Dirty Deeds (3 page)

He started to reach for the phone, but was interrupted by a tentative knock on his door. In the doorway, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else but in Paul's office was his goaltender, Todd Fox. At seventeen, Todd was an easy six-foot-three and one of the reasons the team was well on its way to a league championship. Until last night anyway.

"Coach, you wanted to see me?" There was just the slightest tremor in Todd's voice.

Paul waved him in. "Yeah, we gotta talk."

Todd dropped to a chair and looked at the floor. "Coach, I know I messed up last night. It won't happen again."

"I know it won't."

Todd's head snapped up and a look of horror crossed his face. "Are you cutting me?"

Paul smiled and shook his head. "No, as long as you tell me what's distracting you. Last night your game sucked big time and that's not like you. What's up?"

The panic in Todd's young face faded, replaced by sadness. Tears welled in his eyes, something Paul hadn't seen before in this very focused and tough young man. "It's my grandma, Coach. She's in the hospital."

"Is it serious?"

Todd nodded and a single tear escaped down his cheek. "I'm afraid we're gonna lose her."

Paul swiveled his chair until he faced his computer. "Hang on a second." His fingers punched the keys in rapid succession. A couple minutes of silence passed before Paul swiveled back to look at Todd. The printer behind him whirred and a second later he grabbed the single piece of paper it spat out.

"You go pack a bag and I'll have Coach Curry pick you up."

"To do what?" Todd's eyes were bright and he didn't move.

"To go home. I just made a plane reservation for you into Vancouver. I assume your folks can pick you up there?" Paul shoved the printed ticket across the desk to Todd.

"What about Friday's game?"

"We'll make it through one game without you, I promise. There are some things more important than hockey. Go see your grandmother. I'll see you back here on Sunday."

Todd picked up the ticket and got up out of the chair. A big smile was on his face. "Thanks, Coach. I'll pay you back, I promise."

Paul stood and patted Todd on the shoulder. "Not a problem. I have a ton of frequent flier miles to use up anyway. Didn't cost me, or the team, a dime."

As soon as Todd left, Paul sat down at his desk and reached for the phone. He paused when it dawned on him that he'd made confetti out of it. He dug in his pocket and pulled out his cell. Flipping it open, he punched in the number off the business card as he wondered what he was going to say. He didn't know where to start. He'd always avoided trouble with the law. He'd never even been pulled over for a traffic ticket, let alone gotten himself thrown in jail by the federal government.

Oh, he'd been stuck with a tough-guy reputation all right, but if people really knew how much was back office propaganda, they'd be shocked. Then again, people believed what they wanted to believe, and for years he was the toughest player on the ice. Few realized, or cared for that matter, he always left his aggression at the rink. Of course the phone he just destroyed might argue the point if it could. Still, funny as it seemed, he'd been a big tough professional hockey player without a single encounter with the police at any level.

At the moment, he needed to figure out the playing field, which meant he needed to start somewhere. The man who helped his parents post the bond for Jamie had seemed reasonable. Even more than that, he was interesting and friendly. Harry Studhorse, Paul discovered, was an enrolled member of the Blackfoot Tribe. He was a tall, regal-looking man with waist-length black braids and a hearty laugh. Right now, Paul was grasping at straws and Harry Studhorse seemed as good as any place to start.

"River City Bail Bonds."

"Mr. Studhorse?" The name still made him smile when he said it. He found out after their initial meeting it was an old and distinguished name in the tribe, one that went back for many generations. Once he got beyond the novelty of it, the name conjured up an image of a large and powerful horse, sort of like the bronze sculptures lining the hills overlooking the Columbia River near Vantage, Washington. He wondered if the original bearer of the name had been a big, powerful warrior.

"Harry speaking."

"Harry, this is Paul McDonald."

"Sir, please tell me you're calling to let me know where your brother is at this moment?"

"I wish."

"So do I. Well, what then can I do for you, Mr. McDonald?"

"Please call me Paul, and I'm calling to see what I can do to help. My parents can't afford this." There was no sense beating around the bush or pretending things weren't as they were.

"Not high on my list either, Paul."

He liked the candid response, made him feel he talked to kindred soul—sort of. "So Harry, how can I help?"

"I've got Louie Russell on it, but if you have any ideas where he might be at, it would help Louie to know."

"A bounty hunter?" Paul didn't expect that even if it was a logical progression; River City Bail Bonds surely wanted Jamie back here as much as he did. Still, a bounty hunter seemed drastic. His brother wouldn't take well to the kind of people Paul saw on reality shows. No, Jamie wouldn't do well with that at all, and much as he hated to admit it, Paul didn't want Jamie hurt. In fact, if anyone was to hurt his brother, it'd be him.

"It's bail enforcement agent these days, and just for your own safety, Louie doesn't like being called a bounty hunter. And yes, I have to get the boy back here or I'm out a hundred grand. That doesn't sit any better with me than it does your folks. So, if you have any idea where he's hiding…"

"I wish I did, I'd drag him back here myself." Paul wasn't kidding either. He'd grab Jamie by the collar and drag him in kicking and screaming if he could.

"Well, Paul, do us all a favor and start thinking, maybe make some calls to his friends. Louie will be tracking you down and any inside info you have will be real helpful."

"I don't know his friends and that's the truth. My brother and I are not what you'd call close and haven't been for a very long time. Still, I'll see what I can dig up."

"We appreciate the help, Paul. We want to get your brother back here safe and sound so my hundred grand stays where it is and your parents keep their collateral."

"You'll get no argument from me, Harry, and if I come up with anything, I'll call."

"Sounds good, keep in touch."

Paul flipped the phone shut. Laying it on the desk, he ran his fingers through his hair and massaged the back of his neck where the throb was beginning to grow stronger, a red hot hammer pounding with a steady rhythm at the base of his neck. A bounty hunter chasing down Jamie…Christ. Jamie might be a lot of things like irresponsible, immature, and yes, even stupid in some ways. But he wasn't violent.

Paul didn't have any personal knowledge of bounty hunters, but his mind conjured up an image of a bulked-up tree trunk of a guy with lots of muscle and less brains. He saw the TV images of bounty hunters and, despite his rational mind knowing Hollywood wasn't the reality, those images still made him nervous. Jamie was bound to get hurt even if the bounty hunter wasn't a tree trunk.

He wished he knew how to help or better yet, who to call. He hadn't lied to Harry when he told him he and Jamie weren't close. He hadn't even talked to Jamie in over three years. He made Paul so mad with his constant refusal to grow up that it worked better if they just didn't see each other at all. At least it worked better for Paul.

Of course, he got reports from Mom and Dad every time he was back home in Surrey. The last time he and Jamie were face to face was three years ago on Christmas, and then he ended up so furious with his younger brother that he headed back to Spokane two days early just to get away. It was either that or take a hockey stick to Jamie's groin. Not exactly the poster children for brotherly love.

Now this. It just didn't stop with Jamie. Ever. It was one thing after another, year in and year out. At some point, it'd seem like little Jamie would have to grow up and become a man equal to the name of James. So far, it hadn't happened. He managed to roll from one stupid stunt to another.

This was different. Most of Jamie's escapades were annoying and pretty much always costly. In the big picture though, they were minor problems. This latest clash with law enforcements was the mother of all trouble. There was nothing minor about it. He'd managed to get himself brought up on federal charges, in the United States no less, and then if that alone wasn't bad enough, managed to convince the parents to bail him out. They'd put everything they owned on the line for Jamie, and now he'd left them high and dry. They'd lose their house and what little money they'd saved would be gone as well. His parents were good people whose only crime was to love their errant son just a little too much.

Paul opened the cell phone one more time and punched in the number for his accountant. He talked with Ken for a good twenty minutes before he shut the phone and put in back down on the desk. His hands folded, his eyes shut, Paul took several long, even breaths. So much for his great idea. Why couldn't it be easy?

With a sigh, he reached under his desk and pulled out his skates. Lacing them up, he stomped out of his office and to the rink. It was quiet in the arena right now; practice for the team didn't start for another hour. For the moment, the place was his alone. Nothing helped him think better than to glide across the ice, a hockey stick held in his hands.

He opened the door and stepped onto the smooth ice. Bill would grumble later when he'd be forced to run the Zamboni again to smooth out all the damage Paul would inflict. But hey, it was good for all of them to break their routines once in a while, Bill included.

As Paul's skates hit the ice, he no longer thought about Jamie or the bounty hunter on his tail.

Chapter Two

From the rapid succession of thumps Louie could hear from the outside corridor of the Spokane Arena, she'd have sworn the entire hockey team was on the ice. Instead, one man circled the arena, methodically lining up a row of small pucks on the red line. Once they were in an order that seemed to please him, he would circle to the opposite end of the ice and then race back toward them. One by one he flew to the pucks, striking them with such force they crashed into the boards and made the glass rattle. Strength and fury roared through each and every shot.
Impressive, very impressive.

Louie didn't need to ask who the skater was. Paul McDonald resembled his younger brother or rather, young James McDonald resembled his older brother Paul. Resembled was the key word, for they were most definitely not twins. James' stats had him at five-foot-ten and about one-sixty which pretty much jibed with her memory of the man who'd come into the office. His face was soft, and tough was definitely not the adjective she'd use to describe James.

This McDonald was well over thirty and decidedly not thin or soft. From where she stood, her best guess was at least six feet tall. She'd be able to look him pretty square in the eye, though the skates gave him a few more inches. His shoulders were broad and muscled. He wore a white workout jersey with the recognizable Chargers logo. Without all the pads normally worn under the jersey, she could see thick, strong arms flex each time he swung the stick. Oh yeah, this was a big brother in a big way.

"Not bad," Louie muttered.

She'd done a little background on Paul McDonald before heading over to the rink. She liked to know who and what she was dealing with. When she was on the job, she learned quickly that the more she knew about a situation, the better. That particular trait had made her a very good police officer; it made her an even better bail enforcement agent. She'd learned that Paul McDonald was an interesting man who, unlike his fugitive younger brother, was a pillar of excellence and achievement.

He'd begun his professional career in the major junior hockey league as a teen and moved to the NHL at age eighteen. An injury to his knee ended his playing career six years ago and now he coached the WHL team in Spokane. There was a huge following in the community for the team and he was the most popular coach ever. Spokane embraced the Canadian export as if he was a native son and from everything she read, he returned the sentiment. He held dual citizenship and spent the vast majority of his time in the United States.

The fact he was gorgeous didn't hurt either. Oh, not in a model kind of way. More like a red-haired princely Highlander who opened his arms and made his adopted homeland his kingdom. Earlier she'd decided James would do a kilt proud. Now as she stood watching big brother, Louie decided he could do more than make a kilt proud. She was pretty sure he'd make it downright sexy. She was such a sucker for a man in a skirt. And what exactly did those Highlanders wear under a kilt? The naughty girl in her hoped it was nothing.

She made her way down the steep steps to the glass topped boards surrounding the ice rink. She waited until he finished slamming the latest row of pucks into the far wall before knocking hard on the glass.

He spun, sprays of ice shooting up from the blades of his skates. He looked over at her, his eyes hooded and stormy. An instant later they cleared. He covered the short distance to the door in a flash. Opening the door, he stepped through onto the rubber mat.

"Yes," he said in a deep, rich voice. "Can I help you?"

She put out her hand. "Coach McDonald, my name's Louie Russell." Now that he was close, she could see those stormy eyes were an enticing shade of green.

He stuck his right hand under his left arm and pulled off a bulky glove. With his hand now free, he took hers in a solid handshake. His long fingers wrapped around her hand, his grip firm, his skin warm. "The bounty hunter," he said.

God, she hated that. It made her sound like some sort of masochistic dyke who wore her wallet on a chain and sported a spiky blue hairstyle. Why did everyone insist on calling her a bounty hunter? Too many bad "reality" television shows.

She removed her hand from his. "Bail enforcement agent." Though she tried, she couldn't keep the edge from her voice. Half a decade of defending herself made Louie a bit on the touchy side.