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

by S. J. Bishop

  Once I told Raina, would she tell anyone else? Was she required to? This whole time, I'd been thinking it could be our little secret, but what if that wasn't the case? I turned and looked back toward the bar.

  "Fuck me."

  There was a late night AA meeting a half mile down the street. I made my way there and sat in the back with my head in my hands. It was a scattered crowd tonight. These late night meetings were like that—either half empty or three times too full. When the holidays hit, it was standing room only.

  The meeting ended, and I hung around by the coffee pot and cookies, wondering where to go next. Home, I supposed. That was the smart answer.

  "Caden," someone said. I turned to see Gavin standing there.

  Shit.

  He was the last person I wanted to see right now. He was like a radar machine or an X-ray or something. He could see right through a person. I'd been avoiding him the last couple of weeks, just for that reason.

  "Hey," I said, forcing a smile on my face. "What's up? Haven't seen you around in a while."

  "Yeah, I know. Have you been getting my messages?"

  "Messages?" I asked, hoping my face looked blank. "No, my phone must be on the fritz."

  Gavin nodded. "I thought you might say something like that."

  I shrugged. "You know how these cheap cell phones are."

  "An iPhone is cheap?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "Not really."

  I sighed and took one step toward the door. "Well, I better get going."

  "Where are you headed?"

  "Just home."

  "Great. I'll walk with you."

  I gave up. There was no way to get rid of him. We walked toward my house in silence that I knew wouldn't last.

  "So," Gavin said as the silence was broken even faster than I'd thought. "What's this I hear about you hanging around Bishop's Pub? Alone."

  My jaw dropped open. Bishop's was the place I'd been at before stopping off at the meeting. I hadn't even seen anyone I knew there; then again, I hadn't been looking.

  "Who told you that?"

  "Doesn't matter." It was a typical Gavin answer. He wouldn't tell me who'd ratted me out if his life depended on it.

  "I was just meeting some friends," I mumbled.

  "Yeah, right."

  "I haven't been drinking," I fired back at him. "Look at my eyes. They're fucking clear."

  Gavin did look. I didn't blame him, but it still pissed me off.

  "Alright, so you didn't drink tonight. What about tomorrow night?"

  I sighed.

  "I don't know," I admitted.

  "You ready to tell me what's going on?"

  We had stopped walking. We hadn't made it very far toward my house, and I was finally getting tired. Maybe I should just tell him. I knew Gavin could keep a secret. He was my sponsor. I don't know what was holding me back. Maybe the fact that he'd been my hero growing up. I didn't want to see him disappointed in me.

  "Can I ask you something?" I said. Gavin nodded. "Have you ever done anything in your past that was so stupid... so... so fucking goddam stupid that you wished you could take it all back, and knowing you can't just kills you?"

  Gavin smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere. The answer is yes. Of course I have. You think there's an alcoholic alive who hasn't been in that position?"

  "So what would you do if it suddenly came back—that stupid fucking thing—and bit you in the ass?"

  "Is this a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation?"

  "That about sums it up. Should I tell the world the truth and lose everything or keep quiet and pay the price?"

  "That depends," Gavin said.

  "On what?"

  "On which one of those options is gonna make you take a drink."

  13

  Raina

  "Same print?" Mac asked.

  "Same print," I told him. I stood up and wiped the dirt off my hands, trying not to yawn. It was already two, and it didn't seem like any of us were getting back to bed in the few hours.

  "What do you think the "A" means?" I asked Mac. "Think it's his name?"

  Mac bent near to the ground and looked at the print for himself. The shallow "A" in the burglar's heel was getting more faded at every scene, but it was still visible.

  "I'm betting it's some symbolic thing. You know how these guys are. Probably the initial of his first victim."

  I looked back toward the house where, inside, a husband and wife lay dead. The husband had been shot twice in the head. The wife, once in the back. Probably when she was making a run for it. She'd still been alive when he left her to bleed out. I double checked their names. Madison and Patrick Lemont.

  "You don't think these two are his first, do you?" I asked Mac.

  "Nope. You don't just kill two people like that out of the blue. You start early and work your way up."

  He had a good point. "Where's Skeecher?" I asked, looking around for him. "We need pictures."

  "He's probably hiding from Hernandez."

  "Hernandez? What for?"

  "Oh... there was an incident."

  "An incident?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Mac sighed. "Apparently, Skeecher thought it would be funny to put plastic wrap over all the toilet seats in the men's room."

  Laughter bubbled up out of me. "He didn't."

  "Yeah, he did. And Hernandez was the first to use a stall."

  I started laughing and couldn't stop. Hernandez wasn't so bad, but he'd been in on his share of pranks around the office. Suddenly, the filing cabinet drawer that fell out on me the other day didn't seem so bad. This was worse. Much worse.

  "Hernandez threatened to kick Skeecher's balls into the back of his throat when he got ahold of him."

  "Skeecher will be lucky if he gets off that easy. Where was I when this happened?"

  "Huh," Mac thought a second. "Getting coffee."

  "Coffee? Oh, right."

  My stomach had taken a sudden turn for the worse this morning. I'd woken up feeling a little under the weather, and by the time I’d gotten to work, I'd been sick. I’d thrown up once in the bathroom and gone to get some Pepto Bismol, telling Mac and anyone who cared enough to listen that I was going for coffee because I was sick of the crap they gave us at the station. No one had questioned me. Everyone knew the coffee here tasted like dishwater.

  I felt fine now and had forgotten all about it.

  A silver Corolla pulled up to the house just as I spotted Hernandez. "Hey, Hernandez, are you done inside? We need photos over here."

  Hernandez nodded and walked toward us. "You guys seen Skeecher?"

  "Nope, sorry," Mac said.

  Hernandez's face tightened. "If you do, tell him I'm looking for him." We both agreed to let Skeecher know.

  The front doors of the Corolla opened, and two men dressed in suits stepped out. They were both tall, about six feet or a tad over. One was bald. The other had dark brown hair that was almost black. They were in their thirties.

  "Fuck," Mac uttered under his breath. "I was afraid of that."

  "What? Who are they?"

  Mac drew in a deep breath. "Homicide."

  I understood why he was suddenly on the defensive. He rounded his shoulders back and stood up straight. I did the same.

  "Detective Forster," the bald guy said, nodding at Mac.

  His partner turned to me. "Miss Parker, I assume?"

  "Officer Parker," I corrected him.

  "Sorry, Officer Parker." He smirked at baldy and folded his arms across his chest.

  "Detective Harris," Mac said to the one with dark hair. "Detective Pike," Mac addressed the bald guy. "What can we do for you?"

  "Step aside," Pike said, cutting to the chase.

  "This is our case," Mac told him. "The deaths were the result of a burglary."

  "They were the result of bullets punching holes in vital organs like the human brain. Around homicide, we like to call that murder."

  "Yes," I said, j
umping in, "but this case is connected to several others that Detective Forster and I have been investigating. If anything, we should be working together on this."

  Mac shot me a look, and I knew he wasn't happy with my suggestion. My ultimate goal was to get into homicide, though. What better way to do that to share a case with them?

  "Or," Harris said, "and this is just one possible alternative... you two could get the fuck out of our crime scene." Pike laughed and clapped a hand on his partner's back. Mac looked like he wanted to punch the both of them.

  The door to the house opened, and two body bags came wheeling out on stretchers. I watched them roll by and pictured the bloody mess inside that used to be living, breathing people. It reminded me too much of my mother's death. The image of her lying on the kitchen floor... of Caden trying to shield her body from me... it all came rushing back.

  My stomach lurched. I made it to the bushes just in time to avoid splattering vomit all over the driveway.

  "Great!" Pike yelled. "Contaminate everything, why don't you?"

  "Shut up dimwit," Mac said and jogged up beside me. "You okay?"

  I could hear the guys laughing in the background. This would spread around the station like a lightning bolt, and by this time tomorrow, the thing between Hernandez and Skeecher would be forgotten. Instead, I'd be the butt of the joke.

  My stomach rolled one more time before it was finished. I waited, bent over, to make sure I was done. Something shiny glared up at me from the ground. I squinted at it, trying to make out just what it was. A piece of metal, I thought. I reached down to pick it up. It was an earring. A tiny stud.

  "Hey, if you've got any more in you, I can get you a doggy bag," Skeecher said. He'd finally turned up. He and Hernandez were laughing together. I pocketed the stud before anyone could see it. I didn't need homicide taking it away before I could get a closer look at it.

  Mac's walkie beeped, and he answered it. "Forster here. Go ahead, Berta. Over."

  "Remember that football god whose home got busted into a few weeks ago? Over."

  Mac looked at me. "You mean Caden Scott? Over."

  "That's the one. Well, the poor kid had it happen again. Better get over there. Over."

  I opened my mouth to say something and bit my tongue instead. Another break-in at Caden's? Berta hadn't said whether he was hurt. If it was the same asshole who'd been here... he'd already committed two murders this evening. Mac read my thoughts.

  "Berta, how's Scott? Is he injured? Over."

  "No word on that yet, sorry. Over."

  Mac had his keys in his hand. I grabbed them and jumped into the driver's seat. Mac would have to pry me out of here if he wanted to drive. He slid into the passenger seat for the first time as I shifted into gear.

  14

  Caden

  I cursed at my new burglar alarm as it drilled through the night like a fire engine. It was three in the morning, and every single neighbor must have been awake by now.

  "Shut the hell up!" one of them called out.

  "Sorry!" I yelled back. "I'm trying!"

  I hit every button on the damned keypad, but they only blinked at me. I pushed clear, waited a minute, and punched my code in again. Nothing. The alarm kept blaring away. My phone rang.

  "Hello?"

  "Mr. Scott? This is Reed Technic Security. How are you this evening?" The woman on the other end sounded like a robot.

  "Not so great right this second," I said. "How the fuck do I shut this alarm off?"

  "Sir, I'm going to need your password."

  "Password?" My mind raced through every cell my brain had, looking for an answer. It came back with a big blank. "I don't remember the password. Can't I just give you the keycode? I've punched it in a thousand times, and it's not working."

  "If it's not working, sir, then it isn't the right key code."

  "The hell it's not. Make this noise stop. It's waking my neighbors."

  "Sir, unless you can provide me with the password you set up when you retained our service, there is nothing more I can do. You will have to wait for the police to arrive."

  "The police? Oh no, don't send the police. I'm fine."

  "Mr. Scott, if you are experiencing a burglary, the police—"

  "Fuck the police!" I yelled at her. "I told you, everything's fine."

  "They're already en route, sir, and should be arriving at any moment. Once they arrive, I'll be able to shut off the alarm."

  I hit my fist against the door, leaving a dent. Two police cruisers pulled up, followed by an unmarked car. Raina and Detective Forster stepped out. Raina's face was as white as a sheet. She saw me standing in the doorway and ran up to me, throwing her arms around my neck.

  "You're alright!" she cried.

  "Yeah," I said, surprised. "I'm fine." I wrapped one arm around her waist. She felt good. Hell, she smelled good. I'd been craving that smell for the last month.

  Detective Forster cleared his throat. Raina stiffened in my arms and pulled away, blushing.

  "I was afraid something had happened to you," she shouted over the alarm.

  "I'm fine. Can you make this stop, please?" I said, indicating the noise. I handed her the phone. She told the robot on the other end that the cavalry had arrived, provided her badge number, and the alarm finally shut up.

  "About time!" my neighbor yelled.

  The other cops who had shown up with Raina had their guns drawn and were scoping the place out.

  "What's going on?" I asked. "Why are there so many of you?"

  "We got a call saying your house had been broken into," Detective Forster said, trying not to show how jealous he was that Raina had hugged me like that. He wasn't fooling me.

  "Well, no one did. It was just my alarm. My cat, Mellow, set it off."

  "How did a cat set off a burglar alarm?" Detective Forster asked, looking at me skeptically.

  "I don't know. Cats are weird. They get into places."

  He exchanged a look with Raina. "Maybe we should just take a quick look around," Raina said, heading for the door.

  "No," I said, stepping in front of her to block her path.

  "No?" she asked, stiffening.

  "No. It's fine. I don't need anyone poking around my house, okay?"

  "Sir, when a call like yours comes in, we are obligated to investigate before we leave." Detective Forster motioned for the other cops to circle the perimeter of the house and walked around me to the entranceway.

  I took a deep breath and let it out. Maybe if I tried a new tactic.

  "Raina, I'm tired, I've had a long day. I just want to get to bed. Can you please get your officers the fuck out of here?"

  "What is wrong with you? Does this have anything to do with why you called me earlier?"

  "What? No."

  "Then what is it?"

  "I'm fucking tired. Can't you understand that? Haven't you ever been tired before? Jesus Christ, what is this? The fucking inquisition? There's no one here. I haven't been robbed. I just want everyone to leave me the fuck alone!"

  Raina gaped at me. My heart pounded in my chest. I had just fucked up royally. Detective Forster was standing behind me.

  "Everything okay out here?" he asked.

  "Yeah," Raina said through clenched teeth. "All clear inside?"

  "I don't see any sign of forced entry."

  "Then we should go."

  "Raina, wait," I said, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

  She leaned close enough to me so that Detective Forster couldn't hear. "Forget about tomorrow night. Whatever it is you wanted to talk about, I don't give a shit. Do me a favor and lose my number."

  Everyone left and I was alone. Again.

  15

  Raina

  I lifted another box from the shelf. This one was heavier than the last.

  "Why does paper have to weigh so much?" I asked myself.

  The door opened, and Mac's head popped in. "There you are. What are you doing down in the records room?"

  "
Looking for records."

  "Haha."

  I giggled as he took a look at the files I'd already pulled.

  "Shouldn't this stuff be on the computer?"

  "Not all of it," I told him. "Not the cold cases or the ones dating back past nineteen eighty."

  "Do you really think you're gonna find something in these files?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. But I won't know unless I look."

  Mac pulled up a box next to mine and sat down. "This is all about the burglaries? Mr. Shoe Print?"

  "That's right. What else would it be about?"

  "I don't know... maybe your mom?"

  I looked at him. "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means you're taking this personally."

  "So what? I take every case personally, Mac. That's what makes me a good cop."

  "Yeah, but that's how good cops get fucked in the head. You need to learn detachment."

  "Detachment? So, I should be more like Skeecher? Playing pranks and making people hate me?"

  "You're the only one who hates Skeecher."

  I stared at him with my mouth open. "You're telling me you like that sonofabitch?"

  "No, I don't like him, but I don't mind him either. Except when he picks on you."

  "Which is all of the time."

  "What about Hernandez? Was he just taking a break from you when he pulled that stunt in the men's room?"

  I went back to my box. This was the first time Mac had ever acted like I was the one with the problem, and it was pissing me off.

  "Look," he said, "I'm just saying that it's one thing to take a case; it's another to obsess over it. You're picking up evidence from a crime scene, you're hugging victims, you're—"

  "I'm what?" I yelled, louder than I meant to. "Is that what this is about? Because I hugged Caden the other night? Are you jealous?"

  Mac's face reddened. "It's not just about that," he said. "What about that earring you gave me for the lab?"

  "What about it?"