Skirting the Ice (The Bannister Brothers #3) Page 9

  “Hmmm.” His forehead wrinkled in concentration.

  “Hmmm-what?”

  “I don’t like the looks of this.” He scrolled through the feed on Ron’s page. “It looks like he travels to Colorado quite a bit. And this picture shows him at a Rockies game this last weekend. He was here. In Denver. When your car was vandalized. He could still be here now.”

  Another chill ran through her.

  Ron Cruz was here? In Denver?

  “Check the other guys. Look up Peter Carroll.”

  “I am.” He typed in the name at the top and several profiles popped up. “Popular name. Which one is he?”

  She squinted at the tiny profile pictures then pointed to the one showing a dark haired guy wearing a hockey jersey. “There. That’s him.”

  He clicked on the picture. “And why do you think it could be him?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. He used to show up to a lot of the games I played in. And he was always hanging around afterwards. It just seemed like he always at the ice arena around the same time that I was. He never overtly hit on me, but he tried to talk to me a lot—tried to talk to all the girls on the team.”

  “Well, then he’s kind of creepy, too. Because this guy is married.”

  “Married?”

  He pointed to a picture of the guy with his arm around a woman at a hockey game. They were wearing matching smiles but opposing jerseys. “His post claims he was at the game cheering against his wife’s favorite team. And the game was Saturday night. In Boston. So that rules out this guy.”

  Murphy peered at the picture and started as she recognized the face. “Oh, shit.”

  “Shit? What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy. We can rule this guy out since we know he couldn’t have been here this weekend.”

  “No, I’m not talking about that. I’m saying ‘Oh shit’ because I recognize the woman in the picture. She’s one of the referees. No wonder the guy was always at the ice arena. He was probably waiting for his wife. Now I feel like a jerk. I should have tried this Facebook investigating a long time ago.”

  “It’s amazing what you find out about people through their social media accounts. But don’t feel like a jerk. Someone is harassing you. It’s smart to be suspicious of anyone that seems to be around you a lot.”

  “I guess.”

  “What about the other guy? Gary?”

  “We’re not going to find anything on him. He hates Facebook. Claims he’d never have an account. He thought it was stupid.”

  “He could have been lying—just saying that to sound cool or to keep you from looking him up. And even if he did think it was stupid, he could still have been using it to keep tabs on you.” He pointed to the screen again. “Here. Does this look like him?”

  A finger of dread curled in her stomach. “Oh my gosh. He was lying. That is him.”

  Jack scrolled through his feed. “He doesn’t have a lot of information on here. Or many pictures. He has a few political posts and some funny memes. But he isn’t very active, he only posts every few months. You said he was really possessive. He probably just has the account to spy on you, or whatever woman he’s dating.”

  “I can’t believe it. I wonder what else he lied about.” She shook her head and stifled a yawn that unexpectedly snuck up on her. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’ve got to be exhausted.” He pushed up from the sofa. “I’ll get out of here and let you get to bed.”

  “No, really. You don’t have to go.” The events of the day must have caught up with her. That and the things that she learned about people she thought she knew. It was too much. Too much for her tired brain to process. She yawned again, then offered him a sheepish grin. “I guess I am a little tired.”

  “You’ve got to be. You’ve had a long day and traveling always wiped me out.” He glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’ll let you rest, but I’d like to keep digging at this thing—see what else I can find.”

  “Take the computer with you. I don’t need it tonight. Just bring it back in the morning. You are coming back in the morning, aren’t you? I mean, I just assumed. But of course, I know you have a life, and a job, and you can’t spend every day helping me paint, and you’ve already done so much.”

  She was babbling.

  “I’m glad to help you. And yes, I’m coming back in the morning.”

  “Good.”

  “I want to show you the cameras before I go though.”

  She followed him over to the monitor next to the front door. The screen changed every few seconds, rotating through the different cameras secured around the outside of her house.

  “I had to set up a username and password for you on the system, but you can change it to whatever you want.”

  “Oh, I will. And it’s going to be the most random thing that no one would ever guess.”

  He chuckled. “It’s pretty random now. I set your username as “rossandrachel”—all one word.”

  “Ross and Rachel? Like from Friends?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I remember you used to watch that show all the time. You loved it. You were always quoting it. And Ross and Rachel were your favorite couple.”

  Her eyes widened. “How in the world would you remember that?”

  “I remember everything about you.” He shook his head, a blush coloring his cheeks. “Shit, now I sound like a stalker. I just mean that I remember spending time with you. And I guess I paid attention to things you like. And I wanted to use something that wouldn’t necessarily come up in random conversation, or only things that you would know about or think to use. I thought about using something blue because it’s your favorite color or something to do with The Breakfast Club since you watched that movie seventeen times that last summer.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think it’s stalkerish. But for the record, I think I only watched it five times. And it’s an awesome movie.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And I think it’s cool that you remember things about me from when we were hanging out together. I remember things about you, too.”

  “Yeah, like what?”

  “Like—that you used to like root beer better than cola and Oreos were your favorite cookies. Well, besides your mom’s chocolate chip ones. Those were the best. They were everyone’s favorite.”

  “My mom still makes the best chocolate chip cookies.”

  “And I can remember how much you loved Survivor and that you wanted to be on it someday. Did you ever audition?”

  “Nah.”

  “You should have.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, and I remember how you told me that The Great Gatsby and 1984 were two of your favorite books, and I just saw them as the required reading that I never did for English class. Although I did end up having to read The Great Gatsby my senior year, and I thought about you the whole time I was reading it. I even read the whole thing.”

  “Wow? The whole book?”

  He was teasing her, but the comment hurt a little. Just another reminder that he was the smart one—that she would never be a match for his intellect. Hell, the reason she’d even been in that class her senior year was because she’d flunked English the year before. She just hadn’t been interested in the books.

  But thanks to Jack, she actually read the book and aced the test using things he’d told her earlier that summer about the way he interpreted the book. Plus she’d enjoyed it because it made her think of him.

  “Yes, the whole book. I can read, you know. I’m not just a dumb jock.”

  “No, but you do like dating them,” he mumbled as he gathered up the computer and whistled for his dog.

  “What?” Her back stiffened at the snarky comment. What the hell kind of comment was that to make?

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m gonna get out of here and let you get to bed. Have a good night.” He crossed the room to the back door then stopped, his back still to her and his hand on the knob. “Unless you want me to stay.”

 
She did want him to stay. Or had wanted him to. But not after that snide comment. Where had that come from anyway?

  “No, I’m good.”

  His head hung down, his shoulders slumped forward, and he pushed out the back door, calling over his shoulder. “Make sure you lock up and turn on the system after I leave.”

  “I will.” She watched him trudge across the yard. What the hell had just happened? Everything had been going fine, but it all changed after that comment about being a dumb jock.

  What had he meant by her liking to date them? She didn’t like dating that kind of guy at all, those were just the ones that were attracted to her. She liked guys like Jack—smart and witty. And stable. With all of the turmoil in her life, she liked a guy that had it together, who was steady and could be counted on.

  Maybe that’s why she’d always been attracted to Jack.

  She turned the lock in the back door and moved to set the security system.

  Shit.

  She couldn’t set the system. He never gave her the password.

  Several hours later, Jack closed the laptop and rubbed his gritty eyes. He’d found multiple places where Murphy’s accounts had been hacked or she’d been spied on. He had more work to do, but his eyes were burning and figured he wouldn’t be good to anyone tomorrow if he didn’t get some sleep.

  He switched off the light, his eyes adjusting to the dark as he crossed the room, stopping at the window to peer out at the back of Murphy’s house. The house looked peaceful—dark and quiet—he was sure Murphy had gone to bed hours earlier.

  After closing the curtain, he stripped off his clothes and fell into bed in only his underwear. Maggie jumped up and curled at his shoulder.

  “Good night, girl,” he said as he reached over to rest his hand on her furry shoulder.

  He closed his eyes. He knew he was tired, but his body was still jumpy, and his brain refused to shut off. He’d made a real mess of it with that stupid comment.

  Things had been going so well. He’d touched her leg numerous times, once letting his hand sit there for a few minutes. She’d sat close to him on the sofa while they looked at the computer, her shoulder pressed against his. Just being so near her had his nerves on edge and sent swirls of butterflies dive-bombing through his gut every time their fingers brushed.

  He’d wanted to kiss her, to taste her, to explore her soft skin. Every cell in his body yearned to draw closer to her, to pull her against him, to hold her.

  But he didn’t do those things. Didn’t kiss her, didn’t pull her to him, and he’d barely touched her. He wanted Murphy, wanted her with everything in him, but he wanted her in his life more.

  His comment about her dating dumb jocks might have been sarcastic and ill-timed, but it was true. Murphy was athletic and strong, impulsive and adventurous. And she’d always hung around guys that were the same—guys that played sports and had muscled arms and letter jackets.

  Guys like Owen and Rich. Not geeky little brothers that spent the majority of their time indoors and on the computer—guys that got excited by physics and science and found the manipulation of numbers fascinating.

  Although Murphy had hung out with him—hung out with him quite a bit. But would she have spent so much time alone with him, hanging out in his room even, if he hadn’t been tutoring her in algebra?

  He tossed the sheet off, his body too warm, and twisted to his side as he tried to find a comfortable position.

  A chill ran through him as Maggie suddenly lifted her head, a deep growl emitting from her throat.

  “Shit.” A feeling of dread swirled in his gut as Jack pushed out of bed and hurried across the room.

  But before he could make it to the window, the sound of fierce barking filled the air.

  And it was coming from Murphy’s back yard.

  Chapter Nine

  Yanking back the curtain, Jack scanned the darkened yard, searching the shadows for what set the dog off.

  There. A movement. He was sure he saw a stirring in the row of hedges next to the house.

  He raced out of the door and down the stairs, then grabbed a garden rake leaning against the side of the garage as he ran toward Murphy’s house.

  Murphy’s heart pounded against her chest as she tiptoed down the stairs. Something had set Winston off.

  He’d been asleep—snoring peacefully at the foot of her bed.

  He was the only one.

  She’d been wide awake, her mind replaying the events of the last several months, when he must have heard, or sensed, something because he suddenly woke, let out a low growl, then took off like a shot.

  The little dog was racing back and forth along the back wall barking furiously at the curtained window.

  What the hell? A chill raced down her back as she realized that something, or someone, must be in the back yard.

  She raised a hand to pull back the curtain, but fear paralyzed her. Her breath caught in her throat, terror holding her hand in place, the fear of actually seeing someone out there more terrifying than the imagined threat.

  Just do it. You’re never going to know if you don’t look.

  Heart racing, she steeled herself to pull back the curtain, then let out a blood-curdling scream as a naked man holding a rake slammed against the back door of the house.

  “Murphy, you all right?” he yelled through the glass.

  “Jack?” She ran to the door and yanked it open. Jack’s dog flew in and ran toward hers, the two of them circling the room in a frenzied race. “What are you—?”

  Before she could get her question out, he dropped the rake he was holding and grabbed her, pulling her close, and burying his head in her shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” he asked again, his breath tickling the sides of her neck.

  “Yes, I’m fine. But you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here? And where are your clothes?”

  He looked down at himself, his eyes widening as if noticing for the first time that he was wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs.

  She was noticing too. She’d already seen him shirtless and knew that his chest was hard and muscled, but this was different. He was practically naked. And hot as hell, his body reminding her of a swimmer’s, lean and toned.

  And he was standing very, very close. Mere inches separated them.

  Suddenly, her heart was pounding in her chest again, but this time for a different reason. She was still scared, but this was another kind of frightened.

  This time she wasn’t frightened that something wasn’t going to happen—she was scared that it wouldn’t.

  Jack seemed scared too. She reached up, softly resting her hand on his bare chest.

  He inhaled sharply at the touch of her fingers. His chest trembled slightly below her hand.

  Gazing up, she peered into his eyes, questioning, searching for a signal to keep going.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. But he didn’t move, didn’t pull back. He may have even leaned forward a little.

  Was that the signal she was waiting for?

  She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. His gaze shifted to her mouth, and she heard his quick intake of breath through his own parted lips.

  God, the guy had great lips. And everything in her yearned to kiss them, to taste them, to taste him.

  They stood still, neither speaking. Neither moving forward nor back.

  One of them had to do something. She could either make a move herself or continue to wait to see if he would eventually try to kiss her again.

  To hell with waiting. Either he wanted to kiss her or he didn’t.

  Only one way to find out.

  She leaned toward him, her hand still on his chest, as she pressed her lips against his.

  One soft kiss. Gentle. Slow.

  She pulled back, just a hair’s breadth away, her lips still close, but waiting, dying for an invitation to kiss him again.

  He froze, just for a second, his body stiff, then his hands slipped aroun
d her waist, and he pulled her tightly against him.

  He crushed her lips with his, taking her mouth in an onslaught of passion, kissing her as if he were a starving man and she was his first meal.

  His hands slipped up her back, one sliding across her neck to cup her cheek while the other dove into her hair.

  Tipping her face, he slanted his mouth across hers, deepening the kiss.

  Parting her lips, his tongue slid between them, a soft moan escaping him as he tasted and savored her mouth.

  Her hands gripped his muscled shoulders, holding on as she kissed him back with everything she had. Everything she’d been holding onto all of these years.

  The tension of this kiss had been building for a decade, and if this was the only kiss she ever got to share with Jack Bannister, she was going to make it worth the wait.

  And make it so that he wouldn’t be able to resist kissing her again.

  Sliding her hand along his neck, she tangled her fingers into his soft hair, pulling his head closer still, as if they could get any closer.

  Every nerve inside of her tingled with pleasure, with warmth and with something else—a feeling that she hadn’t had in a long time. Being in Jack’s arms, his lips pressed to hers, felt like she was finally where she belonged. Like she was finally home.

  The doorbell sounded, and the dogs raced for the front door as she and Jack split apart. Breathless and flushed, she stared up him, her eyes widening in fear.

  It was after one in the morning. Who the hell was ringing her doorbell?

  Jack grabbed the rake from the floor and crossed to the front door, pushing her behind him. He tapped a button on the monitor that brought up the camera that pointed at the front door.

  “Oh, crap. It’s my parents.” He pulled the door open.

  His mom and dad stood on the porch, his mom in her robe and slippers and his dad carrying a baseball bat.

  “Is everything okay, son? I was up getting a snack and heard the dogs going crazy. I looked out the window and saw you running through the yard in your boxers and carrying a rake. I figured you weren’t going over to do some late night yard work so something must have happened. We tried your cell phone but didn’t get an answer then we heard a scream and thought we better check things out.” His gaze shifted from his son to Murphy. “You all right?”