than I want, but I always get there.

Tonight, though, Cam's more important.

As I'm coming out of my office, bag slung over my shoulders, I see Sandra coming toward me.

My boss's expression is determined, but the moment she sees me packed up, her expression clears. "You're leaving before six?"

A blip of guilt slides through me. "I can stay if you need me to," I say quickly.

Her mouth hitches up. "Ats, seriously?"

"What?" I ask.

"I've been in here, kicking your ass out, telling you to go home practically every day since you joined the team and today's the day you think I'm going to ask you to stay?"

"Well"—I shift my backpack—"the criminals don't care if I've worked eight hours."

"Ten," she corrects.

"What?"

"Connie says you've been here ten hours. Which"—a shrug—"I'll give you, it's less than your typical twelve, but get the hell out of here, kid. Go enjoy the fact that it's still light out. This job doesn't always stay at the office, and it gets in the way of sleep and meals and birthdays and—" She smiles. "It likes to pick the moment you most don't want to activate to force you to work. So, get out of here, and if you need me to make that an order so you don't feel guilty, I'm ordering you to get a life."

"I'll have you know that my life has been very lifey of late."

"Oh?"

"I adopted a cat?—"

She smirks. "So it can eat your face when you die and knock over water glasses just to be an asshole?"

My lips quirk, thinking I have a much-preferred method to waste water…and that my kitchen rug will likely never recover. "Well, that, and using the litter box the moment I clean it. Oh, and getting hair on all my"—I swipe at my pants—"clothes."

"Impressive."

"Well," I say lightly. "If you want impressive, you should see my boyfriend."

The words are a throwaway…kind of.

But the way they make me feel?—

Damn, I'm in deep. Really fucking deep.

And…

I can't bring myself to care.

Sandra's eyes dance. "A cat and a boyfriend, consider me suitably chastised about you not having a life."

"Rude."

She grins. "Off with you, kid. Enjoy that life because you know the call to close all this shit down will come sooner rather than later."

There's a large black SUV parked in front of my house when I pull into the driveway and I've barely popped my door before Jean-Michel is getting out of the back seat.

A billionaire hanging at my curb, yeah make that make sense.

"JM," I say, moving toward him and extending a hand.

He shakes it as he asks archly, "JM?"

I shrug. "Your name's a mouthful," I say, just to see what he'll do. "JM's easier."

I swear his eye twitches.

"Chrissy says you've adopted Rex?" he asks instead of acknowledging that.

"Chrissy is short for Christina, just FYI." A beat. "And yes, I adopted Rex, but he goes by Cookie now."

"Hmm." He nods his head toward the house. "So, am I going to get to see Cookie?"

Clearly, he's not here for the cat, and clearly he doesn't want to have this conversation on my front lawn.

"Sure," I say, turning for the front door. "But RIP to those clean black slacks."

He glances down then lifts a brow.

"Cook likes to cuddle," I explain as I unlock the handle and step inside, not missing that one of Jean-Michel's security guards has followed us. "Want to do a sweep?" I ask him.

"Andre can wait there," JM answers, nodding at the other man. "I trust that you're not going to kidnap me and blackmail my estate considering you gave me the warning in the first place."

"And now you've figured out my evil plan to take over the world, muahaha."

He shoots me a droll look but follows me into the kitchen.

"Meow!"

I smile down at Cookie, who's eschewed all notion of being cooped up in the bathroom. "Hey, bud," I say, scooping him up like a baby and scratching his belly—his favorite. He arches and starts purring then seems to finally deign to notice Jean-Michel.

"Meow?"

He jumps out of my arms and darts across the counter, sniffing at the hand that Jean-Michel holds out.

Then butting his head against it and allowing Jean-Michel to scratch him.

No surprise that animals like him, considering all he's done with Chrissy's charity, but having it on display right in front of me confirms what the data has shown.

Jean-Michel is a good guy.

"So, why are you really here?" I ask.

He stills with his fingers sunk into Cookie's fur. "I've emailed you a link to some files."

"When?"

"Five minutes ago."

Lifting my eyebrows, I slip my phone from my pocket and open the mail app, seeing that, indeed, there's an email from Jean-Michel. "What is it?"

"You'll see," he says quietly, running his fingers through Cookie's fur. "Give me something, Ats. Something that I can use to get rid of the asshole. If not for me, then for Cam."

I was already pulling my laptop from my backpack and logging in, but his words have me moving a little faster, clicking the link and?—

My gaze shoots up. "You're giving me access to this?"

All of the player and staff records from the team, along with emails and flight records and…personal messages.

What the actual fuck?

"I've been trying to figure it out," he says by way of explanation. "Something's off, but there's nothing I can use to break the contract. If we have to fire him and pay out, we have to pay out. But…there's something here I can't put my finger on. Something that tells me there's more going on and firing my head coach won't solve it."

"This have something to do with your ex?"

Scuttlebutt says that his ex-wife recently reappeared in his and Chrissy's lives and is determined to create chaos?—

By saying their divorce isn't valid and wanting to come after half of his assets.

All of his assets.

A shrug. "I'm not sure. But if it's fucking up my life, that's more than likely."

I wince. "You know I can't help you with a civil case."

He waves a hand. "I know," he says. "I can handle my ex and the shit storm she's made my life." His expression goes serious. "I'm more concerned because all of Peter's focus seems to be on Cam. I admit I wasn't as engaged as I should have been at the end of the season and thought we just ran out of steam. But Rome has said a few things and then you mentioned?—"

I nod.

"And so…I've been paying attention. We're not even truly back and Cam's already busting his ass in the weight room and today?—"

"What happened today?" I ask, head spinning.

I knew that text was off.

Thank God I'm home already.

"I heard him screaming at Cam, fucking screaming ." He shakes his head. "I get that it's sports, that we all want to win—hell, I've made it my fucking mission . But"—he sighs—"that's not how I do things in my businesses, and I've made it clear that's not how I want the Eagles handled either. Cam, especially, doesn't respond to someone being on his ass like that. He pushes himself hard enough as it is and someone accusing him of not pulling his weight and it…well…"

"It gets in his head," I finish.

"Yes," he agrees quietly.

Okay. That fucking coach is dead.

Or at least bankrupt, his entire life in shambles.

Or…fired.

Or all three because why the fuck not?

That has me tamping down my rage and focusing. That asshole of a coach is hurting my Cam.

No more.

Lifting my chin, I lock eyes with Jean-Michel.

"I've got this."

His mouth tips up at the edges.

"Oh, I have no doubt of that."