Skirting the Ice (The Bannister Brothers #3) Page 4

  His dad ran his own construction company, Bannister Builders, so he’d taught his kids basic skills over the years and instilled a good work ethic in all of them. One of his brothers, Beau, had followed in his dad’s footsteps and ran the company with him.

  Because of his asthma, Jack’s mom had often held him back from some of the more labor-heavy tasks and instead he’d become more adept at computer skills.

  This afternoon, he and Murphy planned to paint as many rooms as they could manage. The rest of his family already had plans for the day, so it would just be the two of them.

  Which was fine with him.

  In fact, he preferred it. Preferred to be alone with Murphy—without the Amazing Owen around.

  He sighed as he stood and stretched for his run.

  It wasn’t his brother’s fault that he was Captain Awesome. He couldn’t really be mad at him. He hadn’t done anything except offer to help. And he did help—a lot. He was really a great guy and fun to be around. He normally loved hanging out with him and all of his brothers. He really did love the guy. But the problem lay in that he was such a great guy. So it was easy to see why Murphy would like him, too.

  How could Jack possible stand up to Owen’s good looks and funny charm, not to mention all of his stupid muscles?

  He couldn’t. It was as simple as that.

  He didn’t compare.

  Why would Murphy even consider wanting to be with him when Owen was around?

  But Owen has a girlfriend—that he’s head over heels in love with, he reminded himself. And Owen hadn’t done anything to give Murphy the impression he was interested in her. He hadn’t flirted or been suggestive. He’d just been his normal charming self. The guy that had women falling all over themselves to spend time with him.

  Besides, it didn’t matter if Owen was interested in her. It mattered if Murphy was interested in him, and that Jack didn’t stand a chance if that was the kind of guy she was looking for.

  And who wouldn’t be? Why would she be interested in a nerdy CPA that played online computer games at night and couldn’t run more than two miles without having an asthma attack?

  He opened the door and jogged down the steps of his apartment and down the driveway.

  And into Murphy.

  She was wearing yoga pants, sneakers, and a practice jersey and had her hair pulled through the back hole of an orange and blue Broncos baseball cap. Even in her workout gear and lugging a heavy hockey bag, she looked gorgeous.

  “Here, let me grab that,” he said, taking the bag from her.

  “Thanks,” she said, handing him the bag and pointing her key fob at the fancy white sports car that sat on the street in front of her house. She clicked the button, and the trunk popped open. “We still on for this afternoon? Or did I wear you out yesterday?”

  He shook his head, his back bristling at the seemingly veiled insult. “No. What? I’m not that much of a wuss. I can handle a day’s labor.”

  Her eyes widened. “Take it easy. I was just teasing you. Don’t get mad. I just meant that you worked really hard yesterday.”

  “Sorry,” he said with a sigh as he dumped the bag into the trunk of her car. His hands itched to organize the array of crap scattered across her trunk—extra hockey equipment, half-empty water bottles, several plastic shopping bags, and a set of jumper cables. A bottle of windshield wiper fluid lay on its side, and he cringed as he imagined it rolling around back there as she drove. That would make him crazy.

  He tipped the bottle of fluid right side up and wedged it in between the hockey stick and a pink tool box. “Nice tool box.”

  She laughed as she walked behind him toward the other side of the car. “Isn’t that hysterical? My dad got that for me for Christmas one year. I still don’t know if it was meant to be serious or a joke, but the tools work, so it doesn’t matter.”

  The laughter died on her lips, and the color drained from her face as she stared at the side of the car. The keys slipped from her hands and hit the ground with a clatter.

  She looked like she was going to pass out.

  “What’s wrong?” Jack took two steps toward her, his arms outstretched and caught her just as her knees gave way. She sagged against him, clutching his arms, her nails digging into his skin as she gasped for breath.

  “Take it easy. I’ve got you. Breathe, Murph.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fright, her voice barely above a whisper. “How did he find me?”

  “Who? What the hell is going on?” She was starting to scare him.

  She lifted her hand and pointed to the side of her car.

  He turned his head, his gaze landing on the scrawled message that had been written along the side of her car in red spray paint.

  I WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU.

  “What the hell is this?” He turned back to her. “Who will find you? Who did this?” A mix of fear and fury churned through his gut.

  Who the hell would do something like this?

  It was obvious someone was trying to scare her. And they were doing a damn good job of it. He could feel her shaking against his chest. He held her tighter. “Come on. Let’s go inside. You need to sit down for a second.”

  She shook her head, her eyes frantic. “I can’t. I can’t leave my car here. Not like this. What if someone sees it?” Her eyes scanned the empty neighborhood street. “I’ve got to get it off the street.”

  “What we need to do is call the police. This is vandalism.” Anger pulsed through him at the thought of someone harming her.

  “They won’t do anything. And I don’t have time to wait for them. I have to get to practice. Dammit, how am I gonna get to the ice hall?” Her eyes widened in alarm as her breath quickened. “I just want to get my car off the street. I don’t want anyone to see it.”

  “Okay. We will. I’ll help you. But come inside first.”

  The panic in her words increased with the trembling of her hands. “Shit. Where am I gonna put it? The garage is full. How did he find me? Fuck. I’m gonna be so late for practice.” Her sentences ran together, the volume of her voice rising with each one.

  He took her face in his hands and turned it toward him. “Murphy, look at me. Take a breath. I can put your car in my garage, and I’ll drive you to practice. Then we can call the police and file a report once your practice is over.”

  And then you can tell me what the hell is going on.

  She nodded, the glaze across her eyes clearing a little. “Okay, yes, good. That’s good. Can you do it now? Move the car, I mean. Please Jack, I don’t want anyone to see it.”

  “Okay. But you’ve got to sit down. And I need you to agree to call the police once you get home.” He picked up the fallen keys from the street, then guided her toward the front yard, grabbing a full water bottle out of the open trunk as they passed it. He twisted off the cap and handed it to her as she sank onto the grass.

  “Sure. Fine, whatever. I’ll file a report.”

  “All right. Stay here. I’ll get my car and be right back.” He waited until she’d taken a drink, then ran back to his apartment, taking the steps two at a time as he ran in, grabbed his keys, tossed his laptop into a messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder.

  He hit the button for the garage door, then tossed the bag into the back seat of his car. Climbing in, he started the car and was backing out before the big door had even finished opening.

  Parking his car on the street, he jogged to hers, quickly transferred the equipment from her trunk to his, and then slid into the driver’s seat.

  Holy shit—this is a nice car.

  He took just a second to appreciate the soft leather interior and the flashy console before pressing the Start Engine button. The car roared to life, and he turned into the driveway and eased the car into his open garage.

  Although it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d scratched it. The car was going to need a new paint job anyway.

  What the hell kind of asshole spray-painted the side of someone�
��s car?

  And with a message like that?

  He was about to find out.

  “You sure you don’t want to skip practice this morning?” he asked as he hurried back to where Murphy still sat in the yard.

  She pushed up from the grass and gave him a look that answered his question. “I’m sure. I’m okay now.” She clutched the bottle of water as she walked to his car.

  He held the door open for her and eased her into the passenger seat then ran around the back of the car and dropped into the driver’s seat.

  After starting the engine, he eased out on to the road and headed for the arena. “All right, now tell me what the hell is going on.”

  She let out a sigh and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Look, I appreciate you giving me a ride, but I don’t want to involve you in my problems.”

  “Too bad. I’m already involved.” And he was. No matter how hard he was trying to fight it. He was involved in Murphy Ryan’s life. And he would stay involved, as long as she let him.

  “It’s nothing. I can handle it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I can. I’ve been handling it for the last year.”

  “Last year? Someone’s been harassing you like this for a year? Do you know who it is?”

  “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t know. I was dating this guy and things were going really well—I liked him. He seemed nice. Then he got kind of weird so I broke things off with him, and I guess he took it pretty hard.”

  His gut clenched at the thought of her being with another man. But he didn’t have time to think about that right now. He needed to focus on her. “Weird how?”

  “I don’t know. Like he got kind of possessive, I guess. He wanted to spend all of our time together and didn’t want me hanging out with any of my friends. And he was suspicious of everything. One night I caught him going through my phone and instead of apologizing, he started grilling me on who had been calling and texting me.”

  “It wasn’t any of his damn business.”

  “I know. That’s what I told him. But he turned that around to make it seem like I was hiding something. He had a way of turning a lot of things around—like to take the attention off of him and redirect the focus on something else.”

  “Yeah, I’ve known people like that.” He merged onto the highway. “But you said he took it pretty hard when you broke things off. What does that mean?”

  “It means he wouldn’t accept that I’d broken up with him. He kept calling and showing up and sending flowers, even after I’d repeatedly told him I didn’t want to see him anymore. And sometimes he was sober and other times he’d been drinking. I didn’t trust him. Or trust what he would do.”

  “Were you scared of him? Like scared that he would hurt you?” He glanced over at her and noted the way she still clutched the water bottle between her hands. “Did he ever hurt you?”

  She didn’t say anything, just stared at the bottle in her lap, her knuckles turning white from gripping it so hard.

  Anger surged through him at the thought of anyone touching her, but he kept his emotions in check and his tone even. “Murphy? Did he hurt you?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, it could have been an accident. He said it was an accident and that I was making too much out of it, and he apologized like crazy.”

  “What was an accident?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “We were in an argument one night. I’d gone out for drinks with a couple of girls from my team and was late for our date. Apparently he’d made this whole fancy meal as a surprise and my being late had messed the whole thing up. He got really mad and turned it into this whole thing about me not putting him first, and he started yelling and accidentally hit my cheek with the back of his hand as he was waving his arms around.”

  “What?”

  “I know. Looking back now I wonder if he meant to do it. But that night he apologized like crazy and swore it was an accident.”

  “Bullshit. That was no accident. Did you call the police?”

  “No, but it bothered me enough that I broke up with him the next week.”

  “That’s good. But it doesn’t sound like the douchebag got the hint. Why didn’t you call the police then? When he wouldn’t leave you alone?”

  “And say what? Hey, this guy keeps calling me and sending me flowers and telling me he loves me. He never actually threatened me so there was nothing they could do about it. Besides, he eventually stopped calling. But then…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Then what?”

  “Then a few months later, this strange stuff started happening.”

  “Strange, how? What kind of stuff?”

  “Like strange calls in the middle of the night. At first I ignored them, but they kept happening, and they were from different numbers. When I did get fed up and started answering the calls, there was no one there, just like heavy breathing. Geez, it sounds so stalkerish.”

  “It is stalkerish. Normal people don’t do that kind of shit. Why didn’t you block the numbers?”

  “I did. But then I would get calls from new numbers. I eventually got a new phone and requested a new number. It stopped for a while, but then the notes started appearing.”

  “Notes?”

  “Yeah, like secret admirer kind of notes. ‘I think you’re pretty’ kind of stuff. And roses. I would find these white roses on my car after practice or a game. Like just one rose under my windshield wiper. Always just one white rose. That was it. I didn’t know if they were even related to the phone calls or if maybe I just had a zealous fan.”

  “A creepy fan,” he muttered.

  “Agreed. But then he started leaving the notes with the flowers. And it was creepy. Like it would give me chills when I saw them. I started to dread going out to my car after practice or a game. I tried to ignore it, then I got a note at my house, and I got really freaked out.”

  “At your house? So this guy knew where you lived?” He clenched the steering wheel, wanting to beat his fists against it.

  “Yes. Which scared me but also it made me think it was Gary—that’s the guy I was dating. Because he would know where I lived. And that was easier to accept than imagining some random stalker had followed me home.”

  “That makes sense. So did you call the police then? After the notes showed up at your house?”

  “No. But I eventually did. Because then two things happened that changed everything. First, my grandfather died, and I found out that I’d inherited the house and a bunch of money, and I started talking about and making plans to move to Colorado. Then the second thing happened. I got another note, and this one scared the hell out of me.”

  Jack slowed down and turned in to the ice arena. “Why? What made this one worse?”

  “I got home from work and found it at my house. But not on my door like the other ones. This one was in my house, sitting on the kitchen table, underneath a rose. But this time the rose was bright red and the note said, ‘No matter where you go, you’ll never get away from me. You’ll always belong to me.’”

  Chapter Five

  Chills raced up Jack’s arms as he pulled into a parking spot and turned off the car. He turned in his seat to face her. “Holy shit. You must have been terrified.”

  “I was. And that’s when I did finally call the police.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. They looked around, filed a report, and suggested that I install a security system or some cameras. And that was it.”

  He sighed. “I guess they didn’t have a lot to go on. Did they talk to your neighbors? Check to see if any of them had heard or seen anything? Surely they must have heard the dog barking. I assume he would have barked if someone had broken in.”

  “Normally yes, but I think whoever left the note must have also drugged him. He was sound asleep when I got home. He didn’t even wake up when I came through the door, which is not like him at all.”


  “Bastard. Who drugs a dog? He could have killed him.” Adrenaline flowed through his veins, and he wanted to punch something. Someone. “So did they check this guy Gary out?”

  “Yeah. They went and talked to him, but he said he was home alone watching TV that night.”

  “So, a weak alibi. Figures.” He shook his head. “I like the idea of installing cameras though. Did you do that?”

  “No. I didn’t bother. I knew I was moving out here in a few weeks anyway. So I assumed it would stop. The last week has been so great. It’s felt like the first time I could breathe easy in so long. I’ve actually felt safe.”

  He hated this. Hated that someone was tormenting her. Hated that she didn’t feel safe in her own home. He picked up her hand and squeezed it. “What can I do? How can I help?”

  She smiled, a small upturn of her lips, but her eyes were still sad. “You are helping. Just by being here. And for talking me off the ledge. I kind of lost it there for a few minutes.”

  “You were fine. Anyone would have been freaked out. Hell, I was freaked out. Actually, I still am. But I’m also pissed. I want to find this guy and punch him in the throat.”

  “Get in line.” She laughed, but it was an empty chuckle.

  “I’m serious. I want to do something.”

  She looked down at her hands, avoiding his eyes. Her voice was soft, catching on her words as she spoke. “I think I could use a hug.”

  His heart clenched at the raw emotion in her tone. Somehow he didn’t think affection was something Murphy asked for often.

  He opened his arms. “I can do that.”

  She leaned across the seat and wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled her tightly to him, holding on as he tried to convey his feelings through his embrace, and he swore he could feel her heartbeat pounding against his chest.

  His cheek rested against his—her skin was so soft, and she smelled so good. Her scent filled the air around him, something flowery with a hint of vanilla.