Bridgett poured him a gla.s.s of skim milk. "Poor Shay. She must be mortified by the way that blogger portrayed her. How is she?"

Brody shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"What's that supposed to mean, Brody?"

Bridgett was using her courtroom voice and it was starting to irk him. He ignored her.

She snapped the dishtowel she'd been using to wipe up her spilled tea. "Brody, she's your girlfriend. She's been hurt by this, too."

"d.a.m.n it, she's not my girlfriend!" he shouted, tossing the sandwich on the plate and escaping to the great room.

He'd stunned his sister into silence. But her mind was quick and she'd figure it out even without him having to connect the dots. It's one of the things he appreciated about Bridgett. And Shannon.

"Brody, please don't tell me she was the one who gave this information to the blogger," she asked quietly, following him from the kitchen.

Gripping the mantel with his fingers, he bowed his head, staring into the empty fireplace. "Okay, I won't tell you."

He heard her sink into the leather recliner behind him. "Oh, Brody. I don't believe it. What would motivate her to do such a thing?"

"You're a lawyer." He laughed at her honest confusion, but it sounded empty in the big room. "What motivates most people to do things they shouldn't? Money. Notoriety. Women will tell my secrets for just about anything."

"Oh, Brody."

"Don't feel sorry for me, Bridgett. It comes with the territory. I've come to expect it."

"But it hurts even more when you love that person."

He whipped his head around to face his sister, ready to deny that he ever loved Shannon, because he d.a.m.n well didn't. But the pain on his sister's face stopped him.

"Trust me," she whispered more to herself than to him. "I know how it feels."

"Bridgett?" He kneeled down on the floor next to her. She wiped a tear from her eye and he wondered if he'd ever seen her cry before. "Hey? Has someone upset you? Tell me who it is. I'll kick his a.s.s."

She patted him on the shoulder. "It's okay. It's over and done with and I survived. You will, too."

He watched her carefully, wondering how many secrets she had hidden from their family. His sister was more like him than he thought.

"I just can't believe Shay would do this. She loved you, too. Only you both were too stupid to know it."

Brody groaned as he got to his feet. He opened his mouth to refute her statement, but she held up a hand.

"And another thing, she had a job lined up, what did she need the money for?"

He stalked back into the kitchen to retrieve his half-eaten sandwich, Bridgett on his heels.

"h.e.l.l, Bridgett, I don't know. Maybe she decided she didn't want to work in a prison after all."

"Yeah, but that brings up another question. How much money would your story bring? Enough to pay off her debts? And if so, who was bankrolling it? And for what purpose?"

"Jeez, Bridgett. You sound like Shannon. She had a whole freakin' spreadsheet she was a.n.a.lyzing to find the blogger."

Bridgett poured more hot water from the kettle. "Which just proves that she wasn't the the informant. If she was, she'd already know who the blogger was."

"Or," Brody said around a mouthful of sandwich, "she's a brilliant gold digger who was covering her tracks."

His sister shook her head vehemently. "No. Something here doesn't make sense. Where's the money? Stories about who's cheating or who uses which toothpaste are pretty easy to get for pay. But your story and the supposed gay player in Minnesota, those are big-dollar bribes to get. It just doesn't make sense that she's paying money for them." Bridgett tapped her finger on the counter. "No, if I were investigating this, I'd flip it around. The blogger might not be paying for information as much as she's extorting information. Maybe she has something on someone who knows a lot of football players."

One person with access to a lot of teams.

Brody nearly choked on his sandwich as Shannon's voice reverberated through his head.

He grabbed for his duffel bag, rifling through its contents to pull out the spreadsheet she'd left in his hotel room.

"What is that?" Bridgett came to stand and peer over his shoulder as he scanned through the pages.

"Shannon's spreadsheet." The answer was staring him right in the face. He had been betrayed, all right. But not by the woman he thought.

"s.h.i.t."

Twenty-five.

The locker room was empty at eight the next morning, just as Brody had antic.i.p.ated it would be. The only witness he needed for this meeting was Donovan Carter, who stood quietly off in the shadows. Brody had been twitchy since the night before when he realized he had been wrong about the snitch. This time, instead of a lover selling him out, it was someone he had trusted his entire career. While it was a relief to know his faith in Shannon hadn't been misguided, Brody was still raw from the defection of a supposed friend.

The door opened and, without conscious thought, Brody lunged at the man who entered.

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h!"

His trainer, Erik, was gasping as Brody's grip tightened around his throat.

"Brody!" Donovan Carter yelled, pulling Brody off the trainer. "Don't kill him until we find out who the d.a.m.n blogger is."

"n.o.body is killing anyone in my locker room," Hank roared as he and Roscoe entered, joining in the fray.

Donovan held the trainer's arms, but Erik wasn't putting up much of a struggle. Brody sucked in a few deep breaths to combat the rush of adrenalin he'd felt at the sight of his so-called friend. He wanted to pummel the trainer for his betrayal, but Erik seemed resigned-almost relieved, in fact-by Brody's discovery. Erik's demeanor sickened Brody more and he took a step toward the trainer, only to have Roscoe yank him back.

"Calm down," his agent barked.

Donovan eased Erik into one of the folding chairs, the man's eyes now red as tears threatened.

"I'm sorry, Brody," Erik said.

Disgust clogged Brody's throat and he was barely able to get the question out. "Why?"

Erik shook his head. "I had no choice. I'm being blackmailed."

Brody's gut clenched. It seemed that all roads led back to blackmail with this blogger.

"Blackmailed by whom?" Donovan demanded.

The trainer shook his head again. "I have no idea. It all started with an anonymous text message. At first, they were satisfied with the small innocuous stuff, but as time went on, it was the sensational gossip they demanded. They were relentless and I didn't know how to make it stop without . . ." Erik's voice trailed off. Clearly, he was more interested in protecting himself from the blogger than his friends and clients.

"I want that number." Donovan's tone brokered no argument.

"It won't do you any good," Erik said. "It changes constantly."

"What does this person have on you?" Hank asked.

Erik swallowed and, for a moment, it seemed he wouldn't answer. He looked at Roscoe. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in representing me?" he asked the lawyer-agent.

"Not a chance in h.e.l.l." Roscoe's loyalty buoyed Brody.

"Just spit it out," Brody said through clenched teeth.

Heaving a sigh, Erik wiped both his eyes. "Human growth hormone," he whispered.

Brody's chest constricted as three heads whirled on him. "He is definitely not talking about me," he shouted, pulling himself away from the wall and charging toward Erik. "I have never taken a needle or anything so much as a crumb from this man. And if you insinuate I did in any way, Erik, I will kill you!"

Roscoe wrapped an arm around Brody, holding him back.

"Not Brody," Erik said. "A baseball player."

There was a palpable sigh of relief in the locker room-except for Brody who was still chafing against Roscoe's hold. "You sold me and others out to protect one client?" he accused.

Erik shot from his chair before Donovan could grab him. "I was protecting myself! One mistake and I could lose everything, while you athletes get paid millions. You have no idea what it is to struggle financially, Brody. To be desperate to secure your livelihood!"

He was wrong; Brody did know. He'd been watching Shannon sc.r.a.pe by and fight to stay afloat these past few months. And the snitch in front of him had not only damaged her reputation but possibly her job chances. Brody was furious. "But you didn't care who you took down along with me, did you? To h.e.l.l with the innocent people who might be hurt by this."

Donovan stepped between them as Erik scoffed at Brody. "After all the women who've sold you out, Brody, you're worried about your little nutritionist?"

"You made it look like she was the one who leaked the story!"

"I didn't have to. Like I said, there's a long list of women who preceded her to the tabloids. People just saw what they wanted to see. It was what I was counting on."

Brody strained against Roscoe's arm as he tried to reach the trainer. "Well they were wrong!"

"Maybe," Erik taunted. "But who says she wouldn't have sold you out in the future?"

"Enough!" Hank yelled over the roaring in Brody's ears. "Brody, we'll deal with the slander issues later."

Erik slouched back down on the chair, his bl.u.s.ter seemingly forgotten as the consequence of Hank's words. .h.i.t him. "I didn't slander anyone. This is all the blogger's fault."

"That remains to be seen," Hank said. "Right now, I want to get everything on record. How were you contacted and how were you paid?"

"I told you, everything was done via texting. I never got paid. As long as I kept feeding whoever it was the information, they kept my secret."

Roscoe stepped out from behind Brody. "But that doesn't make sense. The blogger never asked for any money to keep the story of the HGH quiet?"

Erik shook his head. "I don't get the impression that the blogger is in it for the money."

Donovan swore. "Great. We're probably dealing with some scorned woman who wants to get back at jocks everywhere. Which means tracking her down is still next to impossible."

"We're not giving up." Hank's voice was determined. "The commissioner is on his way with the league's investigators. Let's move this to the conference room so that Erik can answer the questions before we address the media."

"I want Shannon completely exonerated from this mess," Brody demanded.

The GM shot a measuring glance Brody's way before giving a slight nod. "As she should be. In the meantime, you've got an appointment with the team physician. Don't be late."

"You're not going to involve the police, are you?" Erik whined as Donovan led him out of the locker room, Hank on their heels.

"That's up to the commissioner." Hank's voice trailed down the hall.

Brody sank down into one of the leather sofas in the center of the room, resting his head in his hands. The confrontation with Erik left him deflated. His story was out and the snitch was caught, but Brody still felt unbalanced.

"You need to get to the hospital for those tests," Roscoe reminded him. "I'll hang back here and make sure the media get the entire story. Shay will be heralded as your girlfriend again by the noon news cycle."

"No." Brody dragged his fingers through his hair. "I want her totally removed from this mess. Release a statement saying that she was working as my nutritionist. We were only posing as a couple to throw off Blaze management. It's the truth."

Roscoe snorted. "It didn't look like you two were pretending."

Brody sprung from the sofa. "I blackmailed her! Don't you see? I'm just as bad as that d.a.m.n blogger. Not only that, but I told her I trusted her to get her to sleep with me. Then I turned on her the first opportunity I got. Believe me, Shannon has no interest in continuing a relationship with a hypocrite. Besides, her dissertation is complete; she doesn't need any more data."

"Huh," was all Roscoe said.

"Huh, what?" Brody snapped at him. "Aren't you always telling me not to get tied up with women during the season? You say they're too distracting or some bulls.h.i.t like that. Well, I'm following your advice. There are four weeks left and then the playoffs. And that's if they even let me play!"

"You picked a fine time to start following my advice." Roscoe walked toward the door. "Too bad, because I liked this girl. But you're right. Football comes first. Especially right now. Go to your physical, Brody. I'll make sure Shay isn't muddied by this mess any longer."

Brody stood in the quiet locker room a moment longer, the tightness in his throat making it difficult to swallow. It's better this way. He'd only need to repeat that phrase another thousand times to believe it.

"Shay, what's die beet ease?" Maddox asked around a mouthful of Cap'n Crunch.

Jackie had worked the overnight shift and her son was home from school with pinkeye. Shay had volunteered to watch him for the morning while Mrs. Elder took care of baby Anya.

"Diabetes," she said pouring him a gla.s.s of orange juice. "It's a condition where your body produces too much sugar and it makes you sick."

The local news had been covering the story of Brody's health all week. Cameras had followed him into Johns Hopkins Hospital on Tuesday, where it was reported he'd gone through a barrage of tests. A team of endocrinologists was a.s.sembled to a.s.sess his condition and deem him fit to play in the NFL. Shay doubted they'd find anything to keep him off the field. The blood sugar readings she'd compiled were all consistent with reactive hypoglycemia, but as Mr. Osbourne had pointed out, she wasn't a medical doctor.

"So if Brody eats candy, he could die?"