Craving Heat Read online

  The office assistant ushered Jay into Will Burns’s office, where he rose from his desk and met Jay at the door. “Tuck, thanks for coming in.”

  As always, they shook hands. “No problem. I’m glad you called.”

  Will wore his typical navy suit and his thinning gray hair gelled back. Will didn’t have that slick East Coast vibe about him, but when it came to business? Knife-edge sharp.

  Burns waved Jay to the sofa. Every meeting Jay had attended in the office, the seating arrangements had been the same. Jay on the sofa and Will in the adjacent chair. The man liked his chair. He sat back, crossing one leg over the other while pretending this would be like all those other meetings.

  Jay knew better. His churning stomach knew better. He should have popped an antacid before coming in.

  He’d do them both a favor and make this quick. Jay sat forward, rested his elbows on his knees and linked his hands together, staring at bare fingers he’d like to see an over-the-top championship ring on.

  He put thoughts of his hopes and dreams from his mind and met Will’s gaze. “You called me here to dump me.”

  If Will’s wince was any indication, Jay’s word choice might have been a bust. Semantics aside, they needed to own it.

  “I’m assuming,” Will said, “you understand the conflict. I mean, Jesus, what were you thinking?”

  What was he thinking? Jay cocked his head. Well aware of his own infractions, he didn’t need to be scolded by Will Burns and it set him on edge. It was bad enough he had to keep quiet as the sports world denigrated him; now this?

  “After five years of working with me, do you think I was even marginally coherent when I punched a teammate in front of half a dozen reporters?”

  “Tuck, I have to let you go. You’ve been—” He broke off. Shook his head. “Everyone loves you. Women, men. On some level, you connect with everyone who comes through our doors.”

  Thanks to a mother who used him to vent her frustrations.

  “If it were just me,” Will said, “I’d spin it somehow. It’s the board.”

  Jay held up a hand. They didn’t need to drag this out. He could do his thing by smiling at the right time and offering a string of reasons for Celebrate Hope to stand behind him. He’d do a damned fine job, too. All while the acid in his gut tore through his flesh because another organization, people he’d worked hard for, couldn’t find a way to stand by him. All of it, the firing, the dumping blame on the board, seemed way too familiar.

  “Obviously,” Will said, “we’ll make a brief statement, but we don’t intend on making this a focal point. Or damaging your reputation.”

  Might be too late for that, chief. Rather than prolong the inevitable, Jay stood and waited for Will to do the same. “Thank you for everything. I’m assuming this won’t impact Sam at all?”

  Sam. His baby sister. She sat right down the hall in an office no bigger than his closet. Upon hearing of an opening in the finance department three years earlier, Jay greased the wheels for her. Up to this point, she’d done well and he’d hoped they’d be smart and keep her on.

  Will gave him a puzzled look. “She’s an exemplary employee.”

  “Good.”

  Intent on being a gentleman to the end, he shook Will’s hand, then walked to the door, pointing to the far end of the hallway. “You mind if I stop and see her?”

  “Not at all.”

  Shoulders locked tight from the collapse of yet another of his professional relationships, he strode the length of the hall to Sam’s office. He’d have preferred to walk out and put the damned mess behind him, but his sister was the most important person in his life and he wouldn’t ignore her. He knocked on the half-open door and stuck his head in. Three rows of four-high boxes lined the wall of the already tight space.

  Sam—Samantha—sat behind her desk, her funky black-framed glasses in place as she studied her computer screen. She’d whacked a few inches of her dirty blond hair off a few weeks ago and it now fell to her chin in the front and got progressively shorter at the back. A modified bob she’d called it. It looked good on her. Emphasized her cheekbones.

  She glanced up and the stern look of concentration morphed to a wide, relieved smile that reminded him of their teenage years when he’d smuggle her out of the house to shield her from Drunk Marlene’s terror.

  He pointed at the boxes. “You going somewhere?”

  “Only if you are.”

  She’d do it too. Quit a job she loved because he’d been fired. His baby sister came around her desk and extended her arms for their customary hug. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I’m worried about you.”

  “You mean since the last time you asked me on the phone thirty minutes ago?”

  “Don’t be a jerk. And yes, since the last time I asked.”

  “I’m good. They fired me. I expected it.”

  “So much for standing by their man.”

  “It’s business. Some things we might be able to spin. This one? It’s a big ask.”

  “I know you loved this work, though.”

  Given their history? Yeah, he did.

  “It’ll blow over and I’ll find something else. Something similar. Will assured me you wouldn’t be affected.” He backed away, held her at arm’s length. “And don’t think you’re going to do some crazy-assed form of protest and quit. This has nothing to do with you. Stay focused. Now what’s with the boxes?”

  “Jack Hill quit last night.”

  Holy shit. Major doings around here. First the CFO leaves and now Jay gets dumped. “Seems Will has been busy. What happened with Jack?”

  Sam shook her head. “I have no idea. I guess he quit and it got heated, so the big shots decided it would be better if he just left.”

  “Did he call you?”

  “Not a peep.”

  “Is that odd?”

  She shrugged. “He always kept his distance, but the whole thing still seems odd. None of it makes sense. Even if he wasn’t the type to socialize or make small talk, normally, you get a sense when someone is unhappy at work. Which makes me think they gave him an option to quit or be terminated. Either way,” she waved a hand, “they asked me to box up his office and no one is to take any calls from him. Or call him. I’m waiting for Will to get all that stuff out of here.”

  Behind them, her desk phone rang. She ignored it, but the acid in his stomach reminded him of his frayed nerves. “I’m gonna let you get back to it. But, hey, I’m only three hours away now. Maybe I’ll see you this weekend?”

  “I’d love that. We could meet somewhere. Maybe in Asheville.”

  He nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Be careful.” He pointed at the boxes. “Don’t break a leg tripping on all that crap.”

  * * *

  “For the love of God.”

  Maggie hit the brakes on her cruiser and stared out at the mounting traffic jam on Main Street. Pedestrians stood on the sidewalks, apparently dumbstruck by the snarl of bumper-to-bumper cars. Jam? Forget that. This was a dead stop. One further mired by the inability of her residents to give in and back up so traffic could clear.

  Last time this happened, it was caused by two of the elders taking to the street in protest of new streetlamps. Taxes were high enough, they’d said.

  This wasn’t streetlamps, though. The news van three vehicles ahead told her that much. Dammit.

  Vacation: T-minus three days, five hours, and twenty-five minutes.

  She jumped on her radio. “Dispatch, do we have a problem on Main?”

  “Aside from all the reporters?” Joelle’s snarky voice shot back. “No, ma’am. Appears the world has discovered Jayson Tucker is here. Locals have lost their minds over at the B.”

  “Terrific,” Maggie muttered.

  The car in front of her inched forward enough for her to hook a U-turn. She’d take the side streets to her office and walk back to clear the mess on Main.

  Unbelievable.

  She pulled into her reserved space in front of the s
heriff’s office, tucked her car keys in her pocket, and hoofed it to the middle of Main Street, where bulky news vans monopolized every available space.

  “Maggie!” Mr. Trambly said from in front of the B. “Shit’s gonna get wild if you don’t clear this out.”

  No kidding there. “I’m on it.”

  She approached the closest news van double-parked behind other vehicles. A young guy with short, reddish hair sat behind the wheel, one arm propped in the open window frame.

  Maggie kept her hands at her sides. No folded arms or pissy look. This would take finesse. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” the guy said.

  “I’m Sheriff Kingston.”

  The guy had the balls to check her out from head to toe, then smiled like she’d want to do him in the back of the van. Men.

  Still, she matched his smile. “I’ll need you to get this van off the street. You’re blocking traffic and with the fire department just around the corner, it’s a safety hazard.”

  “Um,” the kid said. “We’re trying to get an interview with Tuck’s agent.”

  “That’s fine. But you need to get this vehicle off my street. Pronto. Before I start writing tickets.”

  Assuming the kid got her message, she moved to the next news van. On her way, she glanced over at the Murchison building and found Grif standing in the window. Just staring out at the street like he had nothing better to do. Well, that was about to change. His client had caused this chaos. He’d help her fix it.

  She whipped out her cell and punched him up.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “What are you doing about this?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. The kid from CBS wants an interview with you. Get out here and give it to him. Or let him in. I don’t care. I need these reporters off the street.”

  “They don’t want me, they want Tuck. They’re trying to get to him through me.”

  “So your plan is to ignore them while they turn our town into a circus? Pardon me for judging, but that plan sucks.”

  Her comment was met with silence. Pissed-off Grif or thinking Grif? At this point, she didn’t give a rat’s patootie as long as he got those damned reporters off the street.

  “Hey, dumb-ass!”

  Maggie whipped around to see Mr. Jacoby screaming at one of the news vans from the front seat of his pickup.

  “I’m fixing to get to the hardware store. Move it before I come up there and move it for you!”

  “Crap,” Maggie muttered into the phone.

  “What?”

  “I gotta go. Mr. Jacoby just threatened one of the newspeople. Grif, you need to do something about these reporters.”

  “Like what? Take them up to the Hill? Lead them straight to him? So much for hiding.”

  Maggie gritted her teeth. She loved her Steele cousins, but they were a stubborn bunch. “Of course not. Do a press conference or something. Obviously, they know he’s here. Somewhere. And they’re probably not going away until they get a sound bite or two. You don’t have to tell them where Jayson is, but give them something and send them on their way.”

  Mr. Jacoby exited his vehicle. Oh, no you don’t. A former boxer, the sixty-five year-old Mr. Jacoby had no issues getting into a street brawl. Heaven knew he’d spent a night or two in Maggie’s temporary holding cell for mixing it up with tourists.

  “Mr. Jacoby”—she pointed at his truck— “get back in your vehicle. Right now.”

  “Sheriff! What are you standing around for while these assholes muck up traffic?”

  From the other end of the phone line, Grif sighed. “I heard that. All right. I’ll call the fire chief and let him know we’ll need their community room for a press conference. Give me thirty minutes to give the chief a heads-up and to figure out what the fuck that press conference will be about. I hate press conferences. I’m the behind-the-scenes guy.”

  “Not anymore, cuz. Mr. Jacoby! I’m taking care of it as we speak. Now get back in your vehicle before I arrest you.”

  Clearly getting the message, he threw his hands up and stomped back to his truck.

  Good. Last thing she needed was him causing a ruckus with a bunch of reporters and cameramen milling about.

  Welcome to Jayson Tucker being in town. If this continued, she’d be blowing up her budget with temporary officers to keep the peace.

  And more than likely not going on vacation. In three days, five hours, and twelve minutes.

  * * *

  Ten miles outside of town, Mozart was overpowered by the ring of Jay’s phone via the car speaker. The god of phone-silence had just sent him a solid thirty minutes of peace while the sun’s rays and quiet mountain roads settled his mind. For the first time in days, his thoughts weren’t taking him five steps ahead, obsessing over the future. Or ruminating over the past.

  This might be what all the Zen folks of the world preached about.

  Huh. Who knew?

  The phone rang again. Grif.

  As much as he’d like everyone to leave him alone for a damned minute, ignoring the man trying to find him a job wouldn’t cut it. He tapped the steering wheel. “Hey.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On my way back. Another ten miles. You need me?”

  “No, but bypass Main Street on your way back to Tupelo Hill.”

  This didn’t sound good. “All right. Want to tell me why?”

  “Press everywhere.”

  So much for living in the moment. He’d known it would eventually happen. A scandal like his was raw meat to hungry media lions. “I’ll call Pam, see what she suggests.”

  Pam, the wonder PR girl, had been dealing with drafting and releasing a few press statements since this mess began. She’d advised him to keep his mouth shut and not feed the beast, which he’d gladly done.

  “I’m on it already,” Grif said. “Maggie is about to take my head off. Main Street looks like a goddamned parking lot. I’m doing a press conference at the fire station. They have the space.”

  Hold tight here. “You’re—” Jayson shook his head. What the hell was happening? “What’s the press conference about?”

  “I have no fucking idea.”

  At that Jayson laughed. He knew the feeling. But his agent talking to the press wouldn’t take care of the problem. “Settle down, Ace. They want me. And if they came for me, they’re not leaving without a statement.”

  “The point of you being here is to keep you out of the public eye.”

  “Well, yeah, but I think you’d agree that horse has left the barn. Clearly, someone in town tipped them off because they know I’m here. Let’s deal with them and maybe they’ll go.”

  Which could only score him points with the hot sheriff.

  “When is this press conference?” Jay asked.

  “Twenty minutes.”

  Twenty… Holy shit. His agent didn’t fool around. In the last fifteen years, Jay had answered thousands of press inquiries. Most of those answers unprepared and straight from the hip. Now? No way. Given the precarious public situation, and possible career-ending implications, this wouldn’t be a good time to wing a press briefing. Someone needed to draft a statement for him.

  And fast.

  “I have to find Pam. I’ll meet you at the fire station.”

  4

  Pam—PR whiz, spin doctor extraordinaire—was in a meeting. Wasn’t that always the way?

  Jay swung his Range Rover into the fire station parking lot, where a line of news vans with clunky satellite equipment rising from their roofs cluttered the area. Shit, that was a lot of press.

  A few seconds of panic gripped him before he spotted Maggie talking to a guy near the station’s side door. His hair was dirty blond and he wore navy pants and a blue T-shirt. Firefighter, no doubt. A couple inches taller than Maggie, he stood with his shoulders pushed back, his confidence sparking like a downed wire. Nothing about their body language said intimate, but there was something there. A knowing that pinged Jay’s chest.

/>   He might have to ask Grif—or Reid—about this guy.

  As the guy talked, he pointed to a hand-written sign on the door proclaiming Press Entrance.

  Talk about grass roots. Totally free-balling this one. Jay cruised by Maggie and threw out a wave on his way to the only open parking on the grass.

  Packed house. And him unable to contact his PR person, not that there was enough time for her to do much at this point, anyway.

  Jesus. This week kept topping itself.

  He flipped his visor down, checked his look. At least he had the suit on.

  In his rearview, Maggie approached. Not ready to be seen by anyone hanging by the door hoping for the jump on him, he rolled the window down.

  Her rubber-soled boots crunched over gravel, the sound getting louder, reminding him he wasn’t in the Knights’ pressroom with their PR folks standing by.

  Maggie appeared in his window and the scent of her soap, something light and musky, made him think of sex and skin and touching her, despite her buttoned-up demeanor. She leaned in, bending over a bit to see inside the car, her pretty eyes focused.

  Shaking off the X-rated thoughts, he faced her. “Maggie, I’m sorry.”

  “As if it’s your fault? I should have anticipated it. But . . .” She scanned the parking lot. “Wow. You draw a crowd.”

  He snorted. “Everyone inside?”

  “Yeah. We’ve checked everyone’s credentials. I was hoping to have Blaine, one of my deputies, posted outside the door during the press conference, but we just got a call and I sent him to check it out. I’ll stand inside and if anyone new comes in, I’ll screen them. I also just heard from one of my other deputies. Main Street is finally clear. Are you ready? I’ll walk you in.” She smiled. “Play the muscle.”