Scoring

“Who are you working on?”

“Morelli.”

“Ah.” He leaned forward with interest. “Kid’s got some good moves.”

Becka handed him the file. “You think he’s got the goods?”

Mace shrugged diffidently. “Too early to tell, but I like the way he handles himself.” His eyes flicked to her mouth. He liked the way she handled herself, too, now that he thought about it. “So what do you do with yourself when you’re not working?” he asked abruptly. “What about dinner?”

Becka’s mouth opened in surprise, then shut. “Sorry, Duvall, I don’t date colleagues.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to be a colleague any longer than it’ll take me to turn in my resignation.”

“What do you mean? You just got here. Your assignment’s supposed to be for a week.”

He was only here because they were humoring him, he reminded himself. It wasn’t like he was running out on the job. “It was a dumb idea. I shouldn’t have started it.”

“But you did start it.” An edge entered her voice. “You should at least finish the assignment.”

“What does one week matter?”

“To these kids? It’s everything. You’re a minor deity around here, you know. The amazing Mace Duvall, baseball superhero. They’ve memorized every detail they could dig up about you.” She shoved her chair back and paced across the office. “They talk about you every waking minute. I’ve got a kid with a severe high ankle sprain who won’t stay off it because he’s got the chance to work with you while you’re here. And now you’re telling me you’re going to leave without even getting into your assignment?”

“Hey, disappointment is a part of life. They might as well get used to it.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. “Besides, they’re grown-ups. They can handle it.”

“No, they’re kids. You’re the grown-up and you’re supposed to be responsible,” she shot back, jerking her chin up.

Like a girl protecting her kid brothers against the neighborhood bully, he thought, surprised at just how sexy it was. An enticing flush ran along the tops of her cheekbones. “Look, it’s not that big a deal. I mean, really, what does it matter if I resign? I could walk out of the front door right now and get hit in the head by a falling brick and be just as gone.”

“Unlikely,” she said, sitting down reluctantly.

“So are a lot of things that happen, believe me.”

“All the more reason you should control what you can, and keep to your word.”

“What word? I made a stupid bet over a game of pool. I lost, and the stake was being a batting instructor for a season. I’ve got no real business being here, so I’m pulling out. It’s nothing personal.” He picked a steel ball the size of a walnut out of the tray of paper clips and began rolling it idly back and forth across the desktop.

“I’m not taking it personally,” she returned hotly. “I could care less if you stay or go but it’s important to these kids. They’re trying to do something here they care about. All you seem to be in it for is the moment.”

“There are worse ways to live than just enjoying the moment.”

“Some of us believe in getting the job done, not laying back and singing all summer long.”

“The ant and the grasshopper?” he asked, his voice amused. Then it turned serious. “So what happens if you’re the ant and you get crushed? You never get to enjoy the results of all your hard work and you never get to appreciate life one day at a time like the grasshopper. You lose out on everything because you think you’re going to be lucky and have things work out like you expect.” Whiskey-gold, his eyes abruptly flamed with heat. He let the gleaming sphere roll, his attention focused on Becka.

“So you live your life planning to be unlucky?” Her fingers reached out to catch the ball before it rolled off the desk.

“No.” With a lightning-quick move, his hand trapped hers. “I plan to get very lucky indeed.”

Her system jolted. She tried to jerk back from the heat that licked up her arm, in sharp contrast to the cool steel.

“Not so fast,” Mace said, holding on. “You have very shaky hands for a therapist. I noticed that yesterday. Why do you think that is?” He turned her palm up, tracing a finger down the soft, sensitive flesh there.

Becka snatched her hand back. “Get lost, Duvall. Go flatter one of the girls in the front office. I’ve got better things to do.”

He stared at her a moment, a smile playing on his lips. “You know, I might just stick around here after all.”

“Do tell. Is your conscience getting the better of you?”

“No, but wondering what you’d be like in bed is.”

For a moment she just stared at him, eyes darkening. Then she seemed to recover. “Find another reason, Duvall,” she said witheringly. “I don’t do ladies’ men.”

He gave a look of pure amusement. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not one, isn’t it?”

She snorted. “Yeah, tell me another good one.”

“It’s a mistake to believe everything you read, you know.”

“We’re finished with this conversation, Duvall. I’ve got enough to do without wasting time on quitters.”

A brief shadow flickered in his eyes and was gone just as quickly. He tossed the steel ball back into the tray. “See you around, Florence.”

“Not if I see you first.”

4

MACE LEANED on the dugout fence in the afternoon sun and watched batting practice. He’d always loved being out on the diamond, feeling the spring of power in his muscles, the excitement of knowing the game was just hours away. The nights he had good batting practice were the nights he felt like he could do anything.

“That was a ball you just swung at, Jefferson,” Sammy bawled as Stats stepped out of the batting box. “What, these pitchers such good friends of yours that you wanna give ’em gifts? Make ’em work.”

Mace grinned and stepped up to the batting box to talk quietly into Stats’ ear. A few pitches later and the young shortstop was waiting out balls and slamming the strikes into deep left field.

“You do that in a game, you’ve got yourself a .340 average, buddy.” The buzz of triumph Mace felt surprised him. Grinning, he turned to size up the next batter just as Becka stepped into the dugout, video camera at her side.

She spared him a glance. “Where do you want me?”

“I get a choice?” He couldn’t resist running his gaze down her legs, long and smooth in her walking shorts.

“Don’t get cute, Duvall. Sammy asked me to help out. How do you want the batters filmed?”

“From the side. Film the entire at bat, even if Sammy and I are up there. I want to see everything they do.”

She nodded and moved back into the background as Morelli came to the plate.

“Okay, Morelli, show me what you got,” Mace said.

Becka put the video camera to her eye and began filming. A miniature version of Morelli appeared in the viewfinder, then Mace moved into the frame. Somehow, in the electronic image he looked even more lean, even more male. The sunlight on his hair brought out the gold and bronze; sunglasses hid his eyes. Something about the frame of the viewfinder made it impossible to look away.