She opened his fridge to get him something to drink to combat the tell-tale nausea that was making him green, and settled on toast and tea, which she brought back down the hall.

He emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, pale, wan, shaking, and looking like death warmed over. He headed directly toward his bed, all dark eyes and stubbled strong jaw and edgy attitude, with droplets of water scattered over his long, tough body. She watched one fall from his hair to the tense muscles of his back, then run down the indention of his spine before vanishing into the towel. Her tongue would like to make the same trek.

“Thought you walked,” he said.

“Is that what you’d do? Walk away?”

“No, that’s what other people do to me.”

Her heart squeezed hard. “Well, I’ve never been very good at walking away, even when I should. Lie down, Pace, before you drop. I’ll go get the pills.”

He unhooked his towel and let it fall to the floor. Naked, he hit the bed, sprawling half facedown, half on his good side. He didn’t cover himself up—either because he didn’t care or because he couldn’t. Choosing to believe it was the latter, she pulled the covers over him, over those mile-long powerful legs, over the buns of steel she wanted to lean down and bite, over the sleek, smooth, sinewy expanse of his back.

“Thanks,” he muttered into his pillow. “Fair warning, my stomach is considering revolting.”

“Eat the toast.” She sat it down by him, then went back to the foyer for her purse, where she’d stuffed his pain pills.

There on the tile floor was the duffel bag Tucker had left. It’d opened a little when he’d tossed it down, and a foil pack was sticking out. Two of them, actually, one a vitamin packet, the other a powder labeled a long name she didn’t recognize.

She picked it up and flipped it over to read the ingredients, and recognized none. Grabbing Pace’s pills and the packet, she went back to his bedroom to ask him about it, but he was out like a light. She covered him with another blanket and went back to her bag, where she pulled out her laptop. With one ear cocked for Pace and anything he might need, she set about doing some research, while also doing the other thing she’d promised—not walking away.

Chapter 21

It’s no coincidence that female interest in the sport of baseball has increased greatly since the ballplay- ers swapped those wonderful old-time baggy flannel uniforms for leotards.

—Mike Royko

By early evening, Tucker had gone back to Pace’s place. Sam dropped by as well, and Gage’s sister, and a few other friends. With Pace still sleeping, showing no signs of waking until morning, Holly left him in good hands. She went home to call a contact of hers in LA, who worked at a pharmaceutical company and could identify just about any substance.

“Yeah,” he said, confirming her fears on the powder she’d found in Tucker’s bag. “Those ingredients are made to pour into a water bottle and be taken by mouth, like the vitamin pack. They’re natural, plant-based, with no manufactured derivatives, but it’s a stimulant, no way about it, and just as potent. They’ve been taking that stuff for several years in Europe now, and interestingly enough, it’s virtually undetectable unless looked for in the urine almost immediately after consumption. Going to be popular, that one is, once word gets out.”

Holly had a feeling that word was already out—at least on the Heat. And damn if she didn’t finally have her secret.

She just wasn’t sure she still wanted it.

She asked her contact to e-mail her the information so she’d have it in writing, and then, while she was doing things she shouldn’t be, early the next morning she used her press pass to get into the Heat facilities. There she sought out some of the support-team members and learned in casual conversation through two different trainers and an equipment manager that there were only two players Tucker was supplying with daily supplements on top of the vitamin enriched water everyone drank: Henry and Ty.

Which meant that the two players who’d had the DUI and disorderly conduct run-in, which had started this whole wave of bad press for the Heat, were the only two players being supplied by Tucker—a guy she’d just discovered carrying banned substances.

Coincidence? Maybe.

But Holly didn’t believe in coincidence. She called Pace. “How are you feeling?

“Like I was hit by a truck.”

“Can I come see you?”

“You’re asking? What happened to demanding and bossy?”

“I’m trying something new.”

“I’m in bed,” he said, his voice going silky. “You bringing TLC?”

“I am.” She sighed, knowing she had to break the mood and say something. “Pace?”

“Uh-oh. I know that tone. I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Is Tucker still there?”

“Sleeping. Why?”

“I took a foil packet that was falling out of his bag in your foyer.”

“A vitamin pack?”

“No. Something else. The contents are basically the equivalent of a stimulant, which is the same stuff you tested positive for. The same stuff you didn’t knowingly ingest.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s an herbal, all-natural version, but still a stimulant.”

He was silent.

“Pace? Don’t you think it’s odd that Tucker has it in his bag? A known banned substance? When he deals vitamins and protein supplements to professional athletes?”