Red Zone (12 page)

A car door slamming caused Rebecca to raise her gun from where she’d been resting it at her hip, and she scrambled to her feet. Glancing through the Mustang’s windows, she breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Hansen walking toward them. He wasn’t focused on either of them or the car. He took in the surrounding area, looking, searching for anything suspicious or out of place. 

She knew as well as Hansen did that the chances of finding much tonight in the dark were minimal, at least not without drawing unwanted attention. No, they would have to come back in the morning. Correction,
he
would have to come back in the morning. She was still undercover. Poking around in broad daylight could compromise that. Given the events of the evening, even she couldn’t deny that Gage Daniels needed protection. Someone was out to get him. The question was why?

Gage tried to stay out of the way as Rebecca and her partner did their thing. He felt a little like a fish out of water standing there doing nothing. Someone had shot at them. Actually taken a gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger—at them. 

His gaze roamed over Rebecca as she walked around the car and surrounding area. She appeared to be all right, although he would feel much better if they could leave and go home, so he could make sure. He wanted to feel her under his hands again, to confirm that she was truly still there in front of him.

About five minutes later, she said good-bye to her partner and returned to stand in front of him. “Are you okay to drive or should I?”

It took him a second longer than it should have to answer. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

She nodded, and before he could react, she opened the passenger side door to his Mustang and slid inside. 

Blowing out a lungful of air, he walked around the car and got behind the wheel. The night hadn’t exactly gone as planned. Any progress he’d made tonight to chip away at those walls of hers had completely been undone. All he wanted to do at that point was get them home. At least there he knew they were both safe. 

He went about his normal routine the next morning, trying to put what happened the night before behind him. It wasn’t easy. The seriousness of the
event replayed on a continuous loop in his mind. Although it was hard for him to believe his stalker was responsible for what happened, he knew it had to be. No one else had threatened him . . . well, not really. He occasionally received heated fan mail after a bad game, but it was a one-time deal and then it was over. They’d win, and the same fans loved him again. Fans were passionate. It came with the territory. 

Rebecca hadn’t said much on the ride home other than to ask him again if he had any injuries. The few bumps he’d received from being forced to the ground weren’t anything to complain about or even acknowledge. He’d had the same and worse over the years playing football and wrestling with his brothers. 

When they’d gotten home, she’d quickly checked the house to make sure it was secure then retired to her room, mumbling something about needing to check e-mail. He’d watched her rush up the stairs and firmly shut the door to her room. She hadn’t given him any opportunity to approach her. 

As a result, he’d not slept well. It was well after midnight before he’d dozed off, and even then, he’d tossed and turned restlessly. Given her job, he doubted this was the first time she’d been shot at, but it was a first for him. Even if she was okay with what had happened on a psychological level, he wasn’t. The experience had shaken him.

He tried to work off some of the feelings the previous night had left behind during his morning swim. The water felt good surrounding him, but it couldn’t wash away whatever it was that lingered. Pushing himself up out of the pool, he reached for the towel he’d left nearby and quickly dried himself off before securing it around his waist. 

When he walked through the patio doors and into the kitchen, he expected to find her making breakfast for herself, but the space was empty. Not lingering, he grabbed a banana and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

Before he walked into his room to take his shower, he stopped outside her bedroom and checked her door. Locked. 

Taking a deep breath, he forced his feet to move. He needed a shower. Then he had practice. Whether he liked it or not, he didn’t have time to get into it with her. Whatever it was that had her running and hiding in her room was going to have to wait.  

Practice was a nightmare. He couldn’t maintain focus and landed in the dirt more times than he could count. If that wasn’t bad enough, his timing was off and he kept throwing the ball short of his receiver. Finally, the coach pulled him out and had him run laps. It was probably for the best. He needed time to get his head around what was going on before the weekend. They were playing one of their division rivals at home. Losing because he couldn’t concentrate was not an acceptable option. 

As he ran, some things became clearer. What bothered him most wasn’t the shooting, but more the feeling of helplessness. He hadn’t been able to do anything to help. Instead, he was put in the position of sitting back—or lying there, as it were—and watching Rebecca take charge of the situation. Maybe that made him a Neanderthal, but it was how he felt, nonetheless. Then being shut out after they arrived home had just compounded the problem. It hurt that she didn’t seem to need him. 

Shaking that thought off, he checked his watch. With only an hour left of practice, he figured he’d spend the rest of his time in the weight room. At least there he could let his mind do whatever it was going to do without having to worry about any major injuries. After talking to his coach, he headed inside. He wouldn’t be able to do any heavy lifting without a spotter, but anything that didn’t require all that much thought was welcome at this point. He needed to stop thinking. 

Travis Hansen sat with his partner in a small coffee shop across from the football stadium drinking a cup of halfway decent coffee. The pastries were calling out his name, but he was trying to resist. The salad he’d eaten an hour ago hadn’t done anything to curb his craving for something sweet. 

Turning his gaze away from the tempting treats, he watched his partner as she looked over the pictures he’d taken. He’d spent most of the morning outside the bar looking for evidence. It was a long process, especially since he was trying hard not to draw too much attention to himself or what he was doing. 

 The parking lot was littered with all sorts of small pieces of metal. Most of it looked to be buttons, zippers, and earrings. The majority of the trash seemed to revolve around a more secluded part of the lot near the back. It was obvious that area saw a lot of action. He was surprised he hadn’t found any less-sanitary items. 

Carson had told him there’d been six shots. Two had hit the vehicle and ricocheted. Those had been the easiest shells to find since they were lying loosely on the ground. The remaining four had taken a bit longer to locate. He took a sip of his coffee. “One was lodged in the dumpster at the back of the lot. The other three were buried in the brick.”

“Any noticeable pattern?” she asked, sifting through the photographs again.

He shook his head. “If anything, there was a complete lack of a pattern.”

“So an amateur?”

“Either that or they want us to think they are. It’s a good thing there wasn’t any pedestrian traffic on the streets last night or they could have easily caught a stray bullet.”

“Anything else?” 

Travis noticed she wasn’t relinquishing the pictures. She kept flipping through them as if she were looking for something. “The shots came from across the street. Not much there, but I did find a partial footprint. We might get lucky, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

She nodded but remained silent. He watched as she brushed her hair back behind her ears, hair that he’d never seen down before the previous Friday at Daniels’s house. She was also wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that left little to the imagination. His partner looked almost completely different. Aside from her outward appearance, there was a nervousness that he’d only ever seen from her once before. 

They’d only been partners for a short time when her sister had shown up on her doorstep crying one night. Travis didn’t know much about what happened—his partner wasn’t in to sharing personal information—but for the two weeks her sister had been around, Carson acted like she was walking on eggshells. Her sister wasn’t here, though, so he was curious as to what was going on with her. He knew better than to ask, however. Instead, he sat and sipped at his coffee until she’d gathered her thoughts. 

When she finally did speak, it wasn’t about the shooting at all. “Were you able to finish the background checks on the team?”

“Yes. I’ll e-mail you the few I think we should keep an eye on, but I don’t see a motive.”

Carson reached into her pants pocket and took out a folded sheet of paper. “There were some people at the club last night we should check out.” 

He unfolded the piece of paper and looked it over. There were very few names on the list, mostly descriptions. “No names?”

She shrugged, which was not like her at all. “I wrote down the few names I overheard, but most are employees at the bar. Should be easy enough to track down.”

That was true. If the bar filed payroll taxes, he should be able to pull names from there and match them with their job descriptions. If worse comes to worst, he could get pictures from the DMV, and Carson could identify them from there. “Daniels doesn’t have names?”

She straightened in her seat but didn’t meet his gaze. “I didn’t ask him.”

He frowned. “Something happen?”

“No,” she said a little too quickly. “I just . . . I didn’t get a chance to ask him before his practice.”

She took a sip of her coffee and continued to look anywhere but at him. Something had happened, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Was Gage Daniels starting to crack that hard shell of hers?

Chapter 11

Rebecca jogged across the street toward the players’ lot where Gage’s SUV was parked. His practice would be wrapping up soon, and she wanted to be in the vehicle waiting for him. 

Her meeting with Hansen had gone almost exactly as she’d expected. The chances of him finding something earth-shattering had been minimal. At least he’d been able to recover all of the bullets. Once they had a suspect, it would make prosecuting easier if they got a ballistics match. Of course, they’d have to get their hands on the weapon first. Who knew, maybe they’d get lucky and there’d be a usable fingerprint on one of the bullets. It was a long shot, but she wasn’t above asking for miracles.

When she reached the SUV, she dropped down to the ground to check underneath. Once she was sure there wasn’t anything there that shouldn’t be, she hurried into the vehicle and out of the cooling temperatures. A rush of wind followed her inside as she closed the door behind her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to dispel the lingering scent of its owner. 

The night before, she’d made sure the house was sealed up tight before taking refuge in her bedroom until she was sure he was asleep. She knew it was the coward’s way out, but with her emotions so out of control, it had been the only thing she knew to do. Before going to bed, however, she’d felt compelled to check on him, and ended up standing just outside his bedroom door until almost two.

The morning wasn’t any better. Even after getting to bed late, she’d woken up extra early. She went for her morning run and was showered and dressed before he emerged for his morning swim, all in an effort to continue to avoid him. Continuing her cowardly behavior, she snuck down to the kitchen while he was outside and quickly put something together for her breakfast. She could easily see the pool area from there and was able to keep tabs on his progress in the pool. As soon as he pulled himself up out of the water, revealing what had only been hinted at the last time she’d seem him with a towel around what appeared to be bare hips, she’d gathered up what was left of her food and hightailed it back up the stairs to her room. 

In her own defense, she’d paused at the top and listened, making sure he’d made it inside. Once she’d heard the patio door close, however, she went to her room and locked the door. It was unprofessional, she knew that. She should have been down there with him. They should have been discussing what happened, trying to figure out who was behind it, and why. But something was wrong with her, and she needed to figure out what it was. Going to bed hadn’t been any help. All she’d done was toss and turn, getting little actual sleep.