Out Of Her League (7 page)

Christa swallowed. “Is she all right?”

“She's in the hospital with a broken thigh and some fractured ribs. Whole lot of road rash, too.”

She winced. The girl must have already been banged up enough after their collision, which would have made it even harder for her to get out of the way in time. “That's awful. Should I go see her?”

“I guess she'd like that. Meantime you take it easy, get better soon. Don't want our star player out of action for too long, do we?”

“Don't remind me.” She'd spent much of the night brooding about her enforced absence, the opportunities she'd miss. To be so close to selection and then have to sit out was tying her into knots of frustration.

“I've already spoken with the national team head coach, so she's aware of your injuries and I don't think missing a few games and practices will hurt your chances. So don't worry about it. I'll come by and see you, maybe tomorrow after practice. Okay?”

“Sure. See you then.” She hung up, staring across the room, something nagging at her. Was she being paranoid?

It didn't matter, the awful suspicion had already formed. She'd been so sore last night, so exhausted, that she'd almost forgotten what Rayne had told her about her stalker threatening the umpire and the runner before getting thrown out of the park. Was it so crazy to wonder if the left fielder's accident hadn't been an accident at all?

Hoping she was wrong, she got up and located Rayne's cell number. He'd told her to call if something came up, hadn't he? She dialed and waited, expecting his voicemail to pick up.

“Hutch here.”

“Hi Rayne, it's Christa,” she began.

“Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling? Did you sleep okay?”

“I'm fine, thanks. Listen, I don't want to bother you, but— ”

“You're never a bother, darlin'. What's up?”

She dropped into her favorite chair in the family room, drew a blanket over her chilled skin. “I just talked to my coach, and he told me the girl who slid into me last night has been hospitalized by a hit and run in their hotel parking lot.”

A telltale pause met her words. “Was the driver arrested?”

“It all happened too fast for anyone to get a plate number, but witnesses said it was a man driving an SUV.” She lifted a hand to her mouth and absently chewed on a fingernail. She'd love to be way off base about this.

“I'll make some calls, see what I can find out.”

The concern in his voice confirmed he was every bit as suspicious. She took a steadying breath and put her fear into words, if only to make it real. “So is it just me, or do you think it might not have been an accident?”

“Well, it's kind of coincidental, after the player who took you out was publicly threatened, wouldn't you say?”

“Yeah.” She fought down the nervous energy in her stomach. “I was going to go to the hospital and see the girl today.”

“I don't think that's such a good idea, kiddo.”

The words made her swallow. “Oh.” Surely he wasn't suggesting she shouldn't leave her house?

“I'll have a friend of mine check into a few things, but in the meantime keep your head up, okay? Pay attention to what's happening around you. Tonight after work I'll come over and give you a crash course on self-defense and counter-surveillance. Never hurts to take precautions, right?”

Oh God, next she'd have to play cloak-and-dagger games, wear camouflage gear. Maybe she'd carry her lucky bat with her after all. “Okay, thanks,” she answered mechanically, brain struggling to keep up. “Have a good day at work.”

“Thanks darlin'.” She detected a hint of a smile in his voice. “See you later.”

So now she was imprisoned in her own home. Wasn't
that
lovely.

Forcing her stiff body out of the chair, she headed upstairs, senses on high alert. She was halfway to the bathroom when the doorbell rang, sending her heart into a desperate gallop. Clutching a hand to her chest, she snuck a peek out the window and saw someone set something on the porch. The footsteps retreated, then an engine purred and she glimpsed a white delivery van speeding down her driveway. Did florists deliver on Sunday?

Calling Jake to her, hoping he would go for the throat if anyone was waiting out there to hurt her, she cracked open the front door and glanced at the mat. A dozen long-stemmed red roses lay at her feet. Hands clammy, she slowly reached down and plucked the white card from the bouquet.

Everything has been taken care of. Get well soon
.

The note bore the number nineteen— her uniform number— on the front. It fell from her nerveless fingers and fluttered to the ground. With the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, Christa fled inside the house and slammed the door shut, locking out the threat with one measly deadbolt. She sank to the floor, her breathing choppy.

Well, now she had no doubt— he definitely knew where she lived.

As promised, Rayne showed up at her door that evening, looking altogether edible in faded jeans and a t-shirt that emphasized his pecs and flat stomach. She had practically every light in the house burning and her lucky bat was always in the room with her. Those flowers had been the last straw, and she'd immediately called the police station to file a report, then updated Rayne. Within an hour a uniformed officer had arrived to take her statement and the note, cautioning her to monitor the situation carefully and call 911 right away if she suspected she was being followed. They could do nothing more at this stage, the young cop had told her apologetically, since they only had Seth's first name and description, but if she found out his last name and address she could file a no contact order.

Gee. She felt ever so much better now. If things escalated, she could always stop and ask him his last name and address before he went after her. Yep, she was gonna sleep like a baby tonight.

At Rayne's knock, she hurried over to let him in. “Hi,” she said, almost weak with relief at having someone else there with her. Constantly staying alert took a lot of energy.

“Hey.” He assessed her with one long look. “How are you holding up?”

“I feel like I'm in one of those cheesy teen suspense movies.”

He laughed. “But in those movies, the characters never had an ERT officer with a double black belt to train them in self-defense.”

“There is that. Plus you look like you could bench-press a small car.”

“What, you mean like a Mini Cooper?”

“Oh, at least. And speaking of cars— any word on the SUV that hit the left fielder?”

“Yeah.” His grim expression and tone made her heart sink. “Stolen, and witnesses described the driver as a male, either blond or light brown hair. Add the note, and it's pretty hard to deny our theory.” He studied her.

“The way my luck's been going lately?” she scoffed. “Oh, please.” She took a deep breath and raised her chin. “Okay, let's get this over with. Do your worst.”

He tilted his head. “You sure you're feeling up to this? Your head isn't hurting you?”

“Just don't beat me up any more than I already am, okay? A girl can only take so much.”

He shrugged out of his jacket, never breaking eye contact. “You'd be surprised how gentle I can be.”

Would she? Try her. She fought not to smile, shook her head in exasperation. He flirted like that with all the ladies, so she knew he meant nothing by it. “You're
bad
. Stop trying to distract me.” Now, if only her insides would stop melting at the idea of wrestling with him in mock combat, she was good to go.

He went around the room, moving furniture out of the way. Christa's eyebrows hiked up toward her hairline. “You planning on throwing me around?”

“Scared?” he taunted, a wicked gleam in his hazel eyes.

She snorted at him towering above her five-foot-eight frame. “Why should I be? You're only what, two-fifty and nine feet tall?”

“Two-thirty and six-three, you mean.” He lifted onto his toes and stretched his arms. “C'mon, this won't hurt, I promise.”

No easy way to back out now and besides, she was no quitter. Lifting her chin, she strode toward him. At least she'd thought to put on perfume, so she smelled nice.

“Tell me what you know about self-defense,” he prompted, bringing her to stand in front of him.

“Nothing, except that if I have to end up fighting, I don't want to fight like a girl.”

His eyes twinkled. “The first thing I want to stress is you're not trying to beat up the guy, you're only trying to stun him long enough so you can run away and yell for help.”

She could do that. “I'm a good yeller, and I'm fast.”

“Okay, come here.” He took hold of her fingers and moved so that he was behind her.

His arms slid around her waist and the faint lemony scent of him made every one of her muscles rigid. She hoped nothing would jiggle at an inopportune moment.

First he showed her how to make a proper fist, shifting her thumb safely out of the way. “This is what you do if someone grabs you from behind. Use either your fist or your elbow if you can, and smash it into his face or throat. If he grabs your arms, then use the back of your head or jam your heel down against the top of his foot.” He moved her arm for her, showing her the motion. His build made her feel delicate, as if he could snap her like a dry twig. Until now she'd never been aware of how vulnerable she was to a man's strength.

“What about the groin? Shouldn't I try to knee him in the groin at some point?”

“If you can get a shot in, go ahead, but that's the first place men automatically block. Do whatever you can to disable him long enough to get away.” He went through the moves again, coming at her from the front, the side and from behind, showing her how to direct the various blows, making her repeat them over and over. At first she was acutely aware of his muscles pressing against her, but soon she started trusting him not to hurt her, and to defend himself against anything she might manage to dish out. The next hour went by in a blur as he showed her how to break holds, how to use her legs, which were much stronger than her upper body, and more about the vulnerable points of the human frame than she'd ever wanted to know.

“This is a strike point only to be used as a last resort, because it can kill someone,” he told her, placing her fingers at the outside corner of his eye. “The edge of the temporal bone is here. It's thin, especially at the temple. Jab here hard enough and you can cause internal hemorrhaging. Even with light pressure it can make someone toss their cookies.”

She widened her stare. “Right there?”

“Yup.”

He made her grapple with him and to get loose she had to use so much force that it was just shy of hurting her. By the time they were done the bruises on her leg were killing her, she had damp spots between her breasts and under her arms, but he was barely breathing hard. She stumbled back from him, wiping her sleeve across her face.

“Had enough?” He stood there before her, all hard muscle and sex appeal.

“How much more is there?” She'd been certain they'd covered everything except how to rip out someone's kidney with your bare hand.

He tweaked her nose. “I've still got a few tricks to share. But if you're feeling more secure about defending yourself, that's all that matters.”

“I am, thanks. But remind me never to jump you in a dark alley.”

His eyes lit up. “You can jump me any time you want, darlin'.”

She'd walked right into that one. “I'm sure.” Taking charge before her nerves started to show, she limped into the kitchen to pour them each a glass of iced tea.

“Your leg okay?” he asked, as if he'd only now remembered her injuries.

“I'll put some ice on it in a bit.” She replaced the pitcher in the fridge, glanced over her shoulder. “I made a lasagna, if you're hungry.” Plus she'd made cookies, and a cake, and a batch of homemade soup. That's what happened when she was holed up inside by herself all day. To keep from being bored out of her skull she cooked everything in sight, and wound up with enough food for five people.

“I'd love some.” He seated himself on a stool at the island as she removed a casserole dish from the oven and set a generous portion in front of him. He took a mouthful, murmured his enjoyment and dug in. “You gonna be okay here by yourself?”

She climbed onto the neighboring stool. “Between what you've shown me tonight and my lucky bat, no one in their right mind would come after me.” She hoped.

“I know that note scared the hell out of you, Christa. You're welcome to stay with me for a while if you want. Or I can stay here until we get to the bottom of this.”

Her heart tripped at his consideration, at the prospect of staying at his place. “I appreciate the offer. But don't you think he'll back off now since I've gone to the police? The officer who came earlier said I should call 911 if he bothers me again, and then maybe I could get a no contact order.”

“You mean assuming they can verify his name really is Seth something-or-other, track him down and serve him the papers before he does anything more?”

Oh, right. Those
were
important little details. “Good point.”

“Hey, he probably won't do anything. I just don't like you being out here all alone in this big house.”

“Don't forget, I've got Jake.”

Hearing his name, Jake came loping up to them and put his furry chin on her lap.

Rayne scratched the dog's ears. “He's pretty scary all right.”

“He might not be intimidating, but he's really smart. Aren't you, boy?” Jake gazed up at her with intelligent brown eyes. “See?”

“I'd better stay over.”

Was he joking, or did he mean it? The
Hallelujah Chorus
blared in her head. Did she dare call his bluff? “Suit yourself.”

“And I think I'll take you over to meet Nate, get his two cents on all this.”

She swallowed her dinner past the constriction in her throat. “Sure, if you think he can help.” As much faith as Rayne seemed to put in the man he'd described as his surrogate father, it didn't thrill her to consult the head of the serious crimes unit regarding her personal dilemma. All it did was remind her she might be in serious danger.