Connor's Gamble by Kathy Ivan Page B

the movement.  Excellent .
    “That's right.  Most of the family still lives there.”
    “Connor, would you consider . . .”
    “No.”  The finality in his tone, the lack of warmth or emotion surprised Bethany.  He'd been nothing but courteous from the moment they'd been introduced.
    “I really, really could use an interview.  Please.”  She put a little extra oomph behind her words.  She wasn't above flirting to get a story, and Connor Scott talking about what happened with Mickey Trejo could be her career-making interview.  Damned if she'd give up easily.
    “No interview, Ms. Banks.”
    “Please, it's Bethany.”
    “The Trejo case hasn't gone to trial.  I've been advised by the District Attorney's office not to discuss the case with anyone.  Especially the press.”
    “Connor, can I be honest with you?”  He stared at her, watched every move she made, and Bethany wanted to wriggle in her chair, maybe thrust out her breasts but knew he'd walk away with such blatant advances.  No, he needed a much subtler approach.
    “Go ahead.”  The deep timbre of his voice sent a chill through Bethany, anticipation flickering through her.
    “I volunteered for this assignment, interviewing your grandmother's little club, group, whatever you want to call it, because I knew who she was.  I'd studied up on you after what happened in New Orleans, and when I heard her name, I recognized it immediately as being related to you.”  Bethany blushed at his scrutiny, heat flashing through her cheeks at his steadfast gaze, at the anger burning in his eyes.
    “I mean, the gambling trip, it's a good story, but it's basically human interest.  A fluff piece.  Good for three minutes of air time and then it's over.  But getting an interview with you before Trejo goes to trial—I'd do about anything to get your side of the story.”  She reached across the table, running her fingers across the back of his hand before grasping his wrist.
    He wrenched his arm away, the movement jerky and rough.  “The answer is no.  It was no before, and now it's hell no.  N. O.  Don't ask again.”
    Connor stood, pushing his chair back with a loud scraping sound as it slid across the tiled floor.  Without a backward glance, he strode out of the restaurant, leaving Bethany alone at the abandoned table.
    Her fingertips thrummed again, tap, tap, tap.  A smug smile curled her coral-coated lips and a mirthless chuckle escaped.
    “We're not done yet, Connor Scott.  In fact, we've only just begun.”
    Grabbing her knockoff designer bag, she walked out of the dining room, a spring in her step.  This was a new game and she always captured the prize.  Always.
    Bethany never noticed the stare following her every move or she might have rethought her plans.
    # # # # #
    Molly half-listened to the ladies seated at her table, her attention on her grandson and the reporter seated a few tables away.  Connor looked relaxed but she saw that for the lie it was.  There was a coiled energy underneath the surface she understood all too well.  His grandfather used to sit with the same deceptively calm and composed posture whenever things escalated outside of his control.  That man wanted everything exactly where it should be, had a need for control that at times bordered on the obsessive.  She missed him with every breath she took.  But occasionally when things got too much, all that bottled up energy needed an outlet, a release and she was afraid Connor teetered on the edge.  He definitely didn't need a nosy reporter pushing him to the boiling point.  Maybe she needed to have a little chat with Ms. Banks.
    With quick movements, she picked up the oversized tote bag she called a purse, stuffed her notebook, pen, wallet, and deck of playing cards inside before excusing herself from the group.
    She trotted along behind Ms. Banks, noting her purposeful walk as she strode across the hotel lobby, never pausing to glance right or left, totally focused on