A Kick in the Pants (a Riley O'Brien & Co. novella) Read online

  “What was his figure?”

  “Figure?”

  “The amount he owed,” Jake clarified.

  “Two hundred thousand.”

  Jake winced. He didn’t know how much a state police detective brought in annually, but it couldn’t be more than sixty or seventy thousand. Paying off a debt more than three times that amount would be impossible.

  “Did that include the vig?”

  Her forehead furrowed. “What?”

  Jake abruptly realized that he was giving himself away by asking such specific questions. A regular Joe wouldn’t know sports betting terminology, even a well-used word like vig, which was the commission that bookies received on losing bets.

  “When my dad couldn’t cover his loses, Resene tried to blackmail him. But my dad decided to turn the tables. He tipped off the state police about Resene’s operation. His plan was to take Resene down and wipe out his debt in one fell swoop.”

  Jake shook his head. “That plan never would have worked. If and when the police went through Resene’s records, they would have found your dad’s bets.”

  “Well, obviously, his plan didn’t work because he’s dead.” She exhaled loudly. “My dad would still be alive today if not for gambling. I hate gambling. Cards, slot machines, tables. I hate it all. I don’t even play the lottery. But sports betting is the worst. Bookies are like cockroaches. They should be exterminated.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A couple of weeks after Kyla’s dad had been murdered, she’d started having panic attacks. During the day, she’d been able to manage her grief. But at night, when her subconscious had taken over, her grief had broken free of the cage she’d shoved it in.

  Her panic attacks had always struck while she slept, brought on by the same recurring nightmare. In the nightmare, Kyla was with her father at the pub when the shooting began. She stood by helplessly as bullets slammed into his body.

  Night after night, she’d woken up drenched in sweat, her heart racing and her lungs laboring to pull in air. Finally, she had gone to the student health center on campus. The elderly doctor had prescribed medication taken before bed to prevent the panic attacks.

  In less than a month, she’d been able to sleep through the night with no nightmares and no panic attacks. Shortly thereafter, she’d weaned herself off the medication.

  But talking about her dad last night must have triggered something inside her brain because she’d just woken up in Jake’s big bed, sweaty and breathless. She sat up with a hand pressed to her chest, her heartbeat thundering under her palm. It took her a moment to realize that Jake’s side of the bed was empty.

  She glanced at the alarm clock. It was a little after three o’clock in the morning. Where was her guy?

  She slid out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. It was empty. She splashed cool water on her sweaty face and tidied her hair, which had slipped from its ponytail.

  Deciding to look for Jake, she pulled one of his sweatshirts over her nightgown and wandered down the hall. Her fuzzy socks made it difficult to gain traction on the maple hardwood floors.

  When she reached the living area, she spotted Jake and Charlie relaxing at the dining room table. Coffee mugs sat in front of them, along with a red Tupperware container. It was filled with a variety of cookies made by Kyla’s mom.

  Charlie saw her first. He nudged Jake’s forearm to get his attention, and Jake glanced toward her. He looked like he’d aged ten years in less than five hours. His eyes were bloodshot, and deep grooves bracketed his mouth.

  She ventured toward them, and Charlie rose from his seat and walked toward her. When they met in the middle of the room, he curled his hand over her shoulder.

  “We can’t change the past, Kyla. We can only change the course of our future.”

  She frowned. It was three in the morning, and he thought now was the time to channel Yoda? He squeezed her shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

  Jake stood as she approached the table. He was still wearing his version of sleep attire: a gray Stanford T-shirt and navy-blue and-white striped pajama pants.

  He pulled out the chair that had become “Kyla’s seat,” and she sat down. After bringing her knees up to her chest, she tugged Jake’s sweatshirt over her chilled legs.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “I thought I took care of your insomnia earlier.”

  Her joke didn’t garner a smile from Jake. If anything, it seemed to make him sad.

  “What’s going on?” she repeated, impatience underscoring her words.

  He sighed. “I need to tell you something.” His eyes met hers. “I’m afraid to tell you because I don’t know how you’re going to react, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I don’t want to hide things from you. I don’t want to hide the person I am or the things I’ve done.”

  Her mind galloped down a million different roads. Did he have an incurable disease? Did he have several children with multiple baby mamas? Did he have a criminal past?

  “When I was a freshman in high school, I joined the math club.”

  Her breath whooshed out. “That’s your big reveal?” she asked incredulously. “You were a nerd in high school?”

  “Please, Kyla. Just listen.”

  Suitably chastised, she muttered, “Sorry.”

  “The club was unsupervised, and one day, some of the guys started making bets on the college football games that were scheduled that weekend. I didn’t know enough about the teams to feel confident risking my money … my dad was really stingy with my allowance. My friends got money for every A they received on their report card, but my dad refused to do that. He said knowledge was better than money.”

  “Your dad sounds like a smart guy,” she said, wondering why Jake was sharing this information with her now.

  “He has a genius IQ. It’s helpful in his line of work.”

  A rogue thought skipped through Kyla’s mind. If she and Jake had kids, there was a good chance they’d be ginger-haired geniuses who loved math.

  “What does your dad do?”

  “He’s a professional poker player. Texas Hold’em is his game.”

  That took her by surprise. Last night, when they’d discussed gambling, would have been a perfect time for Jake to mention that his dad played poker for a living. But he hadn’t.

  She suspected Jake had kept quiet because she had been so vocal in her dislike of everything related to gambling. Although she had reserved her contempt for bookies, her disdain for gambling as a whole had been evident. She’d flat out said that she hated everything about it. There wasn’t a lot of room for misunderstanding there.

  “I’ve never known anyone who plays poker professionally. That must have been interesting when you were growing up.”

  “He’s one of the best, and for about a minute, I thought about becoming a professional poker player too.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. I wouldn’t want to be with someone who gambles.”

  Jake rolled his lips inward. “Yeah, I got that message loud and clear last night when you told me about your dad.”

  “Gambling ruins peoples’ lives.”

  “Sometimes. But sometimes it’s just entertainment, like going to the movies. And sometimes it’s an expensive hobby, like golf or skiing.”

  “I don’t agree,” she countered. “It’s addictive, like drugs or alcohol.”

  He rubbed one of his hands over his face. “Shit.”

  She picked up the Tupperware container and popped off the top. After a brief review of the contents she nabbed an oatmeal raisin cookie and took a bite.

  Once she’d swallowed, she asked, “Why are we having a philosophical discussion about gambling at three in the morning?”

  “Because you have a real problem with it … with good reason.” He swallowed audibly. “And because I own one of the largest independent sports books in Vegas.”

  She deconstructed Jake’s sentences, trying to string his words together in a way that made sense. He watched
her the whole time, waiting patiently for her to process what he had said.

  “You’re a bookie.”

  He nodded. “I started taking bets on college football games when I was fourteen. From there it grew into one of the largest independent sports book operations in Vegas. I’m not involved in the day-to-day operations of the business anymore, but I’m still the majority owner. It has an annual handle of nearly fifty million dollars.”

  She’d heard his words. But more important, she’d heard the pride underlying them.

  Jake was proud that he was a bookie. He was proud that he took money from desperate people … desperate people like her dad. He was proud that he ruined lives … the way her dad’s life had been ruined.

  Russell Andrews hadn’t been the man she thought he was. And neither was Jake Lilliard.

  She’d thought she had found a good man … a man who would love her and respect her … a man who would be the kind of father that she’d never had … a man she could trust.

  She vaulted to her feet with such force that the chair toppled backward. The cookie she’d held in her hand was now crumbled at her feet.

  “You’re … you’re just like Resene,” she accused, her voice shaking with anger and disappointment and a million other horrible emotions.

  Jake slowly rose from the table. “No, I am not,” he denied, his voice harder and sharper than a diamond-bladed knife. “I own a business where people can legally bet on sports. I have never broken any laws related to gambling. And I have never been investigated by the police, the FBI, or the Nevada Gaming Control Board.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s legal or illegal!” She shoved her finger at him. “How many people have been bankrupted because of you? How many people have died because of you?”

  She looked around at the luxurious penthouse. She had wondered how he could afford such a nice place. Now she knew that he’d paid for the condo with tainted money.

  “I can’t be here. I need to leave.”

  She spun around, and he caught her bicep in a tight grip. “It’s not safe for you to be wandering around in the middle of the night,” he growled. “If you want to go home, I’ll drive you.”

  “In the car that you bought with money that you made from being a bookie?” She jerked her arm free. “No thanks.”

  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. Opening his eyes, he said, “I stayed up half the night talking to Charlie. He thought I shouldn’t tell you about the sports book. He thought I should just sell the business with you none the wiser. Only a few people in San Francisco know about it, and odds are that you would never have found out. But I didn’t want this to shadow our relationship.”

  He placed his hand on his chest, over his heart. “I want you to know me. I want you to accept the choices I’ve made in the past and love me anyway.”

  Her throat was too clogged with tears for her to reply. And even if she had been able to talk, she had nothing to say.

  *****

  “Come on! Open up!” Vanessa’s bellow easily penetrated Kyla’s bedroom door. “You’ve been in there for twelve hours straight. Don’t you need to pee?”

  Kyla ignored her. She want to see or talk to anyone, not even her older sister.

  Unfortunately, Vanessa kept talking. “You’ve been crying all day. You’re probably dehydrated.” Something hit the door. It sounded like her sister had kicked the wooden barrier. “Just tell me what happened! Did Jake hurt you?”

  After a moment, Kyla heard her sister leave. The sharp click of her heels grew fainter as she moved down the hall.

  Vanessa’s question echoed in Kyla’s head. Did Jake hurt you?

  Hurt seemed like such an inadequate word for what Jake had done. He had devastated her. Destroyed her. Disillusioned her.

  Rolling over, she pulled her knees to her chest. Her entire body ached, especially her heart.

  She heard footsteps again, quieter than before. Vanessa must have slipped off her stilettos. The footsteps stopped at Kyla’s door. A moment later, the door knob jiggled. Her older sister was nothing if not persistent.

  All of a sudden, the door knob fell to the floor. One of Vanessa’s eyes appeared in the round hole, and then her hand wiggled through it. Somehow, she managed to rotate her wrist so her fingers could undo the lock.

  “Abracadabra,” Vanessa muttered.

  Kyla jumped up from the bed just as the door swung open. Her sister stood framed in the opening with her feet spread wide and her hands on her hips in a stance reminiscent of Wonder Woman.

  Her blond hair was in a ballerina bun, and she wore a tight black dress with long sleeves and a cowl neck. A wide black belt studded with vertical jet black beads cinched her slender waist, and a pair of pink pig slippers decorated her feet.

  She strolled inside, kicking the door shut behind her. “Hey, Ky, how’s your day going?” she asked casually, as if she hadn’t just removed a door knob to break into Kyla’s bedroom.

  Kyla opened her mouth to tell Vanessa to get out, but a sob escaped instead. Her sister took two steps and enveloped her in a honeysuckle-scented embrace.

  “Oh, baby sister,” she crooned. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Vanessa’s concern stripped away Kyla’s defenses, and she cried on her sister’s shoulder until her eyes were nearly swollen shut. When her tears had mostly dried up, she left her bedroom without a word because Vanessa had been right—she did need to pee.

  After taking care of that immediate need, Kyla wiped her face with a cold washcloth and brushed her hair and teeth. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she noticed Vanessa leaning against the wall, typing on her phone.

  “I ordered your favorite orange peel shrimp before I let myself into your room. It’ll be here in ten minutes.” She looked up from her phone. “That gives you just enough time to take a quick shower. Then we’re going to eat, and you’re going to tell me what happened with Jake so we can fix this.”

  Kyla was too tired to argue with her steamroller… oops … her sister … so she trudged back into the bathroom. Twelve minutes later, she stepped out of the shower. She made quick work of drying off and threw on a loose purple tunic, charcoal leggings, and her favorite stretchy ballet flats.

  Feeling refreshed, she headed into the kitchen where she found Vanessa scooping brown rice from a white takeout container onto bright orange plates. At least Alan’s influence hadn’t extended to the china … yet.

  As Kyla pulled open a drawer to gather the silverware, Vanessa said, “Okay, it’s time for you to start talking.”

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “I’m more interested in the end.” Vanessa carefully spooned orange peel shrimp on top of the rice. “What did you and Jake fight about?”

  “He’s a bookie.”

  Vanessa’s head swung toward Kyla, her face etched with surprise. “What?”

  “Jake is a bookie.”

  Her sister’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “Sports betting is illegal in California. He could go to prison if he got caught.” She methodically began to close the takeout containers. “Did you ask him why he was doing something so risky? Does he need to make extra money?”

  “He started the business when he lived in Las Vegas. He’s not involved in the day-to-day operations anymore.”

  “So he’s not doing anything illegal.”

  “Does it really matter if it’s legal or illegal?”

  Vanessa’s eyes widened. “Are you being serious right now? Of course it matters. It’s the difference between working in a high-rise office building or working out in a high-security prison yard.”

  “He’s still profiting off of someone’s bad luck.”

  “So what?”

  “He’s taking advantage of desperate people. He’s ruining their lives.”

  Vanessa turned and leaned against the countertop. She studied Kyla for a long moment before asking, “Is this about Dad?”

  “Gambling ruined his life. It
killed him, Sass.”

  Vanessa’s expression softened. “Kyla. Think about what you’re saying. Gambling didn’t ruin Dad’s life. He ruined it. Gambling didn’t kill him. A guy with a gun killed him.”

  Kyla absorbed Vanessa’s words. She let them sink into her mind and her heart, acknowledging the veracity of what her sister had said.

  “Dad made his own choices, Ky, and he made the wrong ones.” Vanessa slowly shook her head back and forth. “He made the choice to do something illegal. He made the choice to lie to Mom and steal from her. He made the choice to go after Resene instead of paying his debt.” She exhaled noisily. “Those choices ruined his life. Those choices killed him. Not gambling.”

  Vanessa picked up the glass of chardonnay near her left hand and took a sip. “You’re looking for someone or something to blame other than Dad, but he is the one who is responsible for the way his life turned out.”

  Kyla knew her sister was right. Their father had made the choice to lie, steal, and break the law. And when he had investigated Resene’s illegal gambling organization, he hadn’t done it because he wanted to uphold the law, he’d done it for selfish reasons.

  “You took the negative emotions you had for Dad—all the rage and disappointment and sorrow—and transferred them to gambling.”

  Kyla met her sister’s loving gaze. “And then I transferred them to Jake.”

  “Yes.”

  Kyla pressed her hands against her face. “How do I fix this? I said some hateful things to him—things he didn’t deserve.”

  “You can fix it by saying some loving things to him—things he does deserve.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It took more than an hour of cuddling, but the newborn named Shea finally stopped crying and drifted to sleep.

  Jake stared down at the baby girl tucked in the cradle of his arm. She was only six days old, and her entire head fit in the palm of his hand.

  Her mother was a thirteen-year-old girl who had been rescued from a trafficking ring that kept its sex slaves doped up on heroin. Her father was one of at least a thousand johns who’d paid for the pleasure of raping her mother.