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

by S. J. Bishop

  "Oh please. Parker's bound to fuck it up."

  "Sure, that's why he's the highest-paid player in the NFL. Ever."

  Mac shot me a look. "Nice. Remind me how broke I am. Like you're any better off. I've been on this job longer, which means I make more than you. If I get paid shit, you must get paid less than shit." He smiled to show he was joking.

  I smacked his arm lightly. He grabbed hold of my hand and hung on, messing with me as I struggled to free myself from his grip. His face got a sappy, sickly sweet look on it. I yanked hard, and he released my hand. I pretended not to notice the way he was looking at me. I liked Mac, but not like that.

  "Interception!" the announcer yelled. Mac's attention shot back to the game.

  I hoped Caden pulled off a win. I knew there was a lot of smack talk against him because of the contract. Between that, his endorsements, and some smart business deals he'd made early in his career, he was about to become a billionaire with a 'B.' I was pretty sure those talking shit about him were just jealous.

  Caden deserved all he had and more. I'd never forgotten the night he saved me from that intruder. I'd never been more scared in my life and had spent every second since I’d become a cop making sure that no child ever had to go through that.

  Burying my mother had been the hardest thing I'd ever done. Eli had tried to be brave for me, but I'd heard him crying in his room at night. He blamed himself for my mother's death. He thought if he'd been stronger somehow, he could have stopped the guy.

  In the end, Steven Kendricks had gotten life in prison for killing my mom. She'd walked in on him as he’d raided her jewelry box, apparently thinking we were out for the evening. He'd taken every last piece of gold and silver he could find. He’d even taken the little gold stud that my mom had given my dad for Christmas the year before when he'd had his mid-life crisis and had come home one day with pierced ears. She'd had a 'P' inscribed in it for Parker. In total, the jewelry hadn't amounted to more than one thousand dollars.

  It was funny, that gold stud was the one thing they hadn't recovered. It must have fallen through a crack somewhere when Caden had creamed the guy. I wished that Caden and I had stayed in touch. I'd had such a crush on him as a kid, especially after that night. At times, I'd been sure he knew, but he'd never said anything. My dad had whisked us off to the West Coast when he’d remarried, and even Eli had fallen out of touch with him.

  A call came over the radio. "Forster. Parker. You two alive out there? Over."

  Mac grinned. "Watcha got for us, Berta? Over."

  "Another burglary call just came in. You want it? Over."

  Mac looked at me, and I nodded.

  "We're never gonna find out who wins, are we?" he asked.

  "That's what satellite radio was invented for."

  "Good luck getting the department to pay for that," he said as he flipped on the sirens and we sped off.

  2

  Caden

  The knob turned easily in my hand. I hesitated before pushing the door open. I was positive I'd locked it when I’d left for the stadium. I always locked my doors. Hell, I didn't even like leaving the windows open in summer. I hadn't been comfortable doing that since I was a kid.

  I stood there debating and hated myself for doing it. Don't be a pussy.

  "Fuck it," I said and pushed the door open.

  There was nothing inside except empty air.

  "If there's anyone in here," I yelled, "you picked the wrong fucking house to break into! You've got about two seconds to get out before I pulverize you. You hear me? I'll fucking pulverize you!"

  I stomped into the entranceway and rounded my shoulders back, trying to look as big as possible. At six foot four, that wasn't hard. I was wearing a sleeveless shirt I'd thrown on after the game. It showed off my muscles. I was glad now that I'd gone with this shirt instead of the hoody. The hoody tended to hide my bulk. I sucked in some air and puffed out my chest, listening.

  Not a sound.

  Slowly, I started to look around. Things were definitely out of place, but nothing looked broken. The table on my left had been pulled away from the wall for some reason. The drawer that I kept filled with stamps and not much else stood open. The stamps were still there. Walking around, it looked as though everything had been rearranged. The couch had switched places with the love seat. The end tables were at opposite ends of the room. Apparently, my thief was also a home decorator.

  "What the fuck?" I muttered, scratching my head.

  A noise sounded from the bedroom upstairs. Not footsteps. It sounded like someone was dragging something on the floor. I fought back the fear that made my stomach burn. Every moment of my life since the day I'd found Molly Parker dead in her house had been spent trying to fend off the fear. When I'd finally gotten sick of fighting it off, I'd started drinking it off instead. Every bottle of beer, every shot I'd ever taken... it had all been about stilling the demons.

  I laughed as I realized I sounded like a walking ad for Alcoholics Anonymous. I'd shown up to my first AA meeting drunk. Four years later, I was spouting off its virtues to everyone who cared to listen. What the fuck, though. I 'd helped a lot of people by being so open about it. Jax Ryder, for one. He'd been about to send his career down the toilet when I showed up on his doorstep. Too bad I’d had to kick his ass in the game tonight.

  I smiled as I headed for the stairs. We'd beaten the crap out of the Jets. Well, maybe that was overstating things. I mean, the game was tied up in the fourth quarter. We’d only won by a few points. Still, I'd gotten to rub it in Jax's face after the game. The teams had converged at a nearby Boston bar, some more bitter than others. I'd gone for a while but hadn't stayed long. I never did when we went to a bar. It had earned me a reputation as standoffish by those who didn't know me. Those who didn’t understood.

  The dragging noise sounded again. It was coming from my bedroom.

  "Alright, you fucker!" I yelled up the stairs. "I warned you." I opened the hall closet and grabbed a baseball bat, ready to swing it at the first head I saw. Whoever was here must've heard me by now. I wasn't exactly being subtle. They would deserve whatever they got.

  A three-inch crack in the door showed just enough of my bedroom for me to know that whoever was in there was hiding. My bed was in the middle of the room. Someone could have been waiting for me under it. Or maybe in the closet? Or behind the door?

  I paused long enough to peer through the minuscule crack that lay between the wall and the door hinges. I couldn't see shit. I kicked the door open and held my breath as it hit the door stop. Next place... under the bed. I bent over and peered under it from my position by the doorway. Nothing but some dust bunnies. Some of my clothes were on the floor. I tried to remember whether I'd left them there or if that was part of the intruder's decorating skills, but I drew a blank.

  "Alright you fucker, I've got you now," I muttered under my breath.

  The closet or the bathroom? I decided on the closet first. I stepped toward it, setting my foot on a sweatshirt that was lying on the floor. A loud "MEEOOWWWRRHHH!" erupted from under my feet. I jumped back, and Mellow came darting out. He jumped on the bed and let out a second, less angry but still contemptible, "Meeeooowww!" and waited for me to scratch his head.

  "Oh shit!" I breathed, laughing out loud. "Mellow, you scared the crap out of me. Was that you?"

  I patted his head and, as if in answer to my question, he jumped off the bed and began dragging my sweatshirt around the room. I had no idea what his motive was but decided it didn't much matter. Cats did weird shit. As I watched, a scraping noise sounded from under the shirt. I picked it up, irritating Mellow once again, and saw a wire hanger that had gotten tangled up in the fabric. The edge of it was dragging along my hardwood, scraping it up.

  I sighed and threw the shirt back on the floor for Mellow to play with. He rubbed his head on my leg then pounced on the shirt sleeves like they were mice. I fished my phone out of my back pocket and dialed the police while I finished checking the
bedroom, just to be sure.

  Someone answered on the first ring. "911 emergency."

  "Hi, my name is Caden Scott, and I want to report a burglary." I gave her my address.

  "Is the burglar still in the house, Sir?"

  "No, I don't think—"

  The painting on the wall opposite my bed had been moved. It was standing at an angle.

  "Shit," I muttered. "Oh hell no."

  I took the painting off the wall and stared at my safe.

  "Sir? Mr. Scott? Is the intruder to still in the house?"

  "No," I said. "I don't think so."

  "We're sending someone out to you now."

  "Thank you." I hung up and spun the knob on my safe. My throat was dry. "Please let it be here," I whispered. The lock clicked, and I pulled the door open. My jaw dropped. The safe was empty.

  3

  Raina

  "What's the name again?" I asked Mac. "Did they say Caden Scott?"

  Mac looked just as surprised as I did.

  "Probably not the same man," he said. But when we pulled up to the house, it was obvious we were wrong.

  The place was a mansion. A football-shaped mailbox stood at the edge of his front lawn. Fancy Victorian lampposts lined his driveway. Two giant white pillars stood on either side of the house, making us feel as though we were approaching the White House instead of someone's home.

  Mac let out a long, low whistle as we made our way up the brick-lined path to his front door. It was one of those giant doors where the frame stood twenty feet high and made you feel like a dwarf. Mac rang the bell, and my heart thumped in my chest. The last time I'd seen Caden, I had been fifteen years old, and he'd just been accepted into Penn State on a football scholarship.

  I remembered that Eli had been bitter about that. Up until he’d turned fifteen, he'd been just as good at football as Caden. He'd used the game to push past my mother's death, playing each and every game in her memory. Then, my father had brought home the first of many wives, and everything had gone south.

  "Remarried?!" Eli had shouted when my dad introduced Mindy. "You're not serious!"

  Mindy was only five years older than Eli and had asked us to call her mother the first time we met. She wanted to be an actress. Hence, when I was twelve, we’d moved to Los Angeles. The marriage had lasted a year. Just long enough for us to get used to Mindy, but not long enough for us to like her.

  Next was Kelli, then Bianca, and now we were on Lyla. She was a year younger than me. Eli and my father had stopped talking about a year ago when they were married. I'd tried to follow in Eli's footsteps, but no matter how hard I tried, I hadn't been able to forget what a great dad he'd been while my mother was alive. Her death had affected us all differently. My father had turned into a womanizer. Eli went from playing football to working as a garbage man. And I became a cop.

  Mac reached for the doorbell.

  "Wait!" I shouted. He looked at me with questioning eyes. I felt a blush creep into my cheeks. "Sorry. Uh, never mind."

  He cocked his head to one side and pushed the bell. The second the door opened, I flipped back in time to the hopeless crush I’d had on Caden growing up. I didn't think for one second that he'd recognize me. The last time I'd seen him, my tits hadn't even grown in yet. His face was ragged, but he looked good. The bronze hair that I'd dreamed about as a teenager lay tousled over his head like he'd just stepped out of a convertible.

  "Thanks for coming," he said. "Actually, I think the whole thing was one big misunderstanding. My cat, Mellow..." His eyes stopped on mine. He blinked his blue eyes once, twice, three times. A big smile spread across his face.

  "Oh my fucking God!" Caden yelled. "Raina?!"

  He scooped me into his arms and spun me around. My gun dug into his side as my hips pressed against his chest. I felt every curve of every muscle as he held me tightly in his arms. When he finally put me down, my face was burning, and Mac was looking at me like I was a space alien.

  "Um, hi, Caden," I said.

  "Hi? Is that all you've got to say after..." He paused a second, thinking. "Twelve years!"

  Mac cleared his throat.

  "This is my partner, Detective Mac Forster. We got a call that you experienced a burglary."

  Experienced a burglary? Shit, I sounded like an amateur.

  "Yeah, that's right. Fucker broke right in."

  "You were saying something about a misunderstanding?" Mac prompted.

  "Oh, yeah, uh, I forgot what I was gonna say. Come on in. I'll show you around."

  He let us in, and Mac set straight to work looking around. I'd only been back in Boston a few months, but I knew him well enough to know the cop in him was dying of curiosity. When we got out of here, he was gonna drill me with questions.

  "He's clearly one crazy fucker," Caden said, taking my elbow and steering me toward a room off the downstairs hallway. You could have fit a football stadium inside his living room. Mac followed quickly after us.

  "Mr. Scott, if you could tell us—"

  "He rearranged my furniture," Caden said, cutting Mac off.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "My furniture. He rearranged it."

  I exchanged a look with Mac. I knew what he was thinking—that was a new one.

  "Is anything missing?" I asked Caden.

  "No, nothing. Look, all my trophies are still here. Doesn't look like he touched them at all." He pointed to his Player of the Year Award, and I realized he'd led us to his trophy room.

  "Is anything in here out of place?" I asked.

  "I don't think so. I just wanted to show you what I've been up to. How's Eli? When did you get back in Boston? Is he here too? We should all catch-up."

  I felt Mac stiffen beside me.

  "Mr. Scott, Officer Parker and I—"

  Caden cracked up. "Officer Parker. Fuck, when did you become a cop?"

  He was laughing, but he wasn't making fun of me -- he was just surprised. I was flattered that he was so interested in me, but if word of this got back to anyone at the station, I'd never live it down.

  "Caden—Mr. Scott—Detective Forster and I need to ask you some questions."

  "Sure. Shoot." He laughed at his pun. "I shouldn't be surprised. You always had a feisty temper. Now, you get paid to kick people in the shins." He winked at me, and my cheeks colored.

  "Er, maybe we should start outside. Look for a point of entry," I said, glancing at Mac. He nodded and motioned for me to go ahead of him. Outside, Caden continued to follow me around.

  "So, you haven't answered my question. When did you move back?"

  "A few months ago," I said, trying to concentrate on the lock I was examining.

  "From L. A.?"

  "That's right."

  Mac was a few feet away and watching us as he examined a tree branch leading to an upstairs bedroom. I walked over to him, hoping Caden might ease up on the questions if I gave him a job to do.

  "Can you do me a favor and make a list of everything you think the burglar touched?"

  "Sure," he said. "Why don't you come inside with me? I can point out everything to you, and you can tell me if it's important or not."

  "Caden, I—"

  "Stop!" Mac yelled, putting a hand on my back to prevent me from moving. He looked down at the ground. I followed his eyes and saw that I'd been about to step in muddy heel print. He'd just saved my ass from destroying evidence.

  "I owe you one," I whispered.

  "You owe me several," he whispered back.

  4

  Caden

  Fuck, Raina looked good. Really good. I couldn't believe she was here in my living room. My eyes kept straying to the gun in her holster and the cuffs on her hips. We could have a lot of fun with those. I reminded myself that she was Eli's little sister, but it was impossible to think of her as little when her tits were trying to break the top button on her navy blue uniform.

  Her partner wasn't blind, either. He kept looking at her like she was a fucking steak at a hot dog stand. I bet
he jerked off to her in the shower. Maybe they had a thing going on. I hoped not.

  "So, did Eli end up playing ball somewhere?" I asked. "I've looked for his name in draft notices, but I've never seen it come up."

  Raina hesitated. "Eli works for the city," she said.

  "The city? Awesome! Is he mayor? Don't tell me he's a fucking senator!"

  "He's too young to run for senate," she muttered, examining my lampshade. If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn she was trying to ignore me.

  "Well, then, you know, the other one, House of Reps or whatever."

  "No," she said and moved on to the kitchen.

  For whatever reason, she clearly didn't want to talk about Eli. I wished I'd stayed in touch with him. If the drinking hadn't been such a problem for me in college, maybe I would have.

  "My mom still lives in Boston," I said. "She's out of the old neighborhood, though. I bought her a house in Beacon Hill. You should come by and say hi. She'd love to see you."

  "Yeah, maybe."

  I drew in a breath. It had to be her partner. If he'd go away, maybe she'd feel freer to talk.

  "Wanna see my bedroom?" I blurted out.

  I could swear she smiled, but Detective Forster gave me the evil eye.

  "Is there anything in your bedroom worth seeing?" Raina asked playfully.

  "Depends on where you look," I winked.

  Her eyes widened. "Hey, do you have a safe?"

  I paused. "Yes."

  "We should check it out. The guy we're after is a master safe cracker."

  "It was the first thing I checked. Everything's there."

  "Oh. Well, consider yourself lucky. He doesn't usually miss that sort of thing. He must've been in a hurry to get out. Maybe we should double check it."

  "So, you think that heel print outside is the burglar?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.

  "Definitely. There's been a string of burglaries in the South End these last few months. We've linked them back to one guy."