Slap Shot(53)

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Lewis, and I hate to admit it, this was one hell of a screw-up on the force’s behalf. Miss Sharp was supposed to be held secure but some dumbass let her out on bail yesterday evening.”

Brick banged a clenched fist on his wide thigh. “Of all the goddamn fucks-ups. She had a gun, a gun pointed at Dana, Ramrod and Carly. If I hadn’t been talking to Carly as she walked into the restroom god knows what could have happened. Someone’s head will roll for this. I won’t let it rest until it does.”

“And neither will I, sir,” Dale said, gnawing the side of his cheek and eyeing Brick’s flushed face and clenched fists.

“But, but how did she get in here, into the rink?” I asked, remembering Rick having to punch in a security code.

It was the first time I’d spoken in a while and they all turned to me. Rick tightened his hold around my shoulders.

Dale frowned. “From what she’s just told my officers, she ducked in with the early morning cleaning staff. She must have been hanging around for hours, laying low and staying out of sight.”

“But how did she know I was going to be here?” I asked. “I didn’t even know I was going to be here until this morning.” My mind flitted back to Rick’s sweet way of persuading me. It felt like a lifetime ago, a beautiful but distant memory.

“I’m guessing that she didn’t, but when she spotted you she decided to make you her target rather than Mr. Lewis.”

A shudder ran up my spine and I touched behind my ear where the gun had brutally shoved into tender flesh.

“So how long do you think she’ll get?” Rick asked. “Behind bars.”

Dale shrugged. “Hopefully long enough for her to forget she’s in love with you.”

Rick snorted. “Strangest fucking love I’ve ever seen.”

“She’s crazy,” Dale said matter-of-factly. “She believes it all, every deluded word she’s ever said or written, she thinks it’s all true. But you can rest assured she’ll be institutionalized for many years to come. In fact, she may never be out if she doesn’t satisfy a board of psychiatrists that she’s mentally stable and not a risk to anyone.”

I sighed. “Well I for one hope she doesn’t get out anytime soon, because I don’t think I could go through that again.”

“You won’t have to,” Rick said earnestly. “I promise, baby, you won’t have to.”



After completing statements, Rick and I went straight to his home. The thought of a big meal turned our stomachs and I think it did Carly and Brick’s too. Plus I wanted to wash the plaster dust from my hair and the scent of Laurie’s hideous body odor and perfume from my skin.

Dropping my purse on the chaise, I waited while Rick silenced the alarm system.

“Do you mind if I go take a shower?” I asked.

“You want company?”

I shook my head. “No, I just need a few minutes alone to get my thoughts back together.”

He nodded. “Of course, you do that, take as long as you need. I’ll rustle us up something light to eat.”

I smiled my thanks, kicked off my shoes and went up the stairs, gripping the handrail as I went.

By the time I came back down, the smell of waffles was floating from the kitchen and my stomach gave a growl of approval. Suddenly I was hungry.

“Are you feeling better now?” Rick asked, looking up from pouring coffee.

I nodded. “Yes, thanks.”

“Come on, this is ready, let’s go sit and eat.”

I followed him into the lounge, adjusting the waist of my sweats and pulling the arms of my cream sweater over my hands. I’d tugged my hair into a low ponytail and wore no makeup, just sweetly scented face cream.

“Here you go,” he said, pointing to the huge squishy brown sofa. “Sit and I’ll find us something to watch on TV, give you some distraction.” He glanced at my hands bunched in my sweater. “Are you cold?”

“Yes, a little.”

He reached for a remote and flicked to life a gas fire full of artificial logs.

Instantly heat radiated toward me. I sighed and rested back. The couch was so big that sitting right into the seat meant that my legs stuck out straight. It was like a Jack and the Beanstalk couch, made for a giant.

Rick looked at my legs and smiled, passed me my mug of coffee and a plate of warm waffles. “Eat,” he said. “It will do you good.”

He held his own plate of waffles, twice the amount of mine, and trawled the TV channels. I folded my legs under and looked around the room. It was the first time I’d been in there. Two bay windows held views across the immaculate lawn and were bordered by navy-and-cream-striped curtains complete with matching valance and tie-backs. An enormous glass cabinet full of hockey trophies stood between the windows. The flat-screen TV was supported by a sleek black stand and above the mantel was a huge oil painting depicting hockey players slashing over ice and angling sticks at a puck—their faces steely and determined, their bodies looming before a blurred crowd.