In the morning, Reid took Shane to buy a bathing suit and some other necessities. While shopping, they chatted. He told her about his childhood years, the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he remembered absolutely nothing about his father. He explained that although his father had left them financially okay, his mother had to work as she raised Reid and his sisters. He admitted that he probably would not have been able to attend college without his scholarship. He was currently covering Hunter’s tuition at Julliard.

He informed Shane that his reputation as “The Bad Boy of Golf” was really nonsense. The press irritated him and he occasionally put them in their place, but only when they deserved it. He was courteous on the golf course and only gave other pros a hard time if they didn’t respect course etiquette. There were times when he didn’t give many autographs, but he would never treat a fan disrespectfully. Overall, the label “Bad Boy” was untrue, but it had a good effect and he enjoyed the notoriety. Buck agreed that Reid should continue to give the press a hard time, but just enough to stay in the limelight. “Sometimes I push them too far, but I’m never the instigator.” She smiled at that statement. “What?” he asked. “I didn’t say anything.” “Cute as it was, that smile said a lot,” he accused her. “Oh, don’t go getting all sensitive on me.” He shook his head and laughed, then continued to explain the ICSF and AllSport. They talked about spending a long weekend at AllSport as soon as they could both find the time. He described his homes; the house he shared with Buck at AllSport, his apartment in New York and his townhouse in Florida.

Shane explained her career as a freelance writer. She wrote regularly for three magazines and often worked on newsletters for various organizations. They both agreed a newsletter could be good for the Inner City Sports Foundation. It would be an excellent tool for informing regular contributors as well as soliciting new donations.

Reid learned that Shane’s parents had retired and lived in Florida. One of her brothers was an attorney living with his family in Telluride, Colorado. Her other brother was a struggling entrepreneur with a lot of good ideas but little to show for them. They grew up in Cherry Hill, New Jersey and only recently scattered around the country. She didn’t get to see them as often as she wished. She told Reid that although she had known Jamie Freed for about four months they had only started dating recently. More importantly she had not gone out with him since she had met Reid.

They made a quick stop at a sports shop, where Reid bought boogie boards, a Frisbee, and some lacrosse sticks. He hoped one of the bodyguards would know how to throw a lacrosse ball.

When they got back to the house, Reid went down to the basement to look for his lacrosse stick. What he found brought on a rush of emotions. Piled in a corner was his old football equipment. He rummaged through the gear, picked up a partially deflated football and sat for a few minutes, flipping the ball from hand to hand, reminiscing.

His mood was melancholy when Hunter came down and found him. She sat next to him. “Miss it, huh? Well, it certainly would have been a different life for you. We used to get so worried every time you played.”

“Yeah, I got banged around a lot, but I do miss it,” he got up, found his lacrosse stick and said, “Come on, let’s go to the beach!”

They went upstairs, rounded everybody up and packed the vans with beach gear and coolers filled with lunch.

The roads were fairly clear until they neared the beach; then they hit typical Summer Saturday Long Island beach traffic. Double team security meant that they now had teams one, three, four and five with them. Greeny and Mench, nicknamed the “assassinators” due to their expertise in finding and eliminating assassins throughout the world, were in the rear of the vans, scanning traffic for any suspicious vehicles that might be tailing them.

Upon arrival at the beach, the security teams disembarked before everyone else. After a quick survey of the area, they gave each other silent all-clear signals. The group carried the sports equipment and coolers down the boardwalk to the crowded beach and made camp high up near the dunes. Reid immediately challenged anyone to a Boogie Board race. Shane and Betsy accepted and grabbed boards. “Come on, Joel,” Reid said. “Are you a chicken?” He did a ridiculous chicken impression and got a few laughs. “Not today, Reid. Sorry.” Shane had picked up on the change in the security team’s behavior.

They seemed to have stepped up to a more serious level. “Reid, what’s going on?” she asked. “Why are Joel and the others suddenly much more serious?” “Yeah, I noticed it too,” Betsy said. “What happened?” Reid put his head down and said, “Now please don’t overreact. I don’t want everyone panicking. I got another threat yesterday at the golf course. I didn’t want to worry you guys more than you are already.”

“Oh my God! Not another one!” Joan shrieked. “When are they going to find this guy?”

Reid walked over to her and gave her a hug. “Calm down, Ma, it’s going to be okay. These guys are the best protection we could have. They’ll get him…or her.” “I’m just scared. I can’t help it.” “I know, me too,” he admitted. They spent a few hours riding the waves, eating lunch and soaking in the sun, but the news of the second threat had put a damper on things. The only highlight of Reid’s day was finding out that Stu had played college lacrosse. After an easy warm-up catch, they began throwing the ball harder and harder until they were firing shots at each other at breakneck speed. They had to quit after a little while because they had attracted an audience. After all, how many times do you get to see the nation’s top golfer throwing a lacrosse ball at Jones Beach? Kids rushed from all over the beach with their sticks to join in. He threw a ball with them until Joel said, “Sorry, kids, we have to go.”

After a quiet dinner it was time for bed. The day at the beach hadn’t been as much of a distraction as Reid had hoped. The relentless thoughts of the threats were now etched into his brain. Usually, Reid looked forward to a good night’s rest after an active day. But sleep was becoming more difficult every night. Reid was beginning to dread the thought of going to bed in fear that lying alone would magnify his turmoil.

In season, Sundays are rarely a day of rest for a PGA golfer; quite the oppo site, in fact. Today, Reid wanted to do absolutely nothing but relax and maybe take a walk. Betsy had to get back to her family in Connecticut. She hadn’t seen them in more than a week. She agreed to drive back down with Steve and the kids the following weekend to watch the final rounds of the Classic. Hunter had made plans to spend the day with her friend, Dayle, who lived in the area. After lunch, Reid, Shane, Joel and Stu drove Betsy to the airport. She had to fly to Hartford where her car had been parked since she had flown to Augusta. They dropped her off, then drove to Ward Pound Ridge Reservation and took a two-hour hike through the woods. It was exactly what Reid needed to help him relax.

Later, he watched the end of the LPGA tournament on TV. It remind ed him that he needed to make hotel reservations. He couldn’t chance the distractions of staying at the house during the tournament, and he would need his daily massage. He called and reserved a suite and four additional rooms at The Rye Town Hilton, which was only a few miles from the golf course.

It was decided that Joel, Stu, Buddy and Reid would head to the hotel in the morning, while Lance and Beebs would drive Shane to her apartment. She would return to the house on Wednesday and stay through the tournament.

Reid was breaking one of his own rules: No girlfriends around during tournaments. Never mix women and golf. It’ll be okay, he tried to convince himself. I just need to get into the zone during the tournament and I’ll be fine. Nothing distracts me when I’m in the zone.