Out Of Her League (12 page)

“Okay.” Teryl smoothed her hand over her flat abdomen in an instinctively maternal gesture. “Sorry I had a meltdown back there.”

“It'll be like when we used to travel for ball: What happens on the road stays on the road. Drew won't ever know.”

“Thanks, babe. Love you.”

Christa winked. “Love you too.” She shut the door behind her.

So Teryl was going to be a mother. Who would have guessed Teryl would have been first to have a baby? Christa shoved the pang of envy away. She wasn't anywhere near ready to start a family. Having kids required finding a man to have them with, and for her that meant marriage. Since she wasn't even dating anyone, that was sometime off in the misty future. Plus, her ball career only had a few good years left. She'd have plenty of time afterward to settle down and have children. She couldn't wait to read them bedtime stories and bake cookies with them, covered in flour trying to help mix the batter. She allowed herself a wistful sigh to ease the ache in her chest, and headed back to the kitchen.

In the middle of cleaning up Rayne called her cell phone.

“Hi kiddo. We're kinda busy here but I wanted to let you know they found the blue pickup parked at an apartment complex downtown.”

Hope spurted inside her. “Did they get him?”

“Nope. Pickup was stripped clean. The good news is one of the forensics guys thinks he might have a partial print. I've asked Nate to rush putting it through the database. He'll let us know if anything shows up.”

She withheld a strangled sound of frustration. Yet again her mystery fan had managed to stay one step ahead of the police. “So what's next? Do they have a clue if his name really is Seth, or where he lives?”

“They're still working on it, and once Nate checks it out we'll know more. Even with me pulling in favors these things can take time, so you still need to be careful.”

She rubbed her hand across her forehead. Not only could she not go home, but her softball career was on ice for a while longer. Nice timing, considering the final cuts would take place any time now.

“Have you called the cops about that note you found last night?” he asked.

“First thing this morning. I spoke to the officer in charge of my file just like you told me to.”

“Good. I gotta fly now but I'll keep you posted if anything new develops.”

She thanked him and hung up, wishing he could be there. The way she saw it she had two choices, either scream in frustration or have a private pity party.

Since it required the consumption of chocolate, the pity party won. What the hell. What was a pound or two of chocolate going to hurt at this point? She didn't have anyone to impress with her body anyhow. No man, not even the national team coaching staff. With a sigh, she went to the pantry and fished out a half-empty bag of chocolate chips, then sat down to polish it off.

He sat on a bench along Marine Drive in White Rock, enjoying the warm weather and the young women flitting in and out of the boutiques. Couples lunched on restaurant patios in the sunshine while mothers pushed toddlers in strollers, the older ones toting bags filled with shovels and pails for building sandcastles on the beach beyond the railroad tracks. The air smelled of deep-fried fish and chips and pungent malt vinegar. Bursts of petunias, pansies and nasturtiums spilled from window boxes and pots in riots of orange, purple and yellow. Christa would love them. He was as familiar with her routine as she was, and knew she'd be by later that afternoon to bring the old lady her groceries. She'd unpack them for her, then tend her balcony garden before sitting in the wicker chairs for tea and cookies.

Such a charming picture they made, he mused, touched by Christa's loyalty. At first he'd assumed she was visiting her grandmother, but when he'd checked he'd learned she had no surviving grandparents. It wasn't often you came across someone as caring as she was to the old lady. Yet another quality he admired in her.

He hummed a tune to himself, twirling the long-stemmed red rose between his fingers, waiting for the old lady to return from her aqua class at the local pool. She always stepped off the Handy Dart bus at exactly the same time.

On the bench beside him a mother handed her little daughter an ice cream cone, instructing her not to move until she came back, then left her there. So like something his own mother would have done, and he fought his rising anger. Didn't she realize there were perverts out there who would love nothing better than to get their hands on that sweet little girl?

When she licked her ice cream the scoop toppled to the ground and she bit her lip, fighting back tears, searching for her absent mother. Unable to find her, the girl hurried to the ice cream counter to grab some paper napkins, then cleaned up the mess. She tossed it into the garbage can and sat back down on the bench to await her mother's return, pink Crocs-clad feet swinging back and forth, her adorable face a study in misery. He couldn't stand it. He went and bought her another one.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling tremulously up at him with big brown eyes. Such pretty manners. Her mother didn't deserve such a precious child.

He mussed her hair and returned to his seat, keeping a careful eye on her until her neglectful mother came back to herd her away. The girl waved at him, shyly, and he waved back.

He began whistling, pondering the card in his pocket, relishing his own wit, the irony. He prided himself on his skills. Being organized not only made him feel centered, it was the only way to keep a step ahead of the cops. Control was equally important to him, but it was hard won.

Clinically, his personality had obsessive-compulsive tendencies, and he was borderline schizophrenic. He understood the ramifications of the diagnoses, knew the risks they posed. Despite these limitations, he was smart. His IQ was close to genius level. That, and his belief in fate, had to be why he was still free.

How could they not know about him yet? Stupid cops were always a step or two behind him. A step or two was all he needed in this game. Strange, how things seemed to fall into place for him.

The bus pulled up at the old lady's building and she hobbled down the steps with the help of her cane. The poor dear looked especially stiff today. Anticipation bubbled through his veins.

He waited until she was halfway to the front door, then approached her, his sunglasses shielding his eyes. “Good afternoon,” he said in a friendly voice, and she turned.

“Good afternoon,” she replied with a regal nod.

“I was hoping you could do me a small favor,” he said. She cocked an eyebrow and he poured on the charm. “I was walking past recently and happened to see you sitting on your deck with a young lady, and— ” he placed a hand over his heart, “since then I haven't been able to get her out of my head.”

Her white eyebrows climbed higher. “Is that a fact?”

“So I wondered if you might be willing to give her this for me the next time you see her.” He held out the rose and the card.

The ancient face beamed. “How charming. I'll make sure she gets it.”

“Thank you so much.” He winked at her, and she shuffled past him to the door. “Let me get that for you. It's the least I can do.”

She chuckled as she entered the building. “I think my young friend is in big trouble if she ever meets you.”

Lady, you have no idea
.

When Christa arrived around four Margaret Boone was leaning over her balcony railing, smiling down at her. She was glad she hadn't canceled their get-together, even though she'd had to ask one of her employees to drive her into town and wait until she was inside. Besides, plenty of people were enjoying an early supper in the restaurants fringing the beach, so she figured she was safe enough. “Hi, Mrs. Boone,” she called up, hefting two armfuls of grocery bags and some gardening tools. “How are you?”

“Fine dear, just fine. Beautiful day, isn't it?”

“I'll be right up, okay? I got you some local strawberries, they looked really good.”

“That's wonderful, we can have some with our cookies.”

As she entered the apartment complex she waved to her employee, signaling she was okay. He'd come back to pick her up her when she called him. At the third-floor condo Margaret was waiting in the open doorway and Christa bent to peck a kiss on her friend's papery cheek. Doing some light chores and having tea with the lady who'd given her a ridiculous steal on her dream home didn't seem like much of a burden. She'd insisted on repaying her any way she could, knowing the few things she helped out with could never compensate for the money she'd refused to take when she'd sold Christa her beloved house.

She set the bags on the kitchen counter and started putting everything away while Margaret boiled the kettle. While the tea brewed Christa went outside to prune the wisteria tendrils winding their way onto the rooftop, deadheaded some pansies and gave the roses a spray with fungicide, noting with satisfaction all the buds about to burst open. Their cream and strawberry and peach petals would bloom throughout the summer, their spicy-sweet fragrance carrying on the breeze blown in off the water. Along with the sweet alyssum and cherry-pie scented heliotrope stuffed into the planters, it would smell like heaven up here for the next couple of months.

“Here we are,” Margaret announced, placing the china teapot and cups onto the wicker table.

Christa tucked her gardening gloves into her pocket and sank into one of the chairs, admiring the view of the bay. With the tide out almost to the end of the pier, children were busy digging in the sand and splashing through the sun-warmed tidal pools. The sky glowed sapphire blue, puffy white clouds drifting across it. A cool breeze wafted off the water, bringing the saltiness of drying seaweed to mingle with the perfumed flowers. “I always look forward to this,” she told her hostess, sipping on her tea, savoring the comforting notes of bergamot. They always drank Earl Grey. “It makes my whole week.”

“Lovely of you to say so.” She set her own cup into its saucer with a delicate clink and leaned forward. “I have some news for you,” she said, eyes sparkling.

“Oh?” Maggie always had juicy gossip to share.

“A handsome young man stopped me on the street today— ”

“You got hit on by a younger man?” she teased, mouth open and eyes wide. “Way to go, Maggie!”

Margaret snorted and slapped her leg. “Don't be fresh. Anyway, he said he'd seen us up here one day and had been thinking about you ever since.”

Really? Someone thought she was unforgettable? Maybe her luck with men was finally going to change for the better. Or maybe...

“He asked me to give you this.” From beneath the table Margaret retrieved a rose and a small envelope.

Christa stared at the piece of paper with the number nineteen on it, at the blood-red flower. Just like the dozen that had been delivered to her house a few days ago.
Not again
. The tea turned bitter and acidic in her stomach. Heart careening in her chest, she scanned the streets, the parking lots, the esplanade, the beach. He was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't mean he wasn't watching her right that second. “What did he look like?”

Margaret pursed her lips. “Well, he was a little taller than you, light brown hair I think, though he was wearing a ball cap. Why?”

Christa set the rose on the table, feeling cold all over. Then in a burst she picked it up, tore off the bloom and tossed the pieces over the balcony. Hopefully he saw her do it, the deranged bastard.

She stared at the note, wishing she didn't have to open it but she had to know what kind of cryptic message he'd left her this time, then report it to the police. Her eyes skipped over the spidery handwriting.

She recognized the song lyrics from
Every Breath You Take,
and the words chilled her blood. Wherever she went, whatever she did, he'd be watching her.

You've got to be freaking kidding me
, she thought for the hundredth time as she slid out of her employee's truck at Drew and Teryl's place. What was she supposed to do now? Not go anywhere at all, become a hermit? She should have known better than to think she could get away with visiting a friend in town like any normal person. All the way home she'd been peering over her shoulder, searching for his face, a vehicle sticking too close. This was driving her nuts.

She went into the kitchen where Teryl was tossing a salad for their barbecue dinner while the guys worked on the deck. Beside her stood Rayne, looking like he'd come straight out of a Levi's commercial, naked from the waist up with all those beautiful, rippling muscles exposed, his jeans hugging powerful thighs, a tool belt strapped around his lean hips. Any other time the sight would have made her mind go blank, and as it was the breath caught in her lungs. With effort she wrenched her gaze up to his face.

“Hi, kiddo.” His smile was full of relief. “I guess I should give you a lecture for sneaking out while Teryl was sleeping, but since you're back safe— ”

“He left me another rose. And a note.”

“What?”

She tried not to wince at the anger in his voice. “He gave them to Maggie earlier, made it out to be some kind of romantic gesture.”

Teryl made a sympathetic sound and moved to wrap her arms around Christa, who fought tears at the gesture of comfort.

“I just want him to leave me alone.” She let her head drop onto Teryl's shoulder. “I want my goddamn
life
back.”

“Where are they then?” Rayne asked. “The rose and the note?”

“I threw the rose away and took the note to the police station.”

“Let's hope he left some good prints on it. What did it say?”

She told him and his face darkened. “Great. A song by The Police now. Son of a bitch sure gets off on messing with your head.”

She turned to Teryl. “Sorry, but it looks like you'll have to put up with me for— ”

“Don't you dare apologize or I'll have to smack you. We love having you here, and at least we know you're safe while you're with us. Now, I want you to go outside and sit down with a glass of wine.” She gave her a nudge toward the patio.