Out Of Her League (11 page)

Tears of frustration welled. He could never understand what the team meant to her, how hard she'd worked to get this far. But it wasn't just that. She wanted her freedom, wanted to live her life like any other person. It wasn't her fault some deranged maniac had fixated on her. She would have defended herself to him but the worry on his face took the fight out of her. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to scare you. I'll be more careful from now on.” Seeing how much he cared about her formed an even bigger lump in her throat.

He let out a deep breath and pulled away. “I called the boys and they checked out the license plate. The pickup's stolen, and they're looking for it right now.”

“I guess I can't go home then?”

“Not on your life, darlin'.” Absolute steel rang in his voice.

She forced down the spurt of panic at the prospect of being banned from her home. Her life was being stripped away from her; first softball, now her house. What would be next? She hated Seth whatever-his-name-was for it. “Okay,” She dug way down to stay calm. No point blasting Rayne for her predicament. It wasn't his fault, and it wouldn't solve anything. “So what now?”

“You could stay at my place.”

Oh yeah, like she would move in with him and make it that much harder to keep her feelings to herself. She arched a brow at him.

“Oh, come on,” he snapped. “I'm not expecting anything from you in return, so don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she demanded. She'd be an idiot to put herself through that kind of torture. Live in his space, seeing him day in and day out and be nothing more than friends.

He pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a killer headache, then glared at her. “That's it. If you don't have the sense to go somewhere safe, I'll damn well drag you there over my shoulder.”

“Maybe I could go and stay with Michael, but I'd rather not leave town entirely. Besides, this creep could follow me anywhere, so how does it matter where I am?”

“At least if you're not alone, he can't hurt you, can he?” His voice rose. “If you won't stay with me, pack your stuff and get over to Drew and Teryl's. This is not something you can handle on your own anymore, Chris, do you understand me?”

She did, and she didn't like it one bit. She hated the fact that some creep could turn her life upside down and scare her to the point where she actually had to leave her own home to find some security. “I don't know if staying with them is such a good idea. I'd feel awful if I put them at risk.”

“And is that as important as keeping you from ending up in the hospital? God, are you even listening to yourself? If Teryl could hear you right now she'd kick your ass.”

Yikes, he was really mad. Even his drawl had disappeared. This was no laid-back Southern boy. His eyes were like twin lasers burning holes through her. “Okay, fine. I'll call and see if I can move in with them for a while.” She could practice her invisibility skills.

“You do that. I want this stopped before it starts, Chris. We have body armor and guns. You don't.”

“Yes, but I've got— ”

“Jake and your lucky bat, yes I know.”

“Well, thanks for the cheery pep talk.”

“Hey, I'm just trying to keep you safe.” He was still ticked at her, but at least he wasn't yelling anymore. “I'm worried about you.”

Under different circumstances his words might have made her feel all warm and fuzzy. “I'll need to go home to pack some things and pick up Jake.”

“We can stop by there right now. I'll follow you.”

She didn't dare argue, and felt much safer seeing his license plate in her rearview mirror all the way home.

On the way into her house she gathered up her mail, leafing through it as they followed Jake into the kitchen. Between her bills and the newspaper was a small envelope, her uniform number on the front. Her stomach dropped.

“Rayne... ”

“What?” He came over immediately.

Immobilized, her brain refusing to acknowledge her fears, she pushed aside the dread and opened it.

Do you like nursery rhymes? This one's my favorite: Run, run, as fast as you can Do you remember how it ends, sweet Christa
?

Her vision blurred, icy panic skidding through her. Oh, she knew how it ended.

You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man
.

A cop. Her boyfriend was a fucking
cop
.

The irony of it ate at his gut like acid. Yesterday he'd hacked into the Motor Vehicles database and looked up the boyfriend's license plate. More background checking revealed that the man Christa had chosen worked on some kind of SWAT team.

How could he despise her and worship her at the same time?

Earlier today he'd visited his esthetician. He'd admired the sway of her hips as she sauntered ahead of him in her little black sandals. Around twenty, with curly blonde hair and almond-shaped brown eyes, she had an innocent air about her, but he knew better than to believe it was anything more than an act. Eyeing her from behind his dark glasses in the dimly lit treatment room, he pulled off first his shirt, then his pants, his pulse rate increasing.

“So we're doing your chest, arms and legs today?”

He climbed onto the table and lay face down. Part of the planning was making sure you had good explanations ready. “Yes. I'm a competitive swimmer, and I've got an important meet this weekend.”

She made a murmur and wiped down his legs, sprinkled talcum powder and applied the first sweeps of hot wax over his skin. He sighed at the warmth of it, anticipated her pressing the adhesive strip down, yanking it upward.

He embraced the stinging. It centered him.

Rip... rip... rip...

He was no stranger to pain, had learned how to control the rage it triggered. He'd made a point to learn from his mistakes, studying the system from within, learning early never to trust cops. Of course he'd already learned that lesson at home.

He exhaled deeply as the hatred rose in a red haze, threatening to choke him. Whenever the memories surfaced he locked them in a vault in the back of his mind. His temper was harder to tame, despite his efforts to curb it. It was all his mother's fault. Her pathetic excuses, always turning a blind eye when he stumbled downstairs covered in bloody welts, seeking protection and comfort from the woman who should have rearranged the universe to keep him safe. At eleven, Seth had been no match for Henry's meaty fists.

When he'd run away and gone to the police for help, they'd done nothing. None of Henry's DUI charges seemed to make it to court, and his mother's allegations of domestic abuse by her second husband were never investigated. The cops had closed rank around their fellow officer, leaving Seth and his mother to suffer their private hell. The abused adolescent boy he'd been had learned that women were spineless, deceitful creatures and the so-called upholders of the law were deserving of nothing but his contempt.

“Okay, sir, you can turn over now.”

Seth rolled onto his back, considered the pretty young woman applying warm wax over his thighs. Her eyes darted away from his growing erection, porcelain cheeks pinking. Charming, that she would blush over something as simple as basic physiology. He pondered his options. She didn't fit with his others, so nothing could link her with the rest. The idea interested him. He still had some time before Christa.

Christa. The thought of her regenerated his bad mood.

Tomorrow he had one more delivery to make. Afterward he'd go home and shave his head and remaining body hair, minimizing the risk of leaving DNA evidence. His fingerprints were on file somewhere from when he'd been hauled in for questioning a couple years ago, and unless the cops were totally incompetent they had to have at least one other set of his prints by now. But even if they put all the clues together, they still had to catch him. He was continually surprised they hadn't figured it out yet, but it wouldn't do to make it too easy for them. So close to his goal, he wouldn't let anything jeopardize his success.

Christa would pay for her betrayal.

The morning after moving into Teryl and Drew's, Christa was knee deep in a hole she'd dug in their garden. Since Rayne had said she wasn't allowed to go anywhere on her own, not even to work if she could avoid it, she had delegated the most important jobs to her two part-time employees and prayed the cops would pull her stalker in soon. She couldn't afford to turn away any landscaping contracts and besides, she was bored. She figured the least she could do was be helpful while she was staying at her friend's place.

Except that being helpful was going to herniate a disc in her lower back, she feared, wrenching at a stubborn stump. It was only little as far as stumps went, but it had taken her nearly all morning to dig around the base.

“All right you little bugger,” she muttered, and positioned herself for another go. Planting her scarred boots squarely beside the hole, she gave the whole works a mighty heave backward, straining every muscle in her back and shoulders until the last taproot gave with a pop, sending her sprawling flat on her back.

She lay there a moment, taking inventory of each sore muscle and ligament, then loaded the stump into her wheelbarrow and finished smoothing the new topsoil. At least her job kept her in great shape, sparing her from working out at a gym except during the winter. It allowed her the flexibility to shuffle her jobs around her softball schedule. And it gave her contacts for once her landscape design business was up and running, something she could do from home while raising a family. She frowned. Assuming she could find a husband, that is.

Inside she hopped into a cool shower, letting the water soothe her aches and wash the dirt from her hair and face. She toweled off and drew her hair into a ponytail, pulling on a breezy top and shorts before heading down to the kitchen for a cold drink. Teryl was sitting on the couch in the family room.

“I just finished hauling out that stump for you, so Rayne and Drew can start on the new deck.”

Teryl barely turned her head. “Yeah, thanks.”

Christa frowned. “What's up?”

“Nothing. I'm fine.” Her voice was about as animated as a stick man.

Oookay, Miss Moody Pants
. Maybe something to eat would cheer her up. Christa went to the fridge and dug out some veggies, chopped them and served them with dip. “I've never seen you like this before. Not like you at all.”

Teryl chewed on a carrot. “Yeah, well, I've felt better.”

Actually, she didn't look so good. She'd lost weight, and the shadows under her eyes made her seem even paler under the dusting of freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. “You'll get sick if you don't start taking better care of yourself.”

“Too late. I've been puking my guts out all day yesterday and most of this morning.”

Christa placed a hand on her forehead. Cool and clammy. “You should have said something. I could have brought you some ginger ale or something.”

Teryl gazed up at her with bloodshot eyes. “Want to make it up to me by bundling me up and fussing over me?”

Fussing was Christa's specialty. “Sure, honey. You get comfy and I'll bring you some tea. Do you have peppermint tea? It'll help settle your stomach. And I'll try and find you some crackers.” She bustled around the kitchen while Teryl ensconced herself deeper into the sofa. “Okay, princess. Start with these crackers, and if they stay down I'll make you some Jell-o.”

“It won't stay down.”

“Oh, come on. Just one bite.” She waved a cracker in front of Teryl's nose. “Open up the tunnel,” she sang, as if feeding a fussy toddler.

Teryl's face crumpled and she burst into noisy tears.

“Whoa, hon— I'm sorry. Forget the cracker.” She patted her friend's shoulder.

“I'm p-pregnant,” Teryl wailed, burying her face in her hands.

“What? Are you sure?”

Teryl nodded, tears dripping off her chin and onto the throw she'd bundled around her curled up legs. “I peed on the stick yesterday. It turned blue.”

“But honey, that's amazing!” Christa threw her arms in the air. “You're going to have a baby!”

Teryl gave her a watery smile, wiped her face. “I am.”

“How far along are you?”

“About six weeks, I think. So it can't be the night of your birthday party. That's the only other time we've... done it.”

She pulled away, mopped up some of Teryl's tears with her sleeve. “Does Drew know?”

Teryl fished a wad of Kleenex from the arm of her sweatshirt and wiped her nose. “Yeah. I told him last night.”

“And?”

“He... he said he was happy.”

Christa raised her eyebrows. “So help me out here. You're pregnant and your husband is happy about it, but you're crying.”

Teryl shrugged, as if she didn't understand it herself. “I know. I should be happy, but I feel so sad.” She cried some more into her handful of tissues. “What's wrong with m-me?”

Christa had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. Her friend had always been more emotional than most, but this was over the top, even for her. “Sweetie, I bet it's your hormones.”

“Hormones,” she repeated, as if testing the word. “You mean, you th-think this is normal?”

“Of course. You just found out you're going to be a mother, and you're not feeling well, and you're a little scared, maybe a little fragile, and you miss your mom, right?” Teryl's mother had passed away from cancer a couple years back, and the fact that she wouldn't be around to meet her grandchild had to be weighing on her friend's mind.

Teryl's pretty face scrunched up as fresh tears began. “Yeah, I wish my mom knew.”

“She knows, honey, I know she does.” Christa put an arm around her quaking shoulders. “And you know what else? You'll be an amazing mother, and this is the luckiest baby in the whole world.”

“Really?”

“Of course. You guys are going to be awesome parents. I think you're exhausted and you need a nice long nap.”

“Yeah. You're right.” She allowed Christa to help her up and settle her in the master bedroom.

“Congratulations, mommy,” she whispered, bringing a smile of wonder to her friend's face. “Now get some sleep.”