Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(57)

I led her out of the restaurant, my hand on her lower back as we left through the front doors and walked slowly to my car.

Parker gasped while I grabbed my key from my pocket.

“What? What’s wrong?”

She pointed.

My luxury Porsche had key scratches down the passenger side, and on the window in bold letters it read WHORE.

“Come here.” I pulled Parker into my arms and then searched for my phone.

“Willow,” I barked. “Send a car to the restaurant and get me the chief of police. My car’s been damaged, and it looks like someone is trying to send a threatening message.”

Parker ducked her head against my chest. “You know the chief of police?”

Her teeth were chattering. Damn it. She was trying to be strong, but she didn’t have to be anymore.

Not now.

“He’s a family friend,” was all I said, leaving out minor details such as the guy had been linked to the Italian mafia and had connections all over the world, mainly Sicily and Chicago. Whenever I asked him anything to do with his business dealings, he just gave me a blank stare and asked about soccer. Huge fan.

Within five minutes, which seemed quick even for Chief Johnny Alfero, a black SUV pulled up, followed by two police cruisers.

“Matt.” Johnny got out of the SUV and held out his hand. “I’m sorry to be seeing you under such odd circumstances. I did a little homework on the way over. We haven’t had reports of vandalism in the area and no record of any car burglaries in the past two weeks.”

I sighed. “I think it’s personal.”

His dark eyebrows arched as I nodded to Parker.

“Personal,” he repeated. “In what way?”

“Parker,” I urged. “You can trust him.”

Her face paled as she swayed in my arms like her legs couldn’t hold her up anymore. “I can’t.”

“Parker, this could be your life. We don’t know who did this, but it can’t be a coincidence. If it’s him . . .”

“He lives in LA!” She jerked away from me. “I just want to go home.”

“Parker—”

“I need you to be my agent right now. I need you to be someone other than my caring boyfriend who wants me to tell a complete stranger about my past. Please.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please.”

My heart cracked at her expression. I hung my head. “Okay.”

Johnny put his hand on my back. “Why don’t you take her home? I’ll call you if anything comes up. We already have a tow truck coming to take your car to one of the auto-body shops. I’ll text you the location?”

“Great.”

“And you . . .” He turned his massive six-foot-four frame toward Parker. His blue eyes were so bright it was rumored that his superpower was reflecting the ocean’s depths in them (that, according to Willow, was mainly from every female he encountered). “I want you to take my card.” He pulled it out. “If you need anything, you call this number. It’s private. And if you want to talk”—he nodded—“I can talk too. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone that isn’t friends or family. And if I need to bury a body”—he flashed a grin—“I know people.”

She smiled.

I didn’t.

Guy wasn’t kidding.

I shook his hand again. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He nodded seriously as if he really didn’t want us to mention it.

The town car arrived about thirty seconds later. I helped Parker into the seat, buckled her in, and then pulled her to my side once the car was back on the freeway.

Next to me, she stiffened.

“You’re angry.” I hated the helplessness I felt in my gut. I’d missed all of the signs because my focus was on the psychopath who did this and not on her.

“I told you I didn’t want to talk about it, and then you said we wouldn’t, and then that happens and . . .” She pulled away from me. “What part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it to anyone’ don’t you understand?”

“I understand all of it,” I said, teeth clenched. “I understand that a crazy guy could be after you just because you made him look like an idiot. Yes, it could be coincidence, but I think both of us know it’s most likely not. It was on your side of the car, like someone was watching us. And it was my car! The fact that he’s been sending threatening letters, watching us, I don’t know . . .”

Tears spilled over her cheeks. “I can’t talk about it right now. Let’s just . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut and reached for my hand. “Let me get through tryouts and then we can discuss it.”

I kissed her fingertips. “Okay.”

She sighed against my chest.

And a part of my heart righted itself again.

Until we pulled up to my house.

And saw the same word.

Spray-painted across my front door.

WHORE.





Chapter Twenty-Nine

PARKER

“Sleep.” Matt kissed my forehead, but I was wide awake, stupefied into disbelief. Would Erik actually do something like that? Had he been following us? He seemed the most likely suspect, and the fact that anyone had been watching our home freaked me out.