Read Online Game Over by Fern Michaels - Free Book Online Page B

and I both know that. Leave him alone, Hank. How long are you going to be here before you trot off somewhere?”
    â€œWell, the plan was for me to leave here at the end of the week, but when I found out you were on the way and the why of it all, I put those plans on hold. We’ll get to that later. You ready for my pie now?”
    â€œI feel like I should loosen my belt, but, yes, I’m game. You still think I won’t be able to figure out your secret ingredient?”
    â€œHa! I would have made a hell of a pastry chef, but this crazy-ass sweet tooth would do me in. I try to limit my sugar. We aren’t getting any younger, you know. Now you have to watch your triglycerides, your good and bad cholesterol, all that crap. Just so you know, mine are all within normal boundaries. How are yours?”
    â€œPerfect.”
    â€œMy ass they’re perfect. Look at the weight you put on, Charlie. All you do is sit behind a computer.”
    â€œWhen I get back to the mountain, I’ll fax you my medical report. Like I said, they’re perfect, which leads me to believe yours are not.”
    Jellicoe flinched. “You always were a show-off, Charlie. Well, here’s our pie. It’s my turn to show off. Eat hearty, my friend.”
    Charles did eat hearty and savored every bite of the delectable flaky pastry. “Almost as good as mine, Hank.”
    Jellicoe threw his head back and laughed. “I guess we could have a bake off if you hang around here long enough. So, what’s the secret ingredient?”
    Charles snorted. “Pomegranate. Did you really think I couldn’t taste it? Maybe, I’m thinking, a quarter cup of the pulp.”
    â€œSon of a bitch! How did you figure it out?”
    â€œI tasted it, you son of a bitch!”
    Jellicoe was still pretending to be outraged when he said, “Coffee and brandy in my study and a really good Cuban cigar.”
    â€œI’m your man,” Charles said, pushing back his chair.
    Settled in front of the fireplace, which rose all the way to the ceiling and held half an oak tree, which sent sparks shooting up the chimney, Hank Jellicoe poured hundred-year-old brandy into a snifter and handed it to Charles. “To the best of the best,” Jellicoe said, clinking his glass against Charles’s snifter.
    In spite of himself, Charles was flattered. “At pie baking,” he quipped.
    Jellicoe roared with laughter. “That, too! So, talk to me, Charlie.”
    â€œIt’s about Lizzie Fox. Lizzie Fox Cricket these days.”
    Jellicoe roared again with laughter. “Now, who in the world would ever think old Kick could get himself a filly like Miz Lizzie? Sure as hell not me. I have to tell you, I was dumbfounded. I sent a smashing present to the newlyweds. Got a sweet handwritten note from the new Mrs. Cricket. I love that little lady like she was my own daughter. You know that, Charlie, and I think of Kick as a son. But then you know that, too. Articulate and fill in all the little ifs, ands, and buts. I’ll take it from there.”
    Charles talked. For an hour. With no interruptions. The 140-proof, hundred-year-old brandy bottle was down to the quarter mark. The oak log was still burning as brightly as both men’s eyes.
    Jellicoe reached for a second cigar, clipped the end, and handed it to Charles. He did the same for his own. Both men puffed contentedly. “The big question, Charlie, is this. Does Lizzie want to go to the Supreme Court? If she does, we have the power to put her there. If she doesn’t, this is all moot.”
    â€œLizzie never puts herself first. She’s worried about the vigilantes. She’s worried about Cricket. There’s the commute from Vegas to here. She might want it so bad she can taste it, but she won’t lift a finger to help herself if she thinks it will cause one iota of trouble for the vigilantes or her new husband. That’s why Lizzie is Lizzie. Ten