Soccer Mom (Killer Moms Book 1) Read online

  “What’s your experience teaching a team?”

  The questions went on and on, but Moore had an answer for each of them, even the sly one, “Will your wife and family interfere with your duties to the team?”

  “I’m single and don’t even have a pet, so I can dedicate all my off-time to the kids.”

  More than one single mother—and father—along with the not-so-single ones, perked up at the answer.

  The meeting eventually turned from pinpointing his jock size—not quite but close given that Sally Ann remarked he’d need a bigger set of athletic gear than Coach Mathews—to the team itself, the remaining practices of which there were only two, and the upcoming final game.

  Carla only paid a little bit of attention to the details. Once the season was done, win or lose, she and Nico were going on a trip. She’d already booked the time off work, put aside some money—because insurance adjuster Carla didn’t have access to the millions in the offshore account—and promised Nico they’d go see the ocean.

  Eventually, the questions petered out, and Moore called an end to the meeting. “Nice meeting you all. See you at practice tomorrow.”

  As the parents filed out of the gym, Moore shook hands with each of them but kept conversation short. Carla tried to sneak past but accidentally caught his gaze.

  He smiled and said, “Hi. Philip Moore.” He held out his hand.

  She could have rudely swept past—it was late, and she wanted to get home—but that wouldn’t do Nico any favors. She mustered a smile and ignored his outstretched hand. “Hello, Mr. Moore. I’m Carla Baker.”

  “You’re Nico’s mom.”

  The man had obviously read over the team roster. “So nice of you to step in to help the team.”

  “Always a pleasure to be able to do my part to encourage youth.”

  What a load of bullshit. Did he seriously mean it? She didn’t roll her eyes, but she did check his expression for any hint of mockery. Didn’t spot any, but that didn’t mean anything. No one spotted the assassin in their midst either.

  “I should get going,” she said. “Nice meeting you.”

  “See you tomorrow, Mrs. Baker.”

  She didn’t reply or correct him. It was Miss, not Mrs. She headed out the door and restrained an urge to glance at him, even though she was sure he stared. The prickle between her shoulder blades never lied.

  Let him look. But she’d break his hand if he touched.

  Chapter Three

  Philip watched Carla leave and stared longer than was probably seemly. In his defense, he was a red-blooded male. He’d have to be dead to not notice that she was an attractive lady. Late-twenties in appearance, fit, with tanned skin and dark hair and eyes—all hinting at a Latina heritage. Short, too, which meant his less than stellar five-foot-ten made him taller than her.

  Yeah, he’d noticed how she would fit nicely against him, but that didn’t mean he did anything about it.

  Given he’d been driving all day to make this meeting, he quickly said goodnight to the last straggling parents and left—without accepting an invitation for a drink. He had no interest in the women who brazenly eyed him and hinted at their availability. In his world, he preferred a woman play a little harder to get. A chase made the prize more worth it.

  Heading out to the parking lot, his gaze went immediately to Carla—as if she were a magnet—caught in a group of parents, probably tearing his resume to shreds. Let them. Despite his lack of actual coaching experience, they’d soon see his mettle on the field.

  Walking to his car, he couldn’t help but cast glances at Carla. Her impatience showed, and she quickly edged herself out of the gang and moved quickly before anyone could draw her back in.

  As she traversed the lot to a navy blue minivan parked at the far end, he noticed a car on the street slowing down. Odd given the lack of streetlights or stop sign.

  The passenger window opened, and a muzzle poked out.

  “Get down,” he yelled.

  Luckily, Carla wasn’t one of those idiots who had to ask why.

  She hit the ground even before the first crack of gunfire. Whereas Philip started yelling and waving his arms. Doing his best to distract.

  Other people screamed “Oh my God, they’re shooting at us.” and “Get your fat ass out of my way. I need to grab my gun.”

  The rapid fire kept going, spitting bullets in Carla’s direction. She scrabbled on hands and knees around the edge of her van as glass rained down around her.

  From his left, he heard a yelled, “Motherfucking gangbangers. You want lead. I’ll give you lead.”

  Bang. Bang. Philip looked over to see Fergus firing a shotgun at the car. Too far away to actually hit it, but it helped. The shooting stopped, and with a scream of rubber, the car sped off.

  Amidst the sobbing of one woman and the excited chatter of others, Philip bolted in the direction of Carla’s van and almost sighed in relief as she peeked over the hood.

  “Are you hit?”

  “No.” Which did nothing to lessen her scowl. “Lucky for me, they don’t know how to aim.”

  Which was a miracle given the number of bullets fired.

  “Fucking thugs,” Fergus huffed as he reached them, shotgun still in hand.

  “Thank you for chasing them off,” Carla said. Was it him, or did she seem reluctant to say it?

  “Ain’t nothing.” Fergus tipped his ballcap. “We got to look out for each other against those criminal elements.” The big man cast an eye at her van. “Want me to call you a tow? My cousin might still be on shift.”

  “No. I’ve got this.” Her lips pursed as she yanked out her phone and waved it.

  “You get a discount on your rates working for the insurance company?” Fergus asked.

  She shook her head. “Nope, but I know the best shops to ensure I don’t get gouged.”

  “Honey! Come back over here. I want to leave before they come back.” Fergus’s wife’s shrill voice carried, and the big man shrugged. “Guess I better go.”

  “Shouldn’t you stick around to give a statement to the police?” Philip asked.

  “To say what?” Fergus sounded genuinely curious. “This kind of thing happens all the time.”

  Apparently true, since the police who arrived shortly after barely batted an eye as they wrote an incident report. It was Philip who asked, “Any chance of catching these guys?”

  The older cop, with gray in his wiry hair, shrugged. “No license plate. No description. Not much to go on.”

  “Mrs. Baker could have been killed.”

  “But she wasn’t.”

  “What about the fact it happened on school property? They could have hit a kid,” Philip argued.

  “But didn’t. No one was injured, which means in the grand scheme, it isn’t as important as the crimes where people are hurt,” the police officer stated.

  “That’s insane,” Philip snapped. “I thought we had laws against gun crimes.”

  “We do, but here’s the deal, buddy. Yes, we could write up a report about an illegal firearm discharge, which is a serious crime. We could investigate. But unless we get a solid lead, don’t expect it to get very far. The chances of finding the guys are slim to none. People in this neighborhood are tight-lipped. Not to mention, if we write up a report and pursue this, then we’ll have to write one on that parent who shot back. Firing a gun within city limits is a crime, even if in self-defense.”

  When Philip would have blustered some more, Carla put her hand on his arm and shook her head. “It’s not worth it.” Then, to the policeman, she said, “Thank you, officer. If we’re done here, I’d like to get home to my son.”

  However, despite her wishes, leaving had to wait a few more minutes as she dealt with the tow truck that hooked up her van. When she would have caught a ride with the guy, for an extra fee, Philip intervened.

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  Carla cast him a glance and frowned. “No need.”

  “Yeah, there is.
” Because he wasn’t sending her off with a guy who leered at her ass when she reached into her van to grab a few things that she’d stashed in her oversized purse. “Come on. My car is just over here.”

  She pressed her lips together, and he could tell she was ready to refuse again until the tow truck driver opened the door to his vehicle, and the stale stench of cigarette smoke wafted out.

  Her nose wrinkled. “Fine, I’ll catch a ride with you.” She didn’t sound happy about it and looked even less happy in his car. She sat ramrod stiff in the passenger seat.

  While she might not be pleased by the turn of events, he, on the other hand, was intrigued. Unlike most people, she’d kept her cool during the shooting and remained calm after. More annoyed at the inconvenience than frightened. Made a man wonder if this type of thing had happened to her before.

  “Have you lived here your whole life?” Philip asked, pulling out of the parking lot, the only other vehicle remaining that of the police, who had their dome light on as they filled out paperwork.

  “No.”

  A short, terse reply. Philip didn’t let it deter him. “I’m from Pasadena.”

  “Good for you.”

  His turn to frown. She wasn’t making this easy. “I guess you’re feeling a little shook up over what happened.”

  She finally turned to look at him. “Is there a reason you feel the need to make small talk, because I don’t do small talk.”

  Neither did he, usually. “I just thought we’d get to know each other.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’ll be seeing each other often.”

  “No, you’ll be seeing my son. As his coach. I will be the chauffeur that brings him and screams obscenities at the other team from the sidelines.”

  He gaped at her. “You’re joking, right?” It might be sexist of him, but he had a hard time imagining a pretty woman like her cussing like a sailor.

  She proved him wrong. “I never fucking kid. Now, are we done with the useless chitter-chatter? You are really making me regret not catching a ride with Bubba. Next light, turn right.”

  He maneuvered the car into the turning lane as he asked, “Do you have a problem with me? I know I’m not Coach Mathews but—”

  “Coach Mathews was a moron, and his only saving grace was that the kids liked him. You were handed a winning team and have two practices and one final game to not fuck up. Think you can handle it?”

  “I thought I could, but geezus, now you’re making me wonder about my choice of accepting the job.” Because if all the parents were like Carla, he might just turn around and go back home to Pasadena.

  An irritated sigh burst from her. “Listen, I don’t know what you want from me. You harassed me into accepting a ride—”

  “I did not harass.” Merely strongly suggested.

  “—and I was fine with that. But this whole attempt to…” She waved a hand.

  “Be friendly?” he supplied.

  “Whatever it is. You’re wasting your time. We don’t need to be friends for you to coach my kid. As a matter of fact, it’s better if we’re barely acquaintances.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Because I don’t need the other parents claiming I’m screwing or blowing you to get my kid ahead.”

  The car swerved, probably because her words shocked him.

  She laughed. A low, throaty sound that did things to his body he should better control.

  “Nobody is going to think we’re, um, intimate just because I’m nice to you,” he stated.

  “You’ve obviously never coached a kids’ team before. There are some that will assume we’re involved because Nico gets more play time than the others. Next light, turn right.”

  “Why would he get more time on the field?”

  “Because he’s good. You’ll see. And if you want to win, you’ll need him. But some people are blind when it comes to their kids. Think their shit don’t stink.”

  “And you’re not blind?”

  She snorted. “I know my boy’s faults. Nico is a slob and sucks at math. But he is a star on the soccer field. However, not everyone will admit it.”

  “So, if I play him to his full potential, you think the other parents will assume we’re sleeping together?”

  “Well, yeah. Especially now.”

  “Why now?

  “You gave me a ride.”

  “Because your van was full of bullet holes.”

  She smirked in his direction. “Don’t let facts get in the way of a good story. Next practice, I expect I’ll run into some catty mothers who think I beat them.”

  “Beat them at what?”

  “Getting into your pants.”

  He didn’t swerve this time, but he did shake his head. “No matter what you think, I’m not trying to seduce you.”

  “Good thing, because I’d have to hurt you if you tried.” Said with such a serious note.

  “Do you threaten all the men who flirt with you?”

  “Yes.”

  Was she into women? The fact that she had a son meant nothing. “Just so you know, I have no intention of sleeping with you or any of the other mothers on the team. I’m just here to help the team out as a favor.”

  “Your lack of interest won’t stop them from trying.”

  “Then they’ll be disappointed.”

  “Not really. Say no too many times, and they’ll assume you’re gay, which means you’ll be fending off a few of the dads.”

  “I’m not sleeping with anyone!” he exclaimed, still not entirely sure how this conversation had devolved into…insanity.

  “It won’t matter.” Spoken quite smugly.

  “I was asked to coach. I said yes. No one ever said it would involve parental drama.”

  “What drama? Just telling you how it is. Consider yourself warned. Turn left.”

  “What do you do when you’re not avoiding the nonexistent advances of your son’s coach?”

  “Insurance adjustor.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  She uttered an unladylike snort. “No, it’s not. It’s boring. Sometimes mean. People hate me on principle, but it pays the bills.”

  “And Mr. Baker?”

  “If this is your subtle way of fishing, then Nico’s father is dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He was an asshole. The world is a better place without him. I’m the townhouse with the weedy lawn out front.”

  He pulled to a stop at the curb. Carla barely waited before opening the door and spilling out.

  “Thanks.” She slammed the door shut.

  “See you tomorrow,” he shouted through the glass.

  Her only reply was the swish of her hips.

  And a challenge.

  Which he accepted.

  Chapter Four

  The moment Carla walked inside her house, the canned laugh track caught her attention. Why sitcoms felt a need to fake laughter, she never understood. Either the shit was funny, or it wasn’t. The artificial audience noise didn’t seem to bother Nico.

  She preferred to watch documentaries, enhancing her mind. Although she had let her sisters convince her to see a few superhero movies. The antics of men in tights amused—and she coveted the bat of the crazy blonde in Suicide Squad. As for the humor of that actor Ryan Reynolds when he wore that black and red suit…she could only aspire to those heights of sarcasm.

  Entering the living room, she found her son asleep on the couch, the television moving from unrealistic family drama to a commercial for whiter teeth. In her line of work, you often had to blacken them so they wouldn’t shine at inopportune moments.

  There was no sitter to pay. Not anymore. At twelve years of age—by like three days—Nico had declared himself old enough to stay home alone if she were only gone for a few hours. Given the cost of having someone watch her television and eat her food while Nico tended himself, Carla agreed. Hell, at even younger than twelve, she had minded herself and her brother while cooking
for her older sibling, too.

  For a second, her mind strayed to Pablo. He would have been twenty-six if he’d lived. At times, looking at Nico, Carla caught glimpses of her brother. The glinting humor in the eyes, the round cheeks. In some ways, Pablo lived on in Nico.

  As for the rarer glimpses when her son looked just like his father? Her heart ached. Not because she missed Matias. That asshole better be burning in Hell for what he’d done. Mistreating her with words and his fists was bad enough, but when she’d finally had enough and left? He’d killed her family.

  Mother. Two brothers. He’d even hunted down her best friend when he didn’t get the answers he wanted.

  She’d danced on his grave when he died of a gunshot to the head. A victim of gang violence the police said. A much too easy end, given she’d hoped to see him suffer.

  But with Matias dead, at least she didn’t have to worry about him coming for Nico. Her son deserved better in life.

  She knelt by the couch and stroked the dark hair that Nico insisted on growing—because it was cool—out of his face. He stirred and mumbled, “Mami.”

  “Hey, mijito. Sorry, I’m late. The meeting ran longer than expected.” She lied rather than stress him. He’d find out about the shooting soon enough, but she’d rather not make an issue of it now. Let him sleep. “Move your snoring butt off the couch. Time you went to bed.”

  He’d grown much too big for her to carry, but she did support his sleepy frame up the stairs to his room, the walls painted a vivid yellow and blue to match his favorite soccer team in Brazil.

  Pulling back his Star Wars comforter, she tucked him in and placed a kiss on his brow. “Night, mijito.”

  “Love you, Mami,” he said drowsily, turning his cheek into the pillow, already back asleep.

  Only once his door was closed did her expression turn hard.

  Someone had shot at her. Intentionally? She couldn’t be sure. Fergus had been correct that the west end of the city was prone to outbursts of violence. The soccer field wasn’t in one of the nicer suburban areas. The school itself was flanked on one side by warehouses. The parents had complained for years that businesses were being run only yards from school property, but the alternative was bussing their kids across the city.