“One more thing,” Kevin said. “Robillard’s been calling everybody trying to get hold of you.”

“He can wait.”

“Did I hear you right?” Kevin said. “This is Dean Robillard we’re talking about. Apparently, after months of screwing around, he’s developed an urgent need for an agent.”

“I’ll get to him later.” Heath headed for the street and his car.

“Would that be about the same time you get around to congratulating me on yesterday’s game, arguably the best of my career?”

“Yeah, congratulations. You’re the best. I’ve got to go.”

“Okay, slimeball, I don’t know who you are or what you’re up to, but put my agent back on the phone right now.”

Heath hung up. And then it hit him. He’d seen Dean’s number on his phone log, but he’d been ignoring the calls. What if Annabelle hadn’t spent the last two nights with one of her girlfriends? What if she’d gone running to her pet quarterback?

Dean picked up his phone on the second ring. “Daffy Dan’s Porno Palace.”

“Is Annabelle with you?”

“Heathcliff? Damn, man, you really screwed her over.”

“I know that, but how do you know it?”

“Phoebe’s secretary.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Annabelle who told you? Has she been with you?”

“I haven’t seen her or talked to her, but if I do, I’m going to strongly suggest she tell you to—”

“I love her!” Heath hadn’t meant to shout, but he couldn’t stop himself, and the woman who’d just emerged from the house across the street scurried back inside. “I love her,” he repeated in a voice that was only marginally quieter, “and I need to tell her that. But I have to find her first.”

“I doubt she’ll call me. Not unless that pregnancy test—”

“I’m warning you, Robillard, if I find out you know where she went, and you aren’t telling me, I’ll break every goddamn bone in that million-dollar shoulder of yours.”

“The boy’s talkin’ smack, and it’s not even lunchtime. You are so whipped. Now here’s the thing, Heathcliff, the reason I’ve been calling you. A couple of high rollers at Pepsico contacted me, and—”

Heath hung up on God’s gift to the NFL, hit the button to unlock his car, and set off for the Loop and Birdcage Press. The book club meeting wasn’t scheduled until one, which gave him time to cover an extra base.

“I spoke with Molly this morning.” Annabelle’s former fiancé surveyed Heath’s unshaven jaw and mismatched outfit from behind her desk in the marketing department of Molly’s publishing company. “I hurt Annabelle more than enough. Did you have to dump on her, too?”

Rosemary wasn’t the most attractive woman Heath had ever seen, but she was well dressed and dignified. Way too dignified. Completely the wrong person for Annabelle. What the hell had she been thinking? “I didn’t set out to dump on her.”

“I’m sure you thought you were doing her a huge favor when you proposed,” Rosemary drawled. Then she proceeded to blister Heath with a way too insightful lecture on male insensitivity, exactly what he didn’t need to hear right now. He escaped as quickly as he could.