Fresh Ice (2 page)

“Really? You wanna check my stats again, there Ben?”

Benny chuckled, setting his layers of pudginess into motion. “Okay, maybe not on the ice. But dude, off the ice, you are a rock star.”

And that’s exactly what got me into the situation I’m in now.
Quinn nodded. There were days he ached to confide in someone, anyone, even Benny. Today was one of those days, but Benny looked far too cheerful. Quinn didn’t want to ruin his mood right before the show.

“Well, you look like death. Tell me you’ve at least got a massive hangover, because that’s how you look. You look like you drank all the beer in Milwaukee.”

“That would have been a tall order, even for me.” Quinn thumbed through a stack of fan emails Benny had printed out for him. “But I was the human hockey puck at an Admirals game.”

“Oh see, now that’s not all work all the time. Man, you get all the fun gigs.” Benny glanced at the clock and stuffed the remainder of his donut into his gaping mouth.

“I had to do it. You know, breed goodwill between the Admirals and the team the Admirals wish they were.”

Benny shot him a disapproving look. “Dude, that’s cold.”

Quinn knew his comment was harsh. Having played in Milwaukee for a few months while rehabbing a knee injury, Quinn Murray knew very well how forgiving and supportive the Milwaukee Admiral fans were, even of players who were moving on quickly.
Chalk it up to my overall terrible mood.
“Well, like I said, it was a working trip. If you don’t believe me, go ask Serena. It was her idea I go.”

“Boss lady doesn’t give you much leash, does she?”

“She does not have me on a leash. She doesn’t like hockey and she doesn’t like winter, but she has a big interest in the future of the Predators. So she sent me.”

“Oh please. You and Serena
-” Benny let out a laugh that actually freed donut crumbs from his mouth.

“You and Serena what?” Quinn shot a sharp glance over the pile of papers.

Don’t continue with this line of conversation, Benny. You won’t like where it takes you.

“Oh, you know. You and Serena. Come on. Everyone knows about it.”

Everyone thinks they know about it. If they really knew they’d run, screaming, into the river.
“What do you actually think you know?”

“You’re getting’ it on, with the Boss Lady, right?” Benny started humming some sort of lascivious music which Quinn surmised was the producer’s attempt at a porno movie soundtrack.

“Very funny. Don’t we have work to do?”

Benny stopped humming and stared at him. “Oh my gawd! Did you meet someone in Wisconsin? Did you get some non-Boss Lady Lovin’ with a Dairy State beauty?”

The very thought was so ludicrous, Quinn laughed out loud. “Okay, obviously you’re not going to let anything go. Go ahead; tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Okay. Deny this if you can. You and Serena have been a thing for what, two, three years. She gives you zero breathing space. Am I right?”

You have no idea.
“I will neither confirm nor deny anything.”

“Which proves my point completely.”

Quinn leaned back in his chair and studied Benny with amusement. “I’m dragged out from schmoozing the brass on two hockey teams for almost a week and you think it’s because I’ve been, how did you put it? Getting something other than ‘Boss Lady Lovin’?”

“Well, you look different which means you did something different. Look at you…you were out there, being charming with that face of yours and that air of mystery women love, and you were a whole time zone away from Serena? That’s a no brainer! I want details!”

Unbidden, the image of the funeral sprang to his mind. More precisely, the image of the beautiful, petite widow spring to his mind.
Why did I let myself do that? Why did I put myself right there in front of her?

She hasn’t changed one bit since the first time I saw her. All these years, I had to talk to her, just once.

Quinn realized Benny was still staring at him, waiting for an answer. “Well, you’re not getting any details, because there are none. I did get a little ice time.”

“Dude, unless that’s a euphemism for sex with a cool looking chick, I’m not that interested.”

“Sorry to be such a disappointment. The Admirals let me work out with them. It was a blast.” Quinn checked the studio clock and noted they were on air in two minutes.

“I thought you abstained from the ice.”

No, I abstain from alcohol. I abstain from normal relationships. I love the ice.
“Just because I don’t skate out every time the Predators need to have some sort of bobble head promotion doesn’t mean I hate ice.”

Benny let out another donut crumbed guffaw. “Dude, that last bobble head night was classic. ‘Quinn Murray’ night, and they’ve got the wrong numbers on them.”

“Yes, Benny, I was there.”

“And they had the wrong name on the back.”

“Yes, Benny, I was there.”

“And the bobble dude was black!”

Quinn rubbed his temples. “This is what I get for not giving you a play by play of some sexcapades that never happened? You are a complete jerk.”

Benny wiped a mirthful tear from his eye. “No, I’m an overweight radio producer who is very, very lonely. And, you’re on in twenty seconds.” Benny pointed to the clock as he closed the studio door and seated himself behind the soundboard.

Accepting the inevitability of how long the next four hours were going to feel, given his brain-numbed mental state, Quinn put on his headphones, checked the clock, and pulled the microphone close to his mouth. “Hey there all. You’ve got Bruiser and Benny Sports Talk. I’m Quinn Murray, sitting in for Bruiser. And yes, we will continue the discussion about the debacle at the Superbowl a few weeks ago. But, today I want to lead off with hockey. I just got back from a trip up north to see how our AHL affiliate, the Milwaukee Admirals are doing, and I’d love to answer your questions about the Preds chances in the NHL playoffs. Benny, who’s our first caller?”

***

After the show, Quinn headed upstairs and tapped lightly on Serena Shipley Chapman’s office door. He closed his eyes and silently prayed that she wouldn’t hear his knock, wouldn’t be in the office, or wouldn’t want to see him. Then he would go home where he would have a quiet day, alone to recoup from the weekend.

He could never be that lucky.

“Come in, Quinn.”

Hand on the doorknob, Quinn paused to gather himself. Serena Shipley Chapman was a formidable woman. Everyone at the station feared her. Quinn Murray feared her as well, but for far different reasons than everyone else. Unlike everyone else, he didn’t fear losing his job to one of her renowned temper tantrums.
She could do something so much worse.
“Hello, Serena.”

“Sit down, Quinn.” Serena didn’t look up from the spreadsheets on her desk.

Quinn sat in the stiff chair on the opposight side of the desk. Every time he saw Serena, one thing struck him: the woman was beautiful. Tall, fit, well-coifed dark auburn hair all fit together to make an attractive package. No one could accuse Serena Shipley Chapman of being warm, or friendly, but she had an undeniable magnetism.

Call it the magnetism of power, the aura of complete control.

“Quinn, how are you?” Serena folded the spreadsheet and sat back in her chair. “How was your vacation?”

He had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from frowning.
You know very well it wasn’t a vacation.
“Just fine.”

“Successful, I assume?”

Quinn clenched his teeth before answering
.
“Well, the Admirals stand a good chance of winning the Calder Cup this year. I pointed out a couple of guys who could be nice additions to the Predators next year.”

“You know full well I could not care less about hockey.” Serena shot him an icy stare. “
What about your other business? Do you have something for me?”

“No, I don’t.” Quinn hoped Serena didn’t press him for the money he’d been sent to get from Jason. That money he’d put into a hastily purchased sympathy card for Isabella Landry, along with every other form of cash he had in his wallet including, he realized later, a Tennessee Lottery ticket he’d bought the week before. “As you know, Jason is dead.”

“Yes, I got your text.”

“So it’s over now. There’s nothing else you can do to him. He’s dead.”

“How can it be over? Do I have my dream back? Do I have a gold medal?” She pounded her perfectly manicured fist on her desk.

Quinn took a step back and slouched a little.
If I say one word, she might just go ahead and kill me.

“You saw the casket, but did you see the body? Did you see his face?”

“No I did not.” Quinn shook his head. “They cremated him.”

“So you don’t know for sure that he’s dead?”

“Serena, I don’t know what you think I’m hiding from you. I went to talk to him, like I always do. He had nothing left to give me. You’ve drained him dry. So I went back to my other job, you know, scouting for the Preds? Couple days later, I’m at the Bradley center, one of the guys on the Admirals says that the guy that rebuilt his classic ‘Vette died in an explosion at the shop. Apparently Jason did a lot of work for the Admirals, because the whole team went to pay their respects. It was easy for me to go along. There was a picture of him next to the urn.” Quinn called to mind the image of Jason’s widow. Izzy, they called her now. Almost twenty years since he’d seen her, and Isabella Landry was every bit as lovely as she had been the last time he’d seen her skate.
I’m not sharing that with Serena either.

“Was that little bitch there?”

Quinn shrugged, assumed an air of nonchalance. “There was a group of women standing there, and every one of them was mourning. I didn’t go up and ask, ‘Which one of you wrecked Serena Shipley’s dreams?’ There wasn’t anyone there that seemed more broken up than the rest of them. Maybe they weren’t even married anymore. Nineteen years is a long time for any marriage.” He kept his eyes steady with hers; hoping Serena’s sharp senses didn’t detect his lie.

“A little sloppy with this, aren’t you?” Serena frowned at him. “Have you forgotten, my dear Quinn, exactly what I did for you? What you owe me? Think again.”

How could I forget what I owe you? It’s something you bring up every other day.             
“No,” his voice was chalky. “Of course I haven’t forgotten what I owe you. I was just thinking…Jason’s dead. If Isabella Landry did stay with him, she has nothing. And think of all the time we have, you and I, if I don’t have to run anymore of these errands.”

The fury faded from her eyes and she sat back in her chair. “Always the charmer. Fine, I’ll do this your way for now. Let’s talk about more pleasant things. How did the show go today?”

“Well, you know I always enjoy filling in.”

“Yes, I do know that.”

“I have some stuff I have to go do. You know, I’ve got that charity thing next month. And then I’m starting the plans for the big one I have in the early spring.”

“Oh yes, Quinn Murray, the saint of a hockey player. The former bad boy loves to help the downtrodden.” Serena gave him a hint of a smile, her voice smooth with only the vaguest echo of a Minnesota accent, and not even a breath of a Tennessee accent, though she’d lived here nearly two decades. Her accent, or lack thereof, Quinn knew, was the result of years of vocal training.

All part of a package. A very attractive, very lethal package.

“Yeah, okay then.” He stood, attempting to put as much space between Serena and himself. “You know, you might want to come with me to the event. It might give the station some good publicity. The one in the spring is going to be huge. It would be great to get some official help from the station in return for major positive publicity. It’ll be for the Aubri Brown Club.”

“Which charity is that? I can never keep all your good deeds straight.”

“That’s the foundation that helps families who have lost children. Helps pay for counseling, funeral expenses, that sort of thing.”

Serena took a deep breath in, as if trying to swallow something very bitter. She folded her hands on her desk and made direct eye contact with Quinn, the light in her green eyes ice cold. “I have no interest in helping you with that, Quinn.”

Quinn couldn’t quite understand her reaction, but the look in her eyes unsettled him. “Okay.”

She relaxed a little, the laser light softened in her eyes. “However, I’m not busy right now.”

Her change of tone was all too familiar to Quinn.

“Lock the door.”

Quinn turned and faced the door as he locked it. He listened as she walked around her desk to stand behind him. She reached around his broad body, her red clawed hands pawing up and down until coming to rest just below his belt. Quinn closed his eyes, trying to fight his body’s inevitable response to her intimate touch. Unbidden, Isabella Landry’s innocent face floated through his mind, then vanished like a whisper, drowned out by the throbbing cry blackmail and duty.

He had no other choice.