Kickin' It (Red Card) - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,66

my mouth like she was starving for me. I couldn’t get enough of her, of the way we fit together.

The waiter cleared his throat. “Did you need more time?”

“Dessert to go,” I said without looking at him. “Two chocolate soufflés.”

Parker cleared her throat.

“And vanilla ice cream,” I added with an eye roll.

She grinned and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “It’s like you read my mind.”

“Yeah, it had nothing to do with the fact that you were pointing at the menu and giving me a death glare.”

“None at all!” She laughed and then sobered. “As long as we’re together, it’s going to be okay.”

“Of course it will.” I kissed her again just as guests started filling the restaurant. The sadness on her face was like a kick to the gut.

I didn’t want the secrecy any more than she did.

And when people looked over at us, paranoia struck. Did they know who I was? Who she was? Did they see the slight age difference that resembled her and her coach? Did it matter? To me she looked like a girl in her midtwenties, and I’d like to think I looked the same age. My eyes darted left to right and back again as I tried to find a logical reason why it felt like we were being watched.

“Here you go, Mr. Kingston.” The waiter handed me our dessert. “As always, thank you for visiting Elliot’s.”

“Course.” I signed the bill and stood as Parker grabbed her purse. Her lips looked swollen, her hair tousled.

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