Blitz: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Series (Books 1-5)

by S. J. Bishop

  "Alright, that's enough," Treena shouted, suddenly taking charge. She pulled her badge out and held it high in the air so everyone could see. "I am Detective Treena Walker of the NYPD, homicide, and we have a warrant to search these premises. You have five minutes to collect your things and get out, or you will be forcibly removed."

  I had to admit, seeing the flash of her badge as it shined under the lights and the way the men all responded to her by hustling up and getting out of there kind of turned me on. Even when she was pissing me off, she was goddamn gorgeous. Why the hell does her hair have to shine like that?

  "Which locker is yours?" she asked me.

  "Fifty-five."

  Two cops went and flanked my locker, making sure I didn't try to steal away with anything. This time I stayed instead of leaving. Caden had texted me that the assholes had broken a couple of things in my house during my absence, and I had no intention of letting that happen here too.

  They finished with my locker pretty quick but spent two hours on the locker room and another two scouring the stadium. By the time they were done, it was dinner time. Coach Allen was still here. He hadn't budged from my side one inch, except to take a phone call he'd just gotten.

  "We're all done here," Treena finally said. She was looking worn. Emily had left already, but Treena, being the supervisor in charge, had stayed until the bitter end.

  "Gee, thanks," I said sarcastically. The rest of the cops were finally out, and Treena took the opportunity to get close to me.

  "I need to talk to you," she said.

  I lifted an eyebrow. This morning, all I'd wanted to do was talk to her alone. To wrap my arms around her waist and have her tell me she believed in me. Now all I wanted to do was get away from her. I didn't want to see another cop tonight, let alone feel one in my arms.

  "I've got nothing to say to you," I told her.

  Sadness mingled with irritation flashed across her face. She opened her mouth to say something more, but Coach came walking back into the locker room just then.

  "That woman is gonna be the death of me," he said.

  "Who?" I asked.

  "My wife, who else?" he snapped. "Lousy bitch." He stopped and looked at us, shaking his head as if he'd just realized Treena was still standing there. "Sorry," he said. "It's been a long day. Are we done here?"

  Treena nodded.

  "Good," Coach said. "Then, if you don't mind…" he swept his arm toward the exit, a not-so-subtle hint to get out. "Jax, I need to talk to you about something before you go." He looked back at Treena pointedly, waiting for her to leave before saying anything more. She shot me one last look before taking her exit. It wasn't easy watching her go, but just then I was too mad to do anything about it. In fact, I thought that if I never saw Treena again it would be too soon.

  18

  Treena

  I couldn't believe a week had passed, and I still hadn't talked to Jax. Not alone, anyway. Being in charge of his case gave me a lot of reasons to go by his place, but none of them had gotten me alone with him. I didn't dare text him or call him. I knew Anderson had officers watching him like a hawk, and there was no way I could chance them catching what was supposed to be a piece of private conversation.

  "So, tell us what's going on with Jax," Clarissa said, taking a seat on the couch next to Lars.

  "Yeah, it's all the damned sportscasters can talk about," my dad grumbled, sitting back in the recliner. "The Giants won our first game of the season. Lars here threw one of the best passes I've ever seen," he indicated my sister's husband, who also happened to be my father's star quarterback. "But did the reporters want to ask how we did it? Or maybe how we feel about the rest of the season?" He cracked open a beer and took a swig. "No," he said emphatically. "They wanted to ask us about Jax Ryder."

  Lars was nodding his head in agreement. If I didn't know him better, I'd have thought he was mad at Jax like everyone else. But Lars was too levelheaded for that sort of thing. I guess that came with the territory when you were an ex-member of the mafia. You had to know how to keep your cool.

  "Jax didn't do it, that's all I know for sure," I said.

  "He was always a real nice boy," my father said. "One hell of a ball player, too." Of course my dad would remember Jax for his football skills, not for breaking my heart when he went off to college and left me alone. It was Clarissa who remembered the emotional stuff. It was the actress in her. I wondered if our mom was jealous of Clarissa. She had left our family eons ago to live it up with men half her age and get her big break in Hollywood. None of us had talked to her much after Clarissa had made her big Broadway debut. Mom always had been petty and spiteful.

  "How do you know he's innocent?" Lars asked. Clarissa and my father both looked at me. I could feel my face flushing.

  "Because," I said, squaring off my shoulders, "I know Jax."

  "You know Jax from ten years ago," my father said.

  "Seven," I corrected.

  He and Clarissa rolled their eyes at me. "Fine, seven," he said. "But just because he was a nice boy then doesn't mean he's still a nice boy. You know he's been in rehab."

  My muscles tightened. "I know. And he's clean," I said through tight lips.

  "Seems like you're trying awfully hard to defend him," Clarissa said, wiggling her eyebrows at me.

  My father caught the look and shot me a worried glance. "There's nothing going on between you two, is there?" he asked.

  "No!" I said, practically jumping out of my seat. "God, Dad. Of course not. He's a murder suspect."

  My father calmed down, but I knew Lars and Clarissa weren't entirely buying it. Whatever. I didn't have to tell them a thing.

  "I read somewhere that they set a trial date," Lars said.

  I sighed. "That's true. They held a preliminary hearing the other day and set his date for two months from now."

  "Two months?" my father asked, his eyes bugging slightly. "That seems awfully soon, isn't it?"

  "It is," I agreed. "The only witness in the case is an elderly woman in poor health. The defense used it to fast-track the trial and get it bumped up."

  Clarissa frowned. "That doesn't seem fair."

  "They're probably itching to fry him," Lars said. Clarissa smacked his chest with the back of her hand.

  "New York hasn't executed anyone since 1963," I told him. "There's a moratorium on the death penalty right now."

  Clarissa turned to him and stuck out her tongue. "See?" Somewhere upstairs their daughter, Ashley started to wail. Clarissa sighed. "It's my turn," she said, starting to rise.

  Lars shot up next to her, gently pushing her back into her seat. "Stay. I'll go." She smiled at him, and he threw her a wink before heading upstairs. A moment later, Ashley's wailing stopped.

  "One-year-olds are such a pain," Clarissa said. "But I love her to pieces."

  "That's exactly how I felt about you girls," my dad said. "And still feel, by the way. The giant pain-in-the-ass part never stops."

  Clarissa and I each picked up a pillow and threw it at him, the three of us laughing. I wondered if I'd ever get the chance to do this with Jax someday. Would he ever be a part of our family the way Lars was?

  Whoa. Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?

  I shook my head, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Jax and I had spent one night together in the last seven years, that hardly made us a couple. Especially seeing as how one of us was going on trial for murder. Shit. What if Jax was found guilty? I'd waited seven years for him. Could I wait twenty more? What if it wasn't just twenty years... what if it was life? This was all moot anyway. Until I talked to him, I wouldn't know where we stood. For all I knew, he hated my guts right now. He sure seemed like he wanted nothing to do with me a few days ago when we'd searched his house and locker.

  "When you talk to Jax," Clarissa was saying, "tell him we're all pulling for him."

  "I will," I said. If he'll talk to me.

  19

  Jax

  I looked out
my kitchen window as darkness descended. The sky lit up with shades of purples and pinks which were rapidly being eaten up by dark blues and blacks. Nighttime was quickly becoming my favorite time of day. It was the time when the reporters all seemed to go home and I could get a little peace. The cops staking out my house finally seemed to ease up too. I hadn't seen their car out front since four this afternoon.

  My doorbell rang, and I turned my head in its direction. Caden wasn't here; he was back in Boston. I'd watched his first game on TV a few days ago, cheering on the New England Patriots as they'd creamed the California Palms.

  I went to my peephole and sighed. I should have known it would be Treena. Every time she'd been by to question me lately, I'd sensed that she'd wanted to talk to me alone. I was glad there'd always been someone with her. It was difficult for me to look at her, even with others in the room. If only she'd show up with a hair out of place or a blemish on her skin, it might have helped, but she was so damned beautiful. It killed me that I wanted her, even when she was acting like a selfish brat.

  "Can I come in?" she asked.

  I didn't see any reporters standing out on my lawn, but I didn't want to take any chances. I supposed there'd be nothing weird about the detective in charge of my investigation showing up at my house alone, but why take chances?

  I let her in and shut the door.

  "What do you want, Treena?" I asked. There was no point in beating around the bush.

  "I've been wanting to talk to you alone since the night you were arrested," she said, biting her lower lip. God, she looked cute. I strode into the living room and stood behind an oversized chair, wanting to put some distance between us.

  "What is there to talk about? Unless you're planning to tell them we were together that night? You know, my lawyer wants me to give you up."

  Her face paled. "You told your lawyer about me?"

  My heart was palpitating wildly in my chest. What the hell was that scent she was wearing? It was like I was walking through a cherry orchard. "I didn't mention you by name," I said, trying to alleviate her obvious anxiety. "But I'm glad to know your biggest concern right now is yourself."

  She shook her head and walked to the front of the chair. The oversized frame was the only thing separating us. "If I thought it would help you, I'd tell them in a second," she said. Her eyes were so clear and round it was like I could go swimming in them. Part of me wanted to hold my breath and jump in. "But my alibi won't help you if they place the time of death between two and four."

  "Why not?"

  "I was asleep. I don't even know what time you left my apartment that night."

  Understanding crept in, even though the part of me that was angry at Treena didn't want it to. That part wanted to stay mad at her.

  "I suppose I can see your point," I said reluctantly.

  "And if I tell them now, I'll be off the case tomorrow. That means I won't be able to help you."

  "How can you help me?" She seemed to be getting closer by the second. The blood in my veins began to pulse.

  "I can make sure that Detective Anderson doesn't stop at you. He needs to see that there are other, viable suspects."

  "I already gave them a list of names," I told her. It was getting harder to breathe.

  "I know. And Anderson says he went through them all. That they're not real suspects, just figments of your imagination."

  "What the fuck does that mean?" I asked, punching the air with my fist. Treena grabbed my hand and pulled it to her face. I could feel her breath on the palm of my hand, tickling me. It was more than I could take. I leaned over the chair and pulled her to me. Her knees buckled and sank onto the seat, her head tilted back as she leaned up into me and I leaned down into her. Our mouths pressed against each other, navigating old territory with new passion. I could taste honey on her lips and feel the pulse of her heart as it thumped inside her, faster even than my own.

  Her hand reached out to stroke my chest, and something inside me snapped. I jerked away from her like she'd just bitten me. She rose from the chair and walked calmly to the couch but didn't sit down. We stood on opposite sides of the room, panting.

  "I can't," was all I said. "How do I know you're not using me? That you didn't come here tonight to do whatever it took to... make sure I keep my mouth shut?"

  The look on her face said it all. Fury, sadness, regret... all of it showed in her eyes. "I would never..." she gasped, too appalled by my accusation to speak. "And if that's how you want to be, then how do I know that you didn't kill Penny? Just like Anderson says you did?"

  It was hard wanting someone I was so angry at.

  "Give me until tomorrow," she finally said. "Give me a name. Who do you think is the one person who has the most to benefit from your being in jail? The one person who hates you the most?"

  "Easy," I told her. "Mason Taylor."

  "Fine. Tomorrow, I'll question him. Let me see what I can find out. If nothing turns up, I'll tell Anderson that I was with you the night of Penny's murder."

  "You will?" I asked, wanting to believe her.

  "Yes. You have my word."

  I expelled a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Fine. Until tomorrow."

  20

  Treena

  I stood with my mouth hanging open, wishing I'd never come down to talk to Mason.

  "Can you say that again?" I asked him. I was acutely aware of the smell of testosterone hanging in the air. I supposed that was typical of football locker rooms.

  "The day that Jax killed Penny—"

  "Allegedly killed."

  "Whatever. The day she was shot, I heard Jax on the phone with her. He threatened her. Said he'd kill her if she threw some of his old junk out."

  "What old junk?"

  "How should I know?"

  "Well, you seem to have heard everything else."

  "He was standing two feet away from me. It's not like I was eavesdropping."

  "Why didn't you share this information with the police before?"

  Mason shrugged. "I didn't think of it until just now."

  I sighed. I wanted to believe that Mason was lying, but something in my gut told me he was telling the truth. I'd learned a long time ago to trust that gut.

  "Alright, thank you, Mr. Taylor. I appreciate your time."

  "So, are you gonna arrest him now?" Mason called after me as I turned to go.

  Christ, the guy was a moron. "We already arrested him, Mr. Taylor."

  "Then why isn't he in jail?"

  "He's out on bail. I'm pretty sure that if you open a newspaper or look online, you can find this information."

  Mason eye-rolled me. It pissed me off. I stood there seriously thinking about what it would feel like to draw my gun and scare the piss out of him. Literally. I wondered if that would score me some brownie points with Jax. I thought it probably would. After last night, I needed them. It made me furious to think that he might actually believe I'd only kissed him last night to get him to keep his mouth shut. That couldn't have been further from the truth. I almost wished it had been true. That would mean Jax meant nothing to me. It would make it easier for me to forget him, but try as I might, I couldn't get him out of my head. The kiss last night had only clarified for me that I wanted Jax as much now as I ever had.

  "If you remember anything else," I told Mason, "you have my number." Just then, Emily came stomping into the locker room followed by two other officers. She looked surprised to see me.

  "There you are," she said. "I've been trying to call you."

  I looked at my phone, but it showed no missed calls. "I must not be getting good reception in here," I told her. "What's up?"

  "A new tip came in."

  "Not another one about Goldilocks and the Three Bears? Did they hide the gun in the porridge this time?" Since the story of the murder broke, we'd been getting calls left and right from people either wanting to confess to the crime or give us a tip. They were all fake. Crazed people starved for attention.

&nb
sp; "This one's legit," Emily said. "At least, we think so."

  "What is it?" I asked, curious. She was walking down the row of lockers closest to the back wall. She paused when she got to number 105. She opened it and peeked inside.

  "It's his alright." Instead of going through it, though, she walked behind it. There was a vent in the wall. Emily reached out and tapped the screws.

  "We checked all the vents," I told her. But she ignored me. One of the screws fell right into her palm. The others were loose enough that they spun easily with her fingers. The grate to the vent came off and fell to the ground with a clank.

  Mason stood by, watching us with interest. I wanted to tell him to get lost, but I had a feeling it was already too late. He'd seen too much and would be spreading the word.

  "Glove!" Emily shouted, raising her arm like a grade schooler. One of the officers handed her a glove, which she pulled over her right hand. She stuck it into the vent and when she withdrew it, she was holding a gun.

  "Voila!" she cried triumphantly. "One murder weapon, coming right up!"

  21

  Jax

  I stared at the bottle on the coffee table in front of me, wishing I'd never bought it. The fact that I'd bought it yesterday and hadn't opened it yet was a feat in and of itself. By anyone's standards, I was under an extraordinary amount of stress.

  "I'm not opening you," I told it, fighting the urge.

  The vodka bottle laughed. Give it more time, it taunted.

  I licked my lips and took a deep breath. I would not let the alcohol take over my life. Not now, not ever again. I'd sworn to myself that I was through with that shit, and I'd meant it. But then again, when I'd made that promise to myself Penny had still been alive, I hadn't been indicted for murder, and my football career still had promise. None of that was true anymore.

  To top it all off, there was Treena.