Three

      In the clear light of day, waking up alone in his bed, Hunter wished he’d just brought Ferrin home with him last night. He rolled over, punching the pillow next to him, and then forced himself up and out of bed.

      He was working a plan. He dropped to the floor and did fifty push-ups. His dad had said that staying focused was the only way to move past the tragedy. That’s what his family referred to Stacia’s death as. He knew they meant well.

      They thought he and King should leave the matter in the past, but both of them knew they couldn’t. He finished his push-ups, got dressed for running and dialed King’s number as he went down the stairs.

      “Dude, it’s early.”

      “But I know Conner had you up early.” Kingsley’s son was two so he didn’t sleep late. There had even been times when Hunter had been woken by the kid, who also happened to be his godson. They were close and since Kingsley traveled so much, Conner had learned to use his iPad to FaceTime Hunter. Conner felt he could call at all hours to tell Hunter things such as when he read a new book at bedtime or saw something cool in the night sky.

      “He did. That’s why I’m complaining. Just got him off to his playdate and Gabi and I are finally alone.”

      Hunter laughed. “Sorry, dude. I’ll keep this short. Coach has had two strokes and a heart attack. He wouldn’t really talk to me or give me permission to go through his stuff. I’m working another angle.”

      “What angle?”

      “Coach’s daughter.”

      “Coach has a daughter?”

      “Yeah. She’s...smart and funny.”

      “Pretty?”

      Pretty? “She’s got eyes the color of the water around Aruba—remember that old wreck we went scuba diving in?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, her eyes are that color.”

      “Dang, Hunter, you sound—”

      “Like an idiot,” he said. “I know. But she’s different, King. Not what I expected.”

      “So you’re working her to get to the files?”

      Was he? He had a plan. Seduce her and get what he wanted. Last night the plan had been screwed up by the wine and her defiant attitude in eating with him while gossips looked on. But this morning he was back on track.

      “Yeah. It’s complicated, though.”

      “Women always are. You want me to talk to her. That way you don’t have—”

      “No. I’ll do this. When have I ever asked you to do anything for me?”

      “Never. We each carry our own weight but we’re teammates. We’re like brothers, Hunter. I’m here if you need me.”

      “Thanks, King. Same. I got this,” he said. “I’m going for a run and then...how do you feel about hosting Ferrin and me for dinner?”

      “Why?”

      “I want her to know you and me. To understand that we’re not asking for the files for any reason other than to clear our names.”

      “Okay. I’ll check with Gabi and let you know when we can do it.”

      He hung up with King and went for his run. The mountain paths he ran on out here in California were very different from the “hills” near where he’d grown up in Texas. Back home, they had gently rolling slopes; he never used to strain when he went uphill the way he did here.

      He rounded the last bend and ran up to his front door past a car he didn’t recognize. He stopped short on the bottom step that led to his porch. His interior designer had furnished the patio with two large California cedar deck chairs.

      Ferrin sat in one of them. She had a foam cup in one hand, her sunglasses were pushed up on her head and she had her legs delicately crossed. She wore a pair of faded jeans—they looked soft. She had on a pair of flip-flops and her painted toenails were a deep red color.

      “Hello.”

      “Morning,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind but I thought maybe we could spend the day together.”

      He ran through his schedule in his head. He had a meeting with his assistant this morning and a fundraising briefing in the afternoon with a local small-town peewee football league that he was sponsoring. They needed gear for the league.

      “I’ve got a couple meetings, but otherwise I’m free,” he said. “Want to come inside? We can figure this out.”

      “You work?”

      He gave her a look over his shoulder. “My dad would disagree because I’m not out on the ranch helping him. But yeah, I work.”

      “What do you do?”

      “I run a foundation that encourages kids to participate in sports and funds sporting groups in low-income areas. Trying to level the playing field.”

      “Wow,” she said. “I had no idea.”

      “I know. My involvement in the foundation is low-key. It’s easier to give away the money if we don’t associate me with it.”

      “That’s not fair. You were cleared of any wrongdoing back in college. I’d think that having a former NFL player would be something they’d publicize.”

      “But that’s not how the world sees it,” he said, unlocking the door. Still, his work with the foundation made him feel a little less empty after everything that had happened surrounding Stacia’s death. “You coming in? You can wait on the deck in the back or in the kitchen while I take a quick shower.”

      “I’ll wait on the deck. I like being outside. We don’t have to do this today,” she said.

      “I want to. Spending the day with you is what we need.”

      “We?”

      “Yes, so you can trust that I’m not going to do something to hurt your dad. And so that I can remember the man I used to be.”

      He went up the stairs two at a time. In the shower he pretended that her presence