When we reach a big, metal plaque on the wall to the side of reception, I easily locate the “Taysom Reed Foundation.”
“There you are.”
He shifts from side to side. “I wanted the donation to be anonymous, but did you know that the world strongly discourages football players from remaining anonymous in contributions like these?” He shoots out a breath. “Something about how valuable word of mouth is.”
“Ah, so others will be encouraged to contribute because they want to be like you.” I hope he doesn’t think I’m trying to be facetious. I’m really not. I think it’s admirable that he can draw people in like that. That he can influence people.
He frowns. “Let’s go find us a…what did you call it? An inchometer?”
“Close. It’s an inclinometer.”
He reaches the bank of elevators, but I suck in a breath and grab his hand just before he pushes the button.
“We are taking the stairs, Taysom. That’s secret heist 101.”
He smirks. “Oh, is it now?” He gestures to the door to the stairwell. “Okay, boss.”
We take the stairs as quietly and quickly as we possibly can, with me leading the way. But right as we reach the next floor, he steps in front of me before I go to shove the door open. “I’ll make sure it’s clear.”
After several dramatic and surreptitious peeks, we start down a corridor. Sleek. Clinical. High ceilings. Oatmeal-colored granite floors. It’s so quiet we could hear a pin just thinking about dropping.
“Huh.” Taysom’s voice is a whisper. “So where would one keep one of these inclinometers?”
“Do you guys have a podiatry department?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“And you offered to give me a tour.” I tsk my tongue, but smile back at him.
His mouth drops open. “Hey, it would have been a great tour. Totally exclusive. Insider knowledge.”
“Just not the podiatry unit.”
“We’ll find it, don’t worry.”
We traipse along the halls, checking the signs on the doors and above the intersecting hallways. It’s any athlete’s dream. An Olympic-sized swimming pool. A weight room that would make the guy who stars in the new Jack Reacher series drool. And therapy rooms. So many therapy rooms.
“There could be an inclinometer in one of the therapy rooms,” I whisper, but there’s no need to check because Taysom points ahead. “Podiatry” in gold lettering on a stark white wall. It lists a few doctors’ names.
“The question is, though, how are we going to get in?”
A whirring starts a fair distance away. “Do you hear that?” Taysom asks, his eyes alert.
“They’re vacuuming.”
“Exactly. They’re going to have to open this door to vacuum at some point.”
“What if they’ve already vacuumed here?”
He chews on his lip. “It wouldn’t hurt to wait around a few minutes.”
“You’re Taysom Reed. You could just walk up to them and ask them to unlock it for you.”
He shrugs. “I could try, but there are no guarantees they’d do it. Besides, this way is more fun.”
He grabs my hand and for a moment, I’m thrown so off-kilter I nearly sway. His grip is firm and warmth travels up my arm, a tingling, flying sensation. “Let’s hide out over here until they get to the room we need,” he says, quietly now as we step into an alcove.
“Dr. Perbutt.” I laugh as I point to the sign on the door.
