Slap Shot (12 page)

I took my time in Rick’s huge shower, letting the piping-hot water rain down on my body and happily remembering the way he’d made me forget everything last night, including my own name.

But despite waking up feeling sated, there was an edge to my libido again that would soon require satisfying. He’d well and truly awakened a part of me that was craving attention.

His attention.

Finally stepping out, I dressed in the clothes I’d worn the day before, thoroughly looking forward to three o’clock and celebrating his birthday.

He’d left a note with instructions on setting the alarm and soon I was heading down the freeway, weaving through traffic and singing along to a summer tune playing on the radio. Mentally I went through my underwear drawer. I had some new pieces from a recent shopping spree and a pretty satin white set came to mind. I had a feeling he would like that, white went nice against my olive skin.

Letting myself into my house, I kicked off my heels and set my purse on the table. As usual, I checked my messages. One from a client and one from Maddie—she was still having trouble with the zoo. I hit delete, I’d deal with it tomorrow. Today was definitely not a day for worrying about elephant bedtimes.

Quickly rummaging through my card drawer, I found one for Rick and dropped it next to my purse. It wasn’t ideal but I guessed he wouldn’t be looking at it much. I wondered if I had some white ribbon. Perhaps I could wrap it around myself and tie a big bow at the front, deliver
myself
as his gift. Smiling at the thought, I wandered into my bedroom, intent on a serious rummage through my underwear drawer.

I stopped in my tracks.

Lying on the bed was a large photograph.

It was a shot of me from the waist up.

Recent.

It was taken outside my office. I was wearing my new pale-blue cardigan.

Where the hell did that come from?

On weak legs, I walked over and picked it up.

My stomach clenched and an anguished cry left my lips as panic surged through my veins. The photo drifted to the bed and I clutched my stomach in an effort to prevent the overwhelming urge to vomit.

She’d been here. In
my
house.

The breath in my lungs froze. My heart somersaulted in my chest. My stomach continued to clench painfully.

I wanted to scream but it was as though I was paralyzed and stuck staring at the photograph. At the photograph of me with a crudely drawn bullet hole in the center of my forehead and a spray of red scribbled behind my hair. Scrawled across the base of the picture in the same scarlet pen used for the blood were the words,
He’s mine, stay away
.

Oh my god! What was I going to do?

She’d followed me, taken pictures of me. She’d been in my house. Rick’s crazy stalker woman had been here, in my space, in my territory. Was she still here? I had no way of knowing and I wasn’t about to hang around and find out. I had to get out of there. Adrenaline injected my system, fight or flight. Flight definitely won out.

Forcing myself to move, I stumbled back out into the hallway. Every breath I took, every step was an agony of wondering if she was about to jump out at me, shoot me between the eyes, splatter my brains behind me.

Heart pounding like a jackhammer, I snatched up my car keys, threw open the front door and dashed toward my car. As I bolted down the pathway, slices of terror pierced my heart, fear raked at my soul. Was she waiting for me to flee the house then shoot me? The still air buzzed with menace. The heat of the sun burned like a million flames. All I could think of was getting to my car. It was a haven, it was safety—of sorts.

I jumped in and locked all the doors, rammed it into gear and sped away. My shaking legs would barely work the pedals, my eyes could hardly focus. Just missing a cyclist, I eventually pulled over and rummaged for my cell.

Rick. I had to speak to Rick.

He answered on the fourth ring.

“Rick, shit, oh my god, this is awful. I don’t know what to do. She’s been in my house.”

“Dana, Dana, Jesus, slow down. What the fuck is going on?”

“She’s been in my house. I just got home. There’s a photo. Of me. A bullet hole in my head.” The words were tumbling from my mouth as I scanned the street for a crazy woman with a gun aimed my way. “I found it on my bed. The photo of me, she’s been in my house, Rick, shit!”

“Where are you now?” he demanded.

“In my car, I just got in and drove away. I’m about quarter of a mile from home on the corner of Highgrove and East Parade.” I slunk down in my seat, trying to become invisible. “Rick,” I whispered, tears nipping my eyes. “I’m so scared.”

“I know, baby, and I’m on my way. Stay where you are, keep the doors locked, I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes but the police will be with you sooner.”

“No, no, keep talking to me, please, don’t go.”

“I’ve gotta call the cops, Dana. Don’t open the door to anyone until they get there, you hear me?” His voice was calm but I could sense rage vibrating through it.

“Yes, yes, I hear you. But hurry, please hurry.”

“I will be as fast as I can, just sit tight.”

The line went dead.

I shivered ferociously, my stomach an agonizing ball of fear. I thought I’d left this all behind, violence and paranoia, guns. I hated it. It wasn’t how I wanted to live.

As I wrapped my arms around my waist, willing fifteen minutes to pass in fifteen seconds, anger began to knot my spine, anger that
she
could do this to us, to Rick. What the hell gave her the right to claim him as her property after just one night? He was his own person, a big, strong, successful man who could choose who he wanted to spend time with.

My mouth was dry, my tongue stuck to the roof. No one in their right mind would do what Laurie Sharp was doing, no one with an iota of sanity. I dug my nails into my palms and realized that we were dealing with a real psycho. Rick and I were barely a couple and already she was threatening me with death. A bullet to the head.

A squeal left my lips at a sudden whizzing sound to my right. I spun, wide eyed, as several kids raced past on bikes. My heart thudded against my rib cage, my spine tensed and I sank lower in my seat.

A car drove past, music thumping then another towing a rattling trailer that created a series of loud bangs as it jolted over potholes and drains.

Just when I thought my nerves could take no more, Rick’s Lexus rounded the corner. No sooner had he pulled up in front of me than a police car, no siren, appeared on the street.

Rick’s door swung open and he leaped from the driver’s side onto the road, his face grim, his shoulders set.

I glanced around, terrified for his safety but also wanting him to come get me so badly.

“Open up,” he mouthed, yanking at my door handle.

With fumbling fingers I hit auto-unlock, berating myself for not doing it sooner to save him precious seconds of being vulnerable to a bullet.

He yanked open my door, reached in and scooped me out.

“Rick,” I said, grasping hold of him as my feet lifted from the floor. “What are you doing? She might be out here still, with a gun.”

“I want you in my car, now.” He swept me up against his chest and I fastened my hands around the back of his neck.

“But—?”

“Quit arguing. It’s got bulletproof glass.” His deep voice was like a razor over silk.

He was back at his car, tumbling me in and climbing in himself. He slammed the door with a vibrating thwack.

Heavy silence surrounded us.

He turned to me, his eyes wild, his lips in a tight, straight line.

I began to shake, uncontrollably, from the very core of my body. I had to gasp in air, I was desperate for oxygen, there didn’t seem to be enough.

He scooted across the seat toward me. “It’s okay now,” he said, laying his hands at my temples and threading his fingers through the strands of hair falling over my face. “It’s okay, you’re safe in here.” He stroked gently, as though trying to inject calmness into me.

“But she’s been in my house, it was awful, I was so scared, the picture is so…so horrible.” I put a hand up to my lips. “Oh god, I touched it, it’s evidence and I touched it.” My breaths were coming short, sharp and painful.

“Shh, calm down, slow your breathing, you’re going to hyperventilate.”

I stared into his eyes, willing my diaphragm not to jerk so violently at my lungs.

“It will be okay, they can separate a couple of prints, don’t worry.” His voice was calm and controlled but there was an underlying primitiveness about it, as though he was containing the fury for when he needed it most.

A knock on the window caused me to yelp and jerked our gazes apart.

“Dale,” Rick said, dropping the window down an inch. “You were quick.”

A slight man with ginger hair peered in at us. “I was in the area.” He glanced at me and flashed his badge. “She okay?”

“Yeah, just shaken.” Rick took my hand, studied my teary eyes and my jerky breaths then turned back to the window. “How the fuck could this have happened?” The rage in his voice was just simmering beneath the surface now, catching in his throat, rasping into the air.

Dale shrugged. “She’s a madwoman, we already know that, but this was a big mistake on her part. I’ll have some guys go over and pick her up. She’s done it this time, if it’s her that is—”

“Of course it’s fucking her,” Rick bit out. “Insane bitch.”

The plain-clothed officer gnawed at the inside of his cheek. “You and I know that, but forensics will want to prove it.” He leaned so he could catch my eye through the narrow opening of the window and his voice softened. “Can I have your keys, sweetie? That way we can get in and do our stuff without breaking your front door down.”

“I didn’t pause to shut it,” I said shakily, remembering my terrifying dash from the house, convinced a bullet was whizzing toward me.

Rick let go of my hand, wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Shh,” he murmured onto the top of my head. “It’s okay now, babe, settle down.”

I pressed into him, his strength and air of possessive protectiveness like a warm blanket closing around me. I shut my eyes and drew in his now familiar scent. It slowed my breathing, calmed my soul.

“Keys, Dana,” he whispered.

“Er, I think they’re still in my car, in the ignition.”

“That your car there, miss?” the officer asked.

“Yes.” I opened my eyes and stared at my blue Mercedes, relieved that I seemed to be able to focus once more.

“And your name?”

“Dana, Dana Wilcox.”

“She’s at 243 Highgrove,” Rick added.

“Not for a while, she isn’t.” The officer’s gaze caught mine again. “You got someone you can go stay with, someone out of the city?”

I shook my head.

“She’ll stay with me,” Rick said firmly, his hold on my body tightening. “I got her into this fucking mess and I’ll look after her until it’s straightened out.”

Dale chewed on his thumbnail and studied Rick. He sighed. “Okay, I can live with that. I’ve already got officers going past your place twice a day. I’ll up it, see if I can get a couple staked outside until we’ve tracked her down.”

“Perfect.”

“You want anything from the house?” he asked, looking at me again. “I could get it dropped off at Mr. Lewis’ for you.”

“Mmm, yes, thanks that would be great. My purse and my laptop, perhaps some clothes, anything from the bedside drawers and the wardrobe will do.” I didn’t really know what to ask for but that sounded the right sort of thing to say.

“No problem.” He smiled kindly at me. “But you should both get out of here now. I’ll call when we’ve brought Miss Sharp in for questioning. Shouldn’t take long but until then stay low.”

Chapter Six

When we arrived at Rick’s there were two bored-looking guys sitting in a dark-blue sedan outside his gates. The gates swung open and I noticed the color begin to return to his knuckles as we crunched up the gravel.

As soon as we stepped into the house and he’d done his ritual with the alarm system, he gathered me into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry about this, Dana,” he whispered into my hair. “I never meant for this to happen, not in a million years.”

“It’s not your fault.”

He pulled back just far enough to look down into my face. “Of course it is. I was being stubborn, refusing to let her crazy threatening letters and stalking ways impinge on my life. I was determined to carry on as normal, working, playing…dating. Okay, I had to have a few extra security measures but I just accepted that as part of my job, part of being a public figure.” His eyes were tortured and burned with the weight of regret and responsibility.

“Rick, shh,” I said, the tip of my index finger resting on his lower lip and over his soul patch. “You had every right to carry on as normal. Like you said to me last week, if you didn’t she would be winning.”

“But it seems she’s not going to be content until she
has
won and the fact she’s threatened you has really got me mad, like fucking seething mad.” He released me and stepped away, his fists clenched and his spine straight as a steel rod. “I just want to go ’round and fucking punch her, but I can’t because she a goddamn woman. What kind of man would that make me?”