Dead Wrong (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 7) by Jack Patterson (ebook reader for pc .txt) 📕

“I hope so. You’re the best. You deserve to win one.”

Jameson smiled again. “Thanks, Son. Sweet dreams.” He flipped off the light switch and left the room.

***

LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, Jameson handed over his keys to a valet in the parking lot of Torque, the most popular—and elite—nightclub in the nation’s capital. His phone buzzed and he glanced down at the screen. It was Tonya with a text message wanting to know where he was.

Anywhere you aren’t.

He ignored the message and slid his phone back into his pocket.

He didn’t go out often after games, but hitting the game-winning shot motivated him to get dressed to the nines and soak in some adulation from the forgiving public. He won over the fans’ hearts three years ago when he made a shot over the Celtic’s Kevin Garnett in the deciding game of a playoff series. But since then? He might as well be the scourge of D.C. And given the fact that the city teemed with politicians and lobbyists, to sink to the dregs meant he had to fail almost daily.

But not tonight. He’d be toasted at the bar, slapped on the back, and fans would reminisce over some of his biggest moments from that night’s game—and his career. And he needed some praise, any praise. He needed to get out and breathe and escape his wretched sham of a marriage, even if it was only for a night.

As predicted, Jameson received a warm welcome by the club’s upscale patrons. In less than an hour, no less than half-a-dozen people had bought him shots. He’d also received two propositions, from a blonde and a brunette. And he signed at least ten napkins and posed for twice as many pictures.

Tired from all the glad-handing, he slid onto a barstool and hunched over as he nursed his latest glass of scotch.

“Rough night?” the man next to him asked.

Jameson looked up at the man and furrowed his brow. Everyone knew who he was. Everyone. But this man was pretending to not know or was a D.C. sports illiterate, an oddity but not completely uncommon. Jameson relished the opportunity to have a normal conversation with someone that didn’t involve discussing all his dirty laundry, which had been aired through the tabloids, or his latest stat line. Just two men talking about life.

Jameson nodded and looked back down at his glass. “Professionally, I had a great night. Personally, it was mixed.”

The man ordered two more drinks and shoved one of them in front of Jameson, despite Jameson’s initial refusal.

“I insist, Mr.—”

“Jameson.”

The man stopped. “Mr. Kelvin Jameson? The basketball player?”

Jameson rubbed his face with his hands. Then he shook his head and forced a smile. “That’s me.”

“My kid’s a big fan of yours,” the man said. “Up until this past summer, he had a poster of you shooting over Kevin Garnett in the playoffs.”

Jameson laughed. “So, what happened to it?”

“He took it down. He’s into soccer now. I can’t even pronounce the name of the guy on the poster tacked to his wall now.”

“Fame is fleeting.” Jameson started to cough and pounded his chest to get down the alcohol.

“Are you okay?” the man asked.

Jameson closed his eyes and glanced around the room, which felt like it was spinning. “I don’t know. I feel weird all of a sudden.”

The man stood up and grabbed Jameson’s arm and put it around him. “Let me help you. I’m a doctor.”

Jameson forced a smile and looked at the man as they shuffled toward the door. “Good thing I met you when I did.”

Despite feeling dizzy and weak, Jameson felt as if he was in control of his mental faculties, a fact he recognized when the man tried to steer him toward a back alley exit. “Why are we going this way?”

With quick glances over his shoulder, the man hobbled fast as he helped Jameson. “You don’t want all your adoring fans to see you this way, do you? You wouldn’t want a video to leak onto social media of Kelvin Jameson, superstar basketball player stumbling drunk out of Torque, now would you?”

Jameson shook his head. The man’s reasoning made sense to him, even if the sudden onset of his condition didn’t. The last thing he wanted was to be perceived as a fool—or a drunk.

The door to the alley swung open and a stark white van was parked outside running. Another man opened the door and helped get Jameson inside.

“Wait? Where are we going?” Jameson asked.

The man slid into the seat next to Jameson and proceeded to pat him on his knee. “We’re going to cure what ails you.”

***

JAMESON SQUINTED AT THE LIGHT flooding his eyes. He glanced around the room, hoping his eyes adjusted quickly. As everything came into focus, the details of the last hour grew blurrier.

Where am I? Who are these girls next to me? What happened?

Then a pause.

Why do I feel like my heart’s about to explode?

It was the last thing Jameson ever thought—or felt.

CHAPTER 2

CAL MURPHY ENJOYED THE RHYTHM of his long strokes through the Olympic distance pool. He churned through fifty meters of water before flipping around and shoving off the wall with his legs on his way to conquer fifty more. While most of his sports writer peers would never hesitate in choosing between a freshly baked doughnut and thirty minutes of lap time at the YMCA pool, most of them had never experienced what he had since he entered journalism. He was running out of fingers to keep track of all the times he’d been thrust into situations that required a bigger and faster version of himself. He hated relying on others to save him when he inevitably would test his journalistic bounds. He knew one day it might cost him something if he wasn’t prepared.

As he neared the wall, he glanced upward to see a familiar figure casting a flickering shadow on the water.

Cal stopped short of flipping around underneath the water and