Game On (20 page)

She suspected that last part might be true, but she wasn’t about to add to the boy’s sorrow. It was surreal how this little boy’s life could be so similar to hers. Those feelings of being lost and alone in the world still lingered despite the fact that she had her own home, her own job, and her own money. It was that sense of belonging she kept searching for. And she thought she’d found it here in Baltimore with her sister Lisa’s family and her job with the Blaze. But it still felt precarious, as if it could be ripped away from her at any moment. She wondered if that feeling would ever go away.

Shame on Shane for making this boy feel so vulnerable. She gave Troy a gentle squeeze. “He doesn’t want anybody,” she said, brushing a kiss over his hair. “He thinks he’s too cool to need anybody. He’s just a big butthead.”

Troy giggled into her shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, holding him away from her. “Our ice cream is melting. Whaddya say we eat it before the butthead shows up to take you home? He should be here any minute.”

They were both laughing when they entered the kitchen. But when Carly turned on the overhead light, she stopped dead in her tracks. The sweet smell of roses reached her nostrils at the same time her eyes took in the mess in her kitchen and living room. Mutilated flowers were strewn everywhere. It looked as if wild animals had been let loose inside. Photos were ripped from frames, their glass scattered about the floor. Pillows and cushions were slashed, pieces of stuffing still floating in the air.

She gulped for air as her breath froze in her lungs. The plastic bag holding the ice cream slipped from her numb fingertips.

“Who did this?” It took her a moment to realize that Troy was echoing her thoughts. Except Carly already knew who’d done it. Joel Tompkins.

Troy took a step farther into the house before she grabbed him tightly by the arm, pulling him behind her.

“No, Troy.” She was amazed she could find the breath to speak since her chest felt like it might explode. “Get outside.” Dragging him into the garage, she shoved him back into the car. With shaky hands, she jammed the keys into the ignition.

“Get out my cell phone,” she ordered, tossing Troy her purse. Backing out of the garage, she parked the car down the street and he handed her the phone. With trembling fingers, she dialed 911.

Seventeen

Shane worked off some steam as he and Beckett
jogged the last mile to Carly’s. They’d run a two-mile loop through the back of the neighborhood. He figured he’d arrive at her house just as they were getting home after their dessert of ice cream. Surely, the kid could manage to walk a mile back to his place. Hopefully it would tire him out and he’d go right to bed. Shane had had enough of listening to him gush at Carly for one night. Not that Shane could blame the kid. Obviously, he had a major crush on her.

Well, so did a couple other guys, including one psycho sportswriter.

Shane had checked with guards at the gatehouse when he drove in to make sure Joel hadn’t attempted to enter the neighborhood. Both men assured him they knew to alert the police if they spotted his car. He’d texted Donovan fifteen minutes ago, but still no reply. Hopefully, the police had already picked Joel up. Just the same, even with the added security of being in a gated community, Shane would make sure her place was locked up tightly before he left.

His cell phone vibrated. Digging it out of his pocket, he recognized Donovan’s number on the caller ID. Great. They’d finally picked up Tompkins. But he never answered the call because as he rounded the corner next to Carly’s house, he spotted three police cruisers, lights flashing, parked in front.

What the hell?
They were going out to eat ice cream. They weren’t supposed to be back yet. Beckett trailed behind him as he sprinted toward the house, ignoring Donovan’s call.

Shane pushed through the half-open front door, the dog following him in. The place was a mess. Police technicians were moving about dusting for fingerprints and putting things in plastic baggies. Beckett trotted over to where the kid stood talking to a man wearing a rumpled suit. The guy was jotting something in his notebook and chewing on a plastic coffee straw.

“Shane!” the kid said as Beckett planted himself firmly on the kid’s feet.

The cop in the rumpled suit looked up at Shane. His mustache was as raggedy as his clothing.

“Who’re you?” he asked without removing the straw.

“He’s my brother, Shane Devlin.”

Rumpled Suit’s eyes lit up in recognition as Shane clamped his hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“What happened?” Shane asked.

“I don’t know. It was like this when we got here.” The kid’s glasses magnified his eyes, huge with what was either fear or bravado. Probably both.

“Did you see anyone in or around the house when you came in?” The cop directed his question at the kid. Shane’s gut clenched and his palms began to sweat. Whoever did this could have been here when they’d walked in. The guards at the gate either hadn’t been doing their job, or Joel was a lot more determined than they’d all given him credit for. He raked his fingers through his hair and sucked in a deep breath.

“No. Carly wouldn’t let me go past the kitchen. Once she saw the mess, she took me back to her car. She drove to the corner and we stayed there until you guys came.” The kid looked from Shane to the cop. “You guys got here really fast.”

“You did the right thing,” the cop reassured him.

“Where’s Carly?” Shane asked. The kid pointed behind him, stepping out of the way as Shane reluctantly let go of his shoulder. Carly sat on the bottom step of the stairs leading to her bedroom. Another detective stood over her, gently questioning her. His suit wasn’t rumpled. In fact, he looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of
Menswear
magazine. He was young and fresh faced, and a dead ringer for Matt Damon. From where he stood looking down at Carly, he had a great view down her blouse, which he seemed to be taking full advantage of.

Shane crouched down between her and the cop’s shiny wingtips.

“Hey,” he said softly as she looked up at him. The same blue eyes that had shone with passion earlier in the day were now blank. Her lower lip was swollen and pink from where she’d been biting it. It stood out against her pale skin. Her hand trembled as she brushed her hair over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Shane.” Her voice was soft. “I wouldn’t have brought Troy here if I’d known . . . if I’d known . . .” She was unable to finish her sentence.

Damn,
he never should have let them come home by themselves. If anything had happened to them—either of them . . . Shane pushed the rest of the thought from his mind. His heart was racing just thinking about what he wanted to do that creep Tompkins. But he needed to reassure Carly right now. The look on her face was scaring the hell out of him.

He reached up to cradle her cheek. “Are you kidding? He’ll be talking about this for years. Don’t worry about him. You’re both safe. That’s all that matters.”

The cop cleared his throat as Beckett nearly knocked Shane off his haunches. The dog buried his face in Carly’s lap and she wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek on his big head. Shane stood up, eyeing the cop who was looking between Shane and Carly.

“You guys were supposed to pick up Tompkins hours ago. What the hell happened?” Shane maneuvered the cop farther away from Carly.

“Baltimore PD is trying to serve the arrest warrant now, but the guy is pretty slippery. We don’t even know if Tompkins did this,” Pretty Boy said slapping, his notepad against the palm of his hand. Shane was so exasperated he was about to rip the notepad from his hands when Donovan strode into the room, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He ended the call when he saw Shane. The vibrating in Shane’s shorts stopped at the same time.

“I just got here,” Shane said by way of explanation.

“What have you got?” Donovan asked the two detectives.

“Looks like your run-of-the-mill house trashing,” Rumpled Suit said. “The perp wasn’t on the premises when the patrol officers arrived. The sliding glass door was jimmied. Pissed-off ex-boyfriend, maybe?”

Boyfriend?
Was this guy kidding?
Shane wanted to lunge for the cop’s neck, but Donovan stepped in between them, which probably was a good thing since half the occupants of the room were armed and stupid.

“Chill out, Devlin!” Donovan barked at him, shoving him toward a wall. “I got this!”

Shane sucked in a few deep breaths. Donovan slowly pivoted around, both hands on his hips, his tone razor sharp.

“Joel Tompkins is a stalker who has violated a standing restraining order twice today. He has never been or never will be a boyfriend of Miss March’s. He illegally entered her office and her home, destroying personal property. He’s a criminal with an arrest warrant outstanding. Do I make myself clear?” Rumpled Suit chewed a little harder on his straw as Donovan stared him down.

“Until we get prints back, we can’t confirm Tompkins even did this,” Pretty Boy reiterated. “And it’s standard operating procedure in these types of break-ins to ask about any relationships the victim may have. You’d be surprised how often that occurs.”

Stepping away from the wall, Shane clenched his hands into fists of frustration. “Hey, we’re on the same side, here,” the detective said, eyeing Shane. “We want to catch the guy who did this as much as you do.”

“Joel was here.” Carly’s soft voice interrupted them. “Don, he was in this house. I know it.”

Donovan ran a hand over his bald head. “Yeah, Carly. I know. His car was in front of his place when they went to serve the arrest warrant, but he wasn’t home. His roommate let them in and they searched the place and found a rental car receipt. Apparently, he’s been driving around in a rental van while avoiding his apartment all week. They put a BOLO out with the new information. The guards only knew to stop him by the make of his vehicle. I’ve got someone checking the surveillance tape and the logbook at the guard shack right now. We should know when he was here.” He crouched down in front of Carly, placing a hand on her knee. “They’ll get him tonight, Carly. Don’t you worry.”

Carly chewed some more on her bottom lip before managing a nod for Donovan.

“If this was Tompkins,” Rumpled Suit said, holding his hands up before either man could argue with him, “we need to make sure we document this mess and get any evidence to the district attorney’s office. It’ll help make your case stronger when the patrol officers pick him up.”

“I appreciate it,” Donovan said, shaking hands with both detectives before they walked away. Donovan stood with his back to Shane and Carly. He clasped both hands behind his head and took a deep breath. His suit jacket pulled against his back, revealing the bulge of his gun. Shane stepped forward, pulling Donovan out of earshot of Carly.

“Since when do you wear a gun?” he asked Donovan quietly.

Donovan pinned him with another of his military tough-guy looks. “Since I went with the cops into that perv’s apartment thirty minutes ago,” he whispered. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Shane, this dude is sick. His apartment was filled with pictures. Pictures of Carly. Pictures of her mom and the actress who played Carly in the movie. It was like a shrine.”

He didn’t think it was possible, but Shane’s whole body tensed further.

“I’m no shrink, but it’s obvious the guy’s got some crazy obsession with Carly. It’s quite possible he’s under the delusion she has the same feelings for him. Seeing her with you seems to have set him off.” Donovan gestured toward the mess around them. “Because now, he’s one pissed-off crazy dude.”

“You should have let me beat the crap out of him when I had the chance.” Fury—and a little bit of guilt—ripped through Shane’s body. He wanted Tompkins locked up and out of Carly’s life for good.

“We’ll get him,” Donovan said. “Hopefully tonight, but maybe not until tomorrow or the next day. In the meantime, she needs to get out of here. Preferably, out of town for a few days. Asia left for L.A. earlier or I’d send her to stay there. I need to call Hank and see if the team has a place she can stay.”

“She can come home with us.” Until he spoke, neither one noticed the kid standing behind Shane. With his arms crossed over his chest and the patented Devlin look on his face, he faced Shane without flinching. “If you say no, then I’m stayin’ here with her.” Something stirred in Shane’s gut; he wasn’t sure if it was annoyance or pride. Whatever it was, the kid wasn’t budging.

Shane dragged a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “Yeah, she can come with us.” It wasn’t the best idea. The look Donovan threw him confirmed it. But there was no way was he letting her out of his sight again tonight. “Tomorrow, I’ll put her on a plane to New York to see her friend. Hopefully the cops will have found Joel by then and he’ll be behind bars.”

Donovan continued to stare at him, his hands on his hips beneath his suit jacket, until he finally nodded.

Turning away from Donovan, Shane motioned for the kid to take Beckett. Carly looked up at him as she released the dog. The vacant look he’d noticed on her face earlier was still there. Gently he pulled her up off the step. “Come on, Dorothy, let’s get you packed.”

They navigated past a pair of officers who’d been gathering evidence upstairs. With their work finished, Carly was free to take what she needed before leaving. Shane heard her ragged intake of breath as she caught sight of the mess in her bedroom. It looked as if Joel had touched everything in her drawers. Anger was beginning to overtake the fear in Carly. “That little creep!” she said, lifting a ripped pillow off the floor and clutching it to her chest.

“Why don’t you grab what you need from the bathroom,” Shane said, gently maneuvering her out of the room. “I’ll throw some things in a bag. You can get new clothes tomorrow.” Treating it as if it were still intact, she carefully laid the ripped pillow on the corner of the bed before slowly shuffling to the bathroom.

Shane spotted her gym bag in the corner. It was empty except for a pair of sneakers. Clothes were strewn everywhere throughout the room.
What had the guy been doing? Trying it all on?

Shane stuffed the bag with shorts and shirts and a pair of jeans. When he got to the lingerie, his hand froze. Most of it was in tatters on the floor. It looked like the pervert had shred it all. He swore for the umpteenth time as he fingered a scrap of lace. Reaching in the back of a drawer, he pulled out a pair of serviceable cotton bikini panties. Definitely not her normal repertoire, but they’d do in a pinch.

“Carly?” He zipped up the bag. “How’s it going in there?”

When she didn’t respond, he threw the bag over his shoulder and followed her into the bathroom. “Holy shit,” he swore again. Joel had left no room untouched. A plethora of obscenities were scribbled in lipstick on the mirror. Shane felt his anger ratchet up a notch—if that was even possible. Fear had paralyzed Carly again. She stood, white knuckles clutching the vanity, staring at the word
whore
smudged across the center of the mirror. Grabbing her toothbrush and some hair bands, he threw them in the quilted floral bag he’d found in the linen closet. Anything else she needed, she could pick up at a drugstore later. “Come on,” he said, taking hold of her arm.

“No!” She wrenched her arm free and snatched up the lipstick off the vanity, snapping the top on it. Pulling open the draws, she whipped out hair brushes and lotions, tossing them in the bag. Her movements were manic. When he caught sight of her eyes in the mirror, they looked unfocused and wild. “I can do this,” she muttered.

He had to hand it to her; she wasn’t going to give the jerk any power over her. But she was straddling the line of hysteria and he wasn’t sure he could deal with the aftermath if she crossed it.

“Hey!” He grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to face him. It took a moment for her eyes to focus. When they did, he raised his hands to cup her face. “It’s okay.
You’re
okay. This is all just stuff. Leave it.” He brushed a kiss across her hairline.

“That’s easy for you to say,” she mumbled. “That was a thirty-dollar tube of lipstick he ruined.”

He grinned, feeling a stirring of pride at her surging resilience as he let his lips linger on her forehead. “Let’s get out of here, Dorothy. Toto and the Munchkin are waiting for us downstairs.”

* * *

It took nearly two hours and several minor
miracles to get Carly out of her house, back to his place, and settled into his bed. The first obstacle was Carly’s refusal to leave her home looking like a war zone and occupied by police. Donovan turned on his ten-thousand-megawatt smile, assuring her that he would lock up and make arrangements to have it cleaned. Next, the pretty-boy detective wanted to know how to reach her for further questioning. Donovan explained their plan for her to go to New York for a few days.