Page 31

Chapter Thirty

LILY

I fold my dress, put it into the suitcase, then close the lid. All packed. I look down at the ring on my finger and toy with the idea of slipping it off now. It would be easier to leave it in the hotel suite.

With one finger I caress the big fat diamond, moving it so it sparkles.

It’s light refraction, I tell myself sternly, but I hold it up again. I don’t want to take it off. It’s final. This job is at an end or rather it will be in a few hours’ time.

I might as well leave the ring on until the game is over. I don’t want any eagle-eyed journalists spotting its absence and the news overshadowing Tate’s big day. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

The last three days have been pure hell. Tate has been subdued and withdrawn. I know I hurt him, and he has no idea how that open declaration of love affected me. It was everything I wanted to hear, but I have to protect him. The closer it gets to the Superbowl, the more my gut twitches. Pesky instinct is working overtime, seeing shadows everywhere. There’s been no further attempt on Tate’s life, but there’s also no sign of Pammie or Sven. I’m constantly checking over my shoulder for them, and despite Pennington, back at HQ in London, running face recognition software for the last forty-eight hours, there’s been no ping on Sven’s identity.

In the lounge of the suite, I find Tate dressed in his smart suit.

He focuses on the case in my hand.

‘Going somewhere?’ he asks. There’s a stillness about him that I remember from before when he had an important game. He was very good at staying calm and collected, on and off the field.

‘Home, after the game. You’re not going to need me anymore. My contract finishes with the final whistle. Winston’s idea of a joke, I think.’ My words come out in a hurried rush, hiding my worry.

I’ve been overruled. Even though I’m convinced that Pammie and Sven are out there plotting something, Tierney is adamant that the threat was always about stopping Tate from playing. He’s stepped-up security in the final build-up to the match, and everywhere Tate has been he’s been accompanied by me and at least three of Tierney’s team.

‘And then what?’ he asks. ‘Another assignment?’

‘Probably,’ I say, although I’ve lost my appetite for it. The thought of staying in one place and spending time with one person has a certain appeal. I must be growing old.

‘I know you’re mad at me for running out on you– but I think you’re running, too. You’ve never stayed anywhere or settled. What are you running from, Lily?’

‘What’s this, amateur-psychology hour?’ I drawl, and I’m grateful for the beep of his phone signalling a text.

He checks the text and his mouth tightens into a straight line. ‘The bus is here.’

I escort him downstairs in the lift. The foyer is crowded with people: other players, team officials and various other hangers on. I scan the faces urgently, on the lookout for anyone who seems out of place or sets off my internal radar. I stand in front of Tate.

‘Put your arm around me,’ I tell him. ‘And stay close.’

This is one of the last opportunities a killer could get close. My system is flooded with adrenaline, my eyes darting in every direction ready to identify any potential threat. I’m achingly conscious of the heat of Tate’s body next to mine and the weight of his arm around my shoulder. I’d do anything to soften my body into his, but I can’t relax for a second. Members of Tierney’s team at our front, back and sides as they push their way through the crowds. I’m tense and I walk with Tate to the front of the bus.

‘Try and stay out of trouble,’ I tell him, as he waits to board the bus with the rest of the team.

‘I think I’ll be okay,’ he says, shooting a sidelong look at the three police patrol cars flanking the front and back of the bus.

‘Let’s hope so,’ I say, giving him a big smile for the benefit of the cameras who are trained on us.

‘Worried about me?’ he asks, leaning in, as we’re having an intense conversation.

‘No,’ I say.

‘Going to miss me?’

‘Like a hole in the head. Although I’ll still be around, I’m working through until the end of the game. I’ll be with Winston. I’ll probably see you in the locker room before the game.’

‘Security is tight on game day. No one is getting through.’

‘I’d like to make sure for myself. It’s kept me and my principals alive this long. And it’s standard protocol.’

‘And you always do everything by the book?’ Tate’s eyebrows lift in question.

I ignore him and turn to Blake, who’s come to stand beside us, grinning. ‘I love it when you give him shit. Must be love. People never give him shit.’

‘Plenty of people give me shit,’ protests Tate.

‘No one that counts,’ says Blake, with a laugh, and he claps Tate on the shoulder. ‘Come on, man, let’s get going. See you later, Lily.’ He climbs aboard the bus.

‘Well, this is it,’ Tate says, his jaw tight.

I nod, not quite trusting myself to speak. This is harder than I thought it would be. But then goodbyes always are if you get too involved. I’ve done the very thing that I was always told I shouldn’t do. Care.

He lifts a hand and caresses my face. ‘Take care of yourself, Lily.’

I cover his fingers with mine.

‘And good luck with the game.’ I pause and give him a brilliant smile, which is probably extra glittery because of the tears shining in my eyes. ‘You’d better win.’

‘I’ll do my best, but I know you’ll forgive me if I don’t.’ He gives me a sad smile. I think of his dad, continually pushing him.

‘Always. Play the best you can and enjoy every minute. It’s only a game.’ I give him a last, brave wink and step back as he turns and climbs onboard.

When the doors finally close with a hydraulic hiss, I heave a sigh of relief that I’ve managed to hold it together.

* * *

I’m met at the stadium entrance assigned for the Armadillo team officials by a young woman. She’s wearing a headset, has a walkie talkie in one hand, a mobile phone in the other and the biggest radio-mic pack on her hip that I’ve ever seen, along with an accreditation label around her neck, the size of a paperback book.

‘Hi, I’m Vicki. I’ll take you over to Winston and the family enclosure. ‘She hands me a pass bearing my own photo. ‘Keep this on at all times. And can I have your signature to say you’ve received it.’ I sign, date and time her clipboard and hand it back to her. ‘Follow me,’ she says.

The place is heaving as we head out onto the field. Crash barriers divide the space, with huddles of people talking and gesticulating at various points. Huge billboards and banners have been installed in every free space possible and there’s an entire media village built over one end of the stadium. Huge, thick electrical cables traverse the floor and hundreds of people with headsets and clipboards are scurrying about. There’s so much activity I have to dodge in and out of the people yelling out curt commands or corralling others into position, including the fresh-faced boys of the college football team who are standing in for the real heroes, as they head out onto the pitch to mark positions for the camera crews in readiness for the game.

Ed Sheeran is doing his sound check. It’s all a bit mind-blowing, and you could be forgiven for thinking it’s chaos, but everyone seems to know what they’re doing and they all have a job and a task. The atmosphere is electric with industry and intent. It’s a huge operation.

Above me, a fifteen-foot hoarding featuring the Armadillo’s symbol– a tough-looking scaly creature outlined in bright blue– is being hammered into place from the platform of one of six cherry pickers around the venue. The huge TV screens around the stadium are showing a run-through of the players and, suddenly, there’s Tate looking straight into the camera, his hair’s tousled and his eyes feel like they can see right into me.

I stop dead, my heart clenching in fear and pain. This place is huge. Once he’s out on the field, anyone in the stands from any angle could take aim at Tate. What if he is Sven’s target? I feel sick with fear, fuelled by the vivid image of Tate being felled on the field with a single shot. Blood bleeding into his white football shirt. It paralyses me and my legs almost buckle under me. I’m scared for him. Truly scared. The lesson my dad drummed into me, comes home to roost.

‘Miss Heath?’ The woman I was following has turned around. I’m several feet behind her. ‘Are you all right?’

I can’t answer her. I look at the tunnel where the players will emerge in a short while. Where is Tate right now? Down in the bowels of the stadium with his teammates? How is he feeling? Regret pinches hard and I really wish I’d told him the truth when he’d asked, ‘Going to miss me?’

I am going to miss him for the rest of my life and my heart sinks, a lumpen lead of misery.

The woman is tapping her foot slightly. I rally, because she must have a million and one things to do today.

‘Let’s go,’ I say, sounding way more in control than I am. Inside, adrenaline has turbo-charged my system. My pulse is speeding, my breaths are shallow and I’m as jittery as a pre-schooler high on sugar.

She takes me right up to Winston and Tierney, and stands beside them as if she’s awaiting further instruction.

‘Lily, good to see you,’ says Winston, with a friendly beam, which belies the strain around his eyes. Tierney, wearing sunglasses, flashes me a cool, resigned smile. He’s not happy about me still being here, but he’s got over his initial offence at my request to do a recce of the stadium myself.

‘Hello, gentleman,’ I say, realising that despite Tierney’s subdued greeting, it’s obvious he’s as gassed as Winston is. There’s an air of excited disbelief about them. Don’t they see the potential danger, all around us? I try to pull myself together. It’s not like me to catastrophise like this. Normally, I assess and respond to risk based on the available facts. Not go off on some mad flight of fantasy and all the possible ‘what ifs’.

‘This is quite some undertaking, isn’t it?’ I say.

They both nod solemnly and then I add with a smile, because I’m trying really hard to act normally and they’re obviously so buzzed, ‘You guys must be thrilled to be here.’

I think of Tate’s calmness earlier. I know him well enough to know that it’s deliberate camouflage. He’s always loved the thrill of the game. He loves football. I just wish it could love him back, the way he should be loved.

Dread and pain swirls in my stomach. I wish I could see Tate. I have so much to tell him, and now… What if it could be too late? Why was I so bloody stubborn? Caring has made me vulnerable, brought down my defences, but the opposite side of the coin is that it makes me happy. Life with Tate was filled with joy before we broke up, and spending that brief precious time at the cabin was a glimpse of what life could be again.

I’ve messed up. I wonder if there’s any chance of getting down to the locker room before the game, or am I being selfish? He needs to focus.

I realise Winston is grinning at me and lifts his sunglasses so that I can see the billion-dollar smile crinkling his eyes. ‘To be honest, Lily. I’m so gassed I might pee my pants, but I’m trying to be cool. Do I look cool?’

‘Boss,’ drawls Tierney, also raising his shades, definite warmth in his eyes for once. ‘Anyone who asks do I look cool, is not cool. Besides, you got your jacket on inside out.’

Vicki and I exchange a female-to-female pitying smile, although I get the impression she’s pretty excited to be here, too.

Winston glances down and then play-punches Tierney, before taking off his jacket and turning it the right way round.

‘It’s awesome. Just being here.’

‘Are you nervous?’ I ask.

‘Not now. I’m so damned happy to be here. This moment in time, I don’t care who wins– I’m soaking up the atmosphere. Isn’t it something? But come this afternoon, I’ll be as jumpy as a box of frogs, and I’ll want to win so bad I’d steal my grandma’s teeth.’

I can’t stop thinking about Tate. He must be revved. The pressure over the last couple of months has been enormous, not to mention the anticipation and staying the course to get here. He’s had a season of seventeen gruelling games with only one week off in week ten. And I know he’s given it his all.

‘So.’ Winston gestures to one of the seats. ‘This is the friends-and-family section for the Armadillos during the game. I’ve allocated you a seat here. I can’t have you on the sidelines.’

‘That’s fine.’ It doesn’t really matter where I am– I won’t be enough to stop Tate getting hurt. There are going to be 73,000 people in the stands, plus all the people that work here and the support teams. Tension rides every last one of my muscles.

‘There’ll be security teams sweeping the back areas and corridors the whole time,’ says Tierney, as if he’s read my mind– or maybe he can tell I’m uncharacteristically still. ‘We’ve actually increased the security numbers.’

‘Good to know.’ Even though it’s a needle-in-a-haystack scenario and I don’t even know if there’s a needle in there, I intend to take good look around, which is why I insisted on an access-all-areas pass.

‘You still think there’s a threat?’ asks John and I realise that the question is rhetorical. He’s no fool.

‘Yeah,’ I say, letting my anxiety show.

‘You’re worried,’ says Winston, sitting down, and I sit next to him. ‘But we’re nearly home and dry.’

Tierney, still standing, exchanges a glance with me and I realise that he’s not taking anything for granted. Like me, he’s still cautious.

‘That last attempt is bothering me.’ I glance at Tierney who nods. ‘And so is Pammie’s disappearance.’

‘We’ve got as much in place as humanly possible,’ he says. ‘The stadium is covered. No one is getting in here that shouldn’t. All the contractors, TV crews– every last person has accreditation. It’s ticketholders only and they’ll all go through security to get in.’

I give him a bland smile and he misses the sympathy in it. He’s ex-police. He expects the system and processes to work. I’m less confident. I’ve worked on too many assignments where people don’t give a stuff about such things and are driven to achieve their goals by any means, including utter madness.

‘Oh, you don’t have to worry about Pammie,’ volunteers Vicki, joining in the conversation. ‘She’s here. I saw her a little while ago with her –’ she darts an anxious look at Winston ‘– boyfriend, when they picked up their accreditation. They had Teddy with them,’ she says brightly, as if trying to soften the news. We all turn and stare at her. ‘That’s one cute little dog,’ she adds nervously.