Kyle laughed until tears clouded his eyes. He might have been the one to hit the call button for help. Imagine. His laughter heightened. What a rush. She’d have been dead, gone, out of his life once and for all. He’d have been the hero.
Then McGrath showed up again. Didn’t that guy have The Cup to win?
Settle down. The world doesn’t end tomorrow. You’ve got time. You’ll hook up with her again. Patience, my man, patience.
In time, she’d have another of those terrible nightmares, only she would come to realize she wasn’t dreaming until it was too late. He heard her cries and swallowed hard.
Then Kyle laughed as his stomach growled. What was the saying? Man does not live by bread alone? Pretty much a no brainer. You needed cheese and meat. And a broad on occasion.
He drove through his favorite fast food joint and grabbed a large cola. Four more miles up the road he stopped by his buddy Jeff’s place to return the uniform. Nice condo. Not even a particularly poor area of town. Of course, Jeff had told him he got it for a song when the housing market dumped a few years ago, but how much of that was true, Kyle didn’t know for sure.
It made him wonder how Jeff managed all this on a security guard’s salary. Dude must have some sort of payouts under the table, but Kyle wouldn’t ask. The guy did him favors. And it was nobody’s business if Jeff had a little action on the side.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime. Maybe next year you’ll be able to get into the class you’ve been working toward. With your brains, you should impress like crazy.”
“Yeah, but they still expect money in return for the education. Funny how that works. In the meantime, I just keep working crappy private jobs and socking away the extra.” He lied to Jeff as much as to himself. “Thanks again. Hopefully, I can get my own shirt this week, and I won’t have to borrow your sorry extra.”
“No problem. I hope she was impressed. You score, man?”
Kyle snorted pop out of his nose. “You know me. Gentlemen don’t tell.”
“Of course.” Jeff slapped his back. “Yeah, the chicks love a man in uniform. Can’t keep their hands off a guy. There was this one girl—”
“Man, I’ve gotta go. Another job interview at five. Sorry to rush off. I’ll catch you next time. Thanks again.” Jeff’s stories went on and on. To be honest, Kyle knew who scored more.
He strolled out the door, doing his best to keep his cool, not raise any suspicion. Still, he couldn’t resist shouting over his shoulder. “And, yeah. Just so you know, I nailed her.”
Jeff clapped his hands followed by a thumbs up.
In his car, Kyle stared in the rearview mirror. Job interview, right. I’ve got plenty of unemployment left. No reason for appointments.
And as for Princess. I’ll get her yet.
CHAPTER 14
DECEMBER 1ST
LATE WEDNESDAY EVENING, AFTER the volunteer book lady left Rochelle with two current magazines and the newspaper, Rochelle struggled to sit without her head exploding spears of flashing light. Pain slammed her behind the eyes whenever she crooked her head.
Magazines, a dumb idea all things considered, but she couldn’t resist.
Inching up the pathetic excuse for a pillow, she eased her head forward all the while trying to avoid more throbbing. Aching crept along her shoulder, inch by miserable inch.
Almost a week in the hospital and still her entire body felt as if she’d gone fifteen rounds with an angry Tyson.
Even with the tremendous headache, she was sick of the quiet. Days filled with nurses and doctors tiptoeing through her room instead of stopping to chat. She longed for a little noise. With her good arm, she dropped the magazines. A snatch of the remote, and she scanned the channels.
Maybe a classic movie. Comfort. Black and white. The kind of diversion she’d used when her family was killed. Stick her nose in an old predictable movie, no need to think. Just relax and tune out as Astaire and Rogers waltzed across the dance floor.
Rochelle pressed her finger harder on the remote. Hold it right there. Was that…?
She whipped through the channels again until the dimpled smile graced the screen. Her hand trembled. With a quick gasp of air, she dropped the remote along with her jaw. Then she locked onto the nineteen-inch picture that showed a bigger image of him now. Yes, it was. Ed McGrath the hockey player … with a local sportscaster.
That’s where she’d seen him before. Blood pressure skyrocketing along with her heart rate, she straightened to snag a closer look. Must be a coincidence—they looked alike; that’s all.
“…celebrating their win. Ed, over here. Twelve straight wins. Way to go.”
She upped the volume.
“We sure weren’t gonna roll over and hand this to Edmonton.” He spoke with conviction and competitive determination as a speck of blood edged his twitching lip. There had been blood on the man in the ambulance.
Ed and blood.
A twitching lip.
No, oh, no.
The side of her corresponding lip twitched also. She touched a finger to the stitch lashing the cut together.
So he was that Ed.
The free-wheeling, sweet-talking hockey pro who had the love of half the women in Detroit. Probably beyond. A different Ed than the man who’d saved her life. This Ed sailed all over town with dozens of gorgeous women trapped in his wake. According to Don in the sports department, this guy mangled other players without so much as a beg your pardon.
Ed McGrath, superstar, had life by the ear, and he led it around anywhere he chose. Her hero couldn’t be this same man. That Ed—well, he was not the man she knew. A different woman each day as he partied through life. That type of guy wouldn’t have stopped to save her.
She snorted, disgusted, but her gaze refused to leave the picture. Or the green-eyed beauty standing next to him. Her copper curls tickled his nose when she shook her head and giggled. The woman’s arm looped through his. Perhaps the friend who had told Ed all women liked roses. He probably called all of his women sweet girl. Rochelle had heard scandalous rumors.
But he’d been so kind. Arriving with flowers and balloons almost daily for the last week. Offering to take her home when the time came. She stole another peek.
Why hadn’t she connected the dots? Of course … pain meds. And an unconscious desire not to finish the puzzle.
Ed smiled at the woman. Red smiled back as she used her pinky to wipe off the drop of blood, replacing it with an intimate peck on his lip while she posed for the camera.
So what? He meant nothing to her. Found her half dead, chased away the attacker, and that was that. He’d felt sorry for her. Responsible in some weird, macho way. Probably earned him extra points on his man card.
The right place and the right time. Isn’t that what he’d said? Nothing more. She didn’t need pity. Not ever. She would get better, go home, and return to work. End of story. No need to have a player hanging around causing her angst. A voice inside scolded her for thinking the worst of all men because of Danny. Well, they were all the same. And she didn’t need a repeat.
Her life would be better off without a man causing her grief. Her life pleased her. She was happy alone. Ate when she wanted, went out when she chose, and hung around with whomever she pleased. No reason to have to cater to a man. Especially not a man like Ed McGrath with his string of groupies.
After one last glimpse of those penetrating steel-blue eyes gazing at her from the screen, she gritted her teeth. Stretching her arm high over her head, she flung the remote and gasped. Grabbed her shoulder and squeezed.
The plastic rocket skidded across the floor at Mach One and smashed against the wall by the doorway. Mortified at her lack of control, Rochelle buried her face in the pillow.
“Should I duck when I enter? Or was that just a bad shot?”
With a start, she jumped and twisted her head toward the door. The blood literally drained from her face as the same piercing eyes which had graced the TV s
econds before bore down on her all the way across the room.
Ed lingered in the doorway. His tall, muscular stature filled it nearly to the top; her skin went from icy cold to hot and sweaty all in an instant. Jeans, cowboy boots, and a blue shirt rolled above his wrists. Dimples etched his face with laughter and lined a solid jaw. She could have reached out to strangle him for guessing what she’d been thinking. How could he be here anyway? He was just on TV.
Rochelle raked fingers through her hair. Then, plopping her hands in her lap, she stared at the stubby nails. Forget the headache, she must be a sight after lying in bed for days.
He squinted, the smile now gone. “Rochelle?”
Well, she could play it cool. “Where did you come from?”
He leaned from the doorframe to retrieve the pieces of the remote. With an exaggerated glance and dip of his head, he searched the room for more projectiles before entering. “After my game, I did a handful of interviews, suffered through a couple stitches in my lip, grabbed a shower and a shave, and thought I’d stop by to see how you were doing.” He leveled a gaze that put all of her senses on alert. Why did he unsettle her so? “What upset you?”
She could avoid the obvious and change the subject. “Dr. Blain says the tests have all come back negative, and I can finally go home tomorrow. Donna offered to swing by and in the same breath, happened to mention that my hero is her brother-in-law. I guess she failed to mention her brother-in-law plays hockey. Since I know she can’t keep a secret, I’m impressed how tight-lipped she’s been.”
He covered the floor in two strides, landing at her bedside with the hint of a grin. “Learning she can, under certain circumstances, keep a secret, made you angry enough to destroy a defenseless remote? Which, by the way, the hospital will add to your extensive bill.”
His pearly whites, now laughing at her, no doubt included a few caps. That much about hockey she understood.
Ed didn’t wait for her answer. “I’ve asked her not to mention me to others. It invites attention I’d rather avoid, especially at get-togethers. When John and Donna talk about me, they use my middle name. No one will suspect who Clint McGrath is.”
“Yeah. Like no intelligent person would have a clue, right?”
He shrugged. “Worked for you.”
His smile caused a strange ache in her chest. Must be where the attacker elbowed her. “That’s because I’m not a huge hockey fan. And I’ve been full of drugs.” She forced herself to stay on point. “I’m anxious to break out of here, Clint.”
The blind date Donna had tried to set up. Of course. She took in the muscled jaw and chiseled frame. Definitely not a mama’s boy. A thick mop of hair, not bald. And she had to admit it—he was hot! So Donna had been right after all.
“I told you I’d be happy to deliver you right to your door. Just like UPS.”
While his smile warmed her stomach with tiny flutters, she realized she had to put a stop to it. Players meant trouble. At least in her life. And so far, they’d all been players. The only man she’d grown to trust was … well, that didn’t count.
Rochelle sobered. “That’s not necessary.” Her fingers commenced their telltale fidgeting.
His big hands had trouble reassembling the remote, but he managed at last to put it together and lay the repaired product on her tray with a klunk. “Now you owe me … big time.” Then he slouched into the chair and leaned forward, his fingers digging into his chin. “Donna will be preoccupied at the station with prep work for your show. She told me so.”
He smiled again in the lazy, endearing manner that stole all of her good intentions.
She raised her chin. “I’ll probably call a cab.”
Rochelle should have known Donna would try to use this as another excuse to play matchmaker … Too busy to come by? Not hardly. Perhaps in her enthusiastic ploy to change the hockey player’s lifestyle, Donna planned to use Rochelle as bait. Well, Rochelle was no wriggler. Having tried to change a bad boy early on, her life had flipped upside down, over and out, even causing her to question her faith. She had no intention of slogging down that road again. Ever. Mr. Nice Guy was all she cared about at this juncture. Still, her heart didn’t seem to be in sync with her good sense.
Ed gazed at her with a smirk on his face as if analyzing her thoughts. Those dimples.
Rochelle glanced away as the breath hitched in her throat. She’d have to make it clear that while he was sweet and thoughtful to think of her, she had her own life. And was more than capable of taking care of herself.
Until recently.
He pulled closer and touched her arm, sending all kinds of electrical jolts skittering through her. As his cheek came alongside, she drew in a breath. Wow! She didn’t have a clue how much his cologne cost, but whatever, the expense was worth it. She leaned closer, inhaled again.
Count to ten—insist he leave.
“Rochelle. I don’t have a game tomorrow. I don’t mind. Besides,”—he gestured to the crowded windowsill—“you’ve accumulated quite a haul here, and I think you’ll need my SUV to transport it home. No cabbie’s going to want to load and unload all of your stuff.”
Neck stiff and achy, she tugged her hand away and thought a second. Her conservative beliefs should send the playboy running for cover. Obvious hints he didn’t take. “I plan to drop the flowers off at church so they can be enjoyed by a lot of people, instead of just me. Most of them came from friends of mine there anyway. So, you might not want to take me all the way out there.” She shuddered at the implication.
His brow rose and knit together, but he said nothing. She squirmed under the meticulous scrutiny, like an ant through a maze. If alive, her mother would have dressed her down.
Ed smirked, firing up the dimples for round two. “No problem. As long as I’m in my coffin before daylight, resting on the sweet, sweet soil of the fatherland, churches don’t scare me … much. Some of the people do, though. You’re not one of those, are you?”
“Those?”
“Wooden stake in your hand. Garlic around your neck. Arms crossed in front of you?”
His grin broadened, heaping hot coals on her head, and her face burned with shame.
“Well, I—”
“Rochelle, I’m teasing. It’s thoughtful of you to think of your friends. But you shouldn’t be lifting these containers. Your shoulder’s going to take a while to heal. On orthopedic matters, I am an expert. Especially shoulders.” He laughed again and jotted numbers on paper, which he handed to her. “Here’s my cell. Call once they start to check you out. That’ll allow me about half an hour to shove my way through the crazy traffic while they get you ready. And, in case you should accidentally lose the number, I’ll leave it at the nurses’ station with instructions.”
He flipped the end of her nose with his thumb as he pulled another dimply grin.
“Anything you need tonight?” he asked. “A chocolate shake? Some ice chips? A brownie? Family who hasn’t been contacted?”
Her eyes filled instantly.
CHAPTER 15
Idiot.
Rochelle’s expression wrangled Ed’s heart, tugging and clutching in areas he’d forgotten existed; he could have choked on his thoughtlessness. Of course, there was no one to call. Donna had confided in him that Rochelle lost her entire family in a drunk-driving accident when she was practically still a kid. At any rate, the responsibility for her rested solely on his shoulders. Save someone, and you have to care for them. That, and the promise he’d muttered the night he brought her in. Some promise.
Her teary-eyed face took in the flowers on the window ledge with a single disparaging glance. Ed reached for her hand again, but she jerked away so suddenly he fell back hard in the chair. “Whoa … Sorry.”
She bit the edge of her lip until he saw a speck of blood, and she stared calmly at her hands in her lap as if she didn’t realize what she’d done.
Then she blinked and blushed all in one nanosecond. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. You’ve been
nothing but good to me. I can’t stand to be touched. That man … Forgive me.” Her chin drew up in a familiar posture. Her attempt at courage did her proud. “I don’t like admitting it to myself, but I’m even afraid when the nurse touches me in the middle of the night. At the hospital, you’d think I’d feel safe, wouldn’t you? And as for that insinuation about church. That was extremely judgmental and unkind.”
He held his hand up. “No harm done. Trust me, you aren’t the first person with that opinion of me.” Take a number, lady.
Naturally she was afraid. Though she tried her best to smile, her lip quivered. She probably wouldn’t want him to touch her anyway. This woman was different. She wrenched his heart with each curve of her lips or flutter of her eyes. Other than his sister-in-law, it had been a long time since he’d met a woman like Rochelle Cassidy. Real, outspoken, but real in a way that squirmed under his skin.
No, no, no! Don’t get involved. This isn’t for you. You have a great setup, awesome career, and more friends than you deserve. Women included. Take her home. Adios. Have a nice life. Do not get involved. Talk like you have a brain. “You’ve been through a lot lately.”
Ya think?
Lips pulled tight, she tried again to grin. Lines stood out around her mouth and pulled at stitches he figured had to hurt. And the corners of her beautiful eyes. She smiled a lot. But at the moment, she retreated to a place he wasn’t invited.
He checked his watch. “Remember, call when they start to discharge you. I’ll help deliver all this stuff to your church.”
Maybe he should send one of the other guys.
He shot to his feet. The need to put distance between him and those inquisitive eyes increased second by second. As he drew closer to the door, he tipped his head.
Her voice, soft as a breeze, murmured, “Thank you. You have no idea what your friendship has meant to me.”
“No problem. Glad I was able to help.” The room closed in. Ed’s head spun. What was going on? Her words pulled at him. Her eyes saw into him, past where he allowed any woman to see.
Fear Is Louder Than Words: Her stalker taught her fear. Her suspicions taught her terror. Page 5