On Thin Ice (27 page)

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Authors: Susan Andersen

BOOK: On Thin Ice
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Sasha pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins, clutching herself tightly. “I'm so angry, Connie,” she admitted in a low, intense voice. “With both of them. God, I'm so angry!”
“I know you are.” Connie slid off the bed to sit on the floor next to her friend, wrapping an arm around her stiff shoulders.
“All my life, I took it,” Sasha said bitterly. “Year after year, I was lied to and I just let it roll off me. Lonnie nearly destroyed my career along with his own, but I picked myself up and rebuilt it from scratch. And I forgave him, because I knew he hadn't deliberately set out to hurt me, that I probably hadn't really even entered into it at all. But maybe that's the problem.” She turned her head to look at Connie. “I don't seem to enter into anyone's considerations, ever, and I'm so sick of it.”
Connie stroked her hair and remained silent. The pressure of a resentment contained for far too long built and it boiled, and finally Sasha burst out, “Why is my job to save Lonnie from himself? Because of him I may be in danger and I don't even know from whom. Why doesn't he save
me
for once? And Mick? Good old highly sexed, fast-talking Mick? Do you have any idea how it felt to read that report that gave all my old enemies in Kells Crossing yet
another
opportunity to agree on what a slut I am? He might charm me right out of my panties, and he could probably convince me that black is actually white without running short of breath.” She looked at her friend and Connie saw the bitter resolution in Sasha's gray eyes. “But no matter how much I want to believe him when he whispers it in the night, he'll never convince me he loves me when he can turn right around and commission something like that to be done.”
 
 
“Dammit! This is impossible.” Sasha tossed aside the sheet of paper and stared out the hotel room's third-story window through eyes glazed with tears.
Her fist opened and closed on the tabletop; her chest rose and fell rapidly while she struggled to get a grip on her emotions. Finally she sucked in a deep breath and slowly expelled it. She swallowed a sip of her diet cola, never noticing it had gone warm and flat, and, gritting her teeth, reached for the paper once again.
It was Mick's list of names of the people who had been on the amateur circuit at the time of Lon's arrest.
God, this was so hard. She didn't want to believe any of these people were capable of wanting to hurt her, yet she had to consider each and every name. But really, Dave DiGornio? Jack Berensen?
Karen Corselli?
Come on.
She tried to block out what she personally felt for the individual as she came to his or her name on the list. The only way this would ever work was to make the assessment based solely on the facts. Okay. Dave DiGornio. What did she know? He came from a monied, warm, and generous family. Jack Berensen. She didn't really know much about his background, but she liked him. Karen. Yeah, right. Sasha balled up the list and threw it across the room.
This was impossible.
S
EVENTEEN
Lon watched Karen during her “Lord's Prayer” number. She skimmed the ice lightly, sweet as an angel in her trademark silver, blond hair in its prim bun shining under the cool blue spotlight that followed her around the rink as she swooped and spun.
You didn't by any chance tell your “stranger” you'd given me your word you wouldn't sell again, did you?
He shook his head. Sasha was crazy; Karen wouldn't hurt a fly.
Would she?
Well, sure, she was a bit of a control freak. And she lived for power, no doubt about that. But attempted murder? Karen-Mind-Your-Language-and-Don' t-Take-the-Lord's-Name-in-Vain-Corselli?
Come on.
Yet the uneasiness that had sprung to life at Sasha's words persisted. How consistent, when it came right down to it, was Karen's piousness with her red-hot aptitude for sucking the chrome right off a trailer hitch? The disparities in her personality were the very things that had always sort of excited him about her, but he had to face it, she definitely acted like different women at different times.
Still.
There was a huge difference between giving an excellent blow job and trying to
hurt
someone. The woman
prayed
all the time, for God's sake. And what the hell made Saush believe that what had happened to her and Amy Nitkey was anything other than accidental anyway?
Still.
Karen did seem to crave knowledge of every little detail of Sasha's life, no matter how trivial. She also recognized that Sasha had the power to sway his behavior. And Karen didn't like anyone having more power than she did.
Still.
He watched her, all grace and fragility on the ice. And made a rude noise.
One of the stagehands raised his head, looking Lon's way. “You say something, Morrison?”
“Nah.” Lon turned away and went to join the line skaters lining up to go on next. “Except that Sasha Miller is stone crazy.”
 
 
Mick stood watching Sasha during her “Playing with Fire” routine. Man, you'd think he'd be used to it by now but it still made his mouth go dry every time he saw it. Aware of someone joining him in the arena entrance, he reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the ice and looked down. Standing beside him was Connie Nakamura and she didn't even glance at her friend out on the ice. Her black, almond-shaped eyes, beneath heavy theatrical makeup, were staring up at him assessingly.
He returned her look for several moments, then blew out a deep, disgusted breath. “Ah, shit. She went and told you, didn't she?”
Connie gave him her best imitation of an inscrutable smile and raised both eyebrows inquiringly. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Vinicor.”
“Don't jerk me around, Nakamura. She
told
you. I warned her not to talk about this to anybody.”
“Oh, that's just perfect, Vinicor.” Connie dropped all pretense of not understanding. “My God. You men really do take the cake. You've turned her life upside down, but she's just supposed to take it on the chin?” Her voice, although pitched low for privacy, was charged with fury, and the look of pure contempt she directed at him was not in the least bit diluted by makeup that stood out garishly beneath the harsh backstage fluorescents. “Hey, it's not as if anybody seems to give a rat's rear end that she's suffering,” she said sarcastically. “Let's just all be sure that she has the decency to suffer in silence.”
She hadn't heard language the likes of which slipped through the barrier of his gritted teeth since the day she'd first laid eyes on him in that hotel hallway in Sacramento. Her eyes widened and she instinctively drew back when he leaned aggressively close to bring their faces to a more equitable level.
“I don't like it that she's suffering at all, damn you,” he said in a hoarse whisper. His blue eyes burned with a host of indefinable emotions, and his big hands knotted and unknotted into hard fists at his sides. “You think I
wanted
things to turn out this way?”
“Oh, I'm sure it wasn't in your game plan to get caught.”
“I didn't want her to be hurt! That's the last thing I wanted. But what the fuck was I supposed to do, Connie? I was sent here to do a job, and I was doin' it. At the same time I was busting my hump trying to keep from falling in love with her. Well, I screwed up on both counts, okay? Man, she was there, getting to me, every damn time I turned around, and I didn't
want
to believe she could be the one peddlin' this killer shit, but all the evidence seemed to point right at her.”
Forcing his fingers to uncurl, he thrust both hands through his hair and stare down at Sasha's best friend. “I swear to God I didn't sleep with her until I was convinced of her innocence, but of course she doesn't believe that now.” His own memory was a bit convenient but the bottom line was that the
only
reason he'd slept with her was because he'd wanted her. Not because he needed information to make the case, not because of her secrets . . . it was
her.
“She thinks I was only looking for a piece of ass and hers was the handiest.”
“Well, can you blame her, Mick?” Connie saw the very real anguish in his face as Sasha's performance out on the ice drew his attention away from her, and some of the indignation she'd been harboring on her friend's behalf faded. “And did you really imagine this house arrest thing is going to further your cause?” she inquired in a more temperate tone. “That's the weirdest damn arrangement I've ever heard of, and if it's the least bit legal I'll eat that big wooly patch I bought Saush right off her damn jacket.”
His attention snapped back to Connie with antagonistic intensity. Hell, no, it wasn't legal. That, of course, was one of the very reasons he hadn't wanted Sasha telling anyone about it. “You planning on tellin' her that?” he demanded.
It was difficult not to react to the hostility in his voice, but she forced herself to stand still and simply gaze back at him without speaking.
Mick scraped his hair back off his forehead again, then let his hands drop to his side. He sighed. “I guess it's no secret she's furious with me, and she's got a perfect right to be, okay?” he said in a voice that was strangled by the moderation he forced into it. “I screwed up big time; I admit it.”
Then he suddenly seemed to grow taller in front of Connie's eyes. He shook off the role of penitent and was imbued with that air of command he carried so naturally as he stood there looking down at her. “I screwed up,” he repeated, then added grimly, “But do you honestly want her running all over creation on her own? I didn't warn her that she could be in danger merely for the chance to save our relationship, Connie—although I plan to do exactly that. I told her because I'm convinced she is in danger. At least this way I've given myself an opportunity to protect her a little better.”
The sheer arrogance of his proclaimed intention to redeem his relationship with Sasha almost made Connie smile. The guy had done absolutely everything wrong; he'd lied to Sasha, he'd spied on her, he'd stolen her damn underwear, for heaven's sake. Yet he harbored no doubt he could get her back. Beautiful.
Out of the blue he inquired, “What made you say, ‘you men.' ”
“Huh?”
“A few minutes ago you said, ‘you men take the cake.' ” Personal considerations were abruptly submerged and he was suddenly one hundred percent cop again. “You didn't say,
‘you
take the cake'; you said, ‘you
men
.' I want to know why.”
“Oh, give it a wild stab, Vinicor. I'm sure you can figure it out.”
He looked at her in frustration for a moment, then suddenly scowled. “Morrison? Did Morrison do something to hurt her?” He took a step closer. “Is she okay? I'll kill him—what'd he do?”
A snort of laughter escaped her. “I take it back—you really do take the cake. Hands down and all by yourself.”
“Save your lip for another time, Nakamura. What the hell did Morrison do to hurt Sasha?”
“I think you'd better take that up with her.” She eyed him consideringly. “Or better yet, why don't you compare a few notes with Lon himself? It's not inconceivable that the two of you could arrive at a satisfactory solution to this situation if you tried putting your heads together. And that would make everybody happy.” She blinked. “Well, more or less.”
“Don't think I haven't considered it,” Mick snapped. He looked around, saw that nobody was nearby, and leaned closer. “But what the hell happens if he says, ‘kiss my ass' and then tells his partner I'm a narc?” he demanded in a soft voice. “The risk to Sasha could multiply a hundredfold, and there's simply no way I'm gonna put her in that kind of danger.”
“I can't believe Morrison would ever put her in that kind of danger either,” Connie retorted, but Mick was no longer paying attention to her.
His entire focus had reverted to Sasha as she arrived in the wing and prepared to climb off the ice. He snatched her jacket up off the floor and carried it over to where she was balancing on one skate as she fit a blade guard to the other. As she straightened he draped it around her shoulders and pulled it closed with his fists, effectively pinning her arms to her side and holding her prisoner. He leaned down and pressed a quick, fierce kiss to her lips. Pulling back, he demanded, “What's Morrison done to hurt you this time?”
“Oh, very tactful, Vinicor,” Connie murmured. She pursed her lips, rolled her eyes, and beat a hasty retreat, knowing Sasha was not going to be thrilled with her for saying even the little bit that she had.
Sasha leaned back from the waist and regarded Mick through narrowed eyes. “Let go of me,” she ordered in a low voice. She hated the way all her hormones stood up and screamed for more after that single too-brief contact with his mouth.
He loosened his grip on her jacket, brought his hands up to tunnel beneath her hair at her nape and freed it from inside her collar, spreading it out carefully over the wool and leather of her jacket. Then he stepped back. “You're not going to tell me what Morrison did to upset you, are you?”
She stared at him without speaking.
“Wonderful. The silent treatment again.” He regarded her with frustration. “Dammit, Saush, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm
sorry
, all right? How long are you going to make me keep paying for what I did?”
He realized later that when she still refused to speak to him, he should have simply turned around and removed himself from the situation. But it wasn't his infamous street smarts that whispered with the cool voice of reason into his ear; instead, hot emotion took control. For the past week he'd been wrestling to cope with a massive vulnerability, the power of which he'd never even dreamed could exist, and her continued refusal to speak to him proved to be one blow too many for his pride to gracefully take in stride.
He wanted to yell, to shake her 'til her teeth rattled. What he did instead was take a step back and say with cool arrogance, “Then the hell with you, lady. I've had it up to my back teeth with groveling.”
His eyes traveled over her from the topmost curl of wayward black hair to the tips of her skates in a slow and deliberately insolent appraisal, as if to say, “And frankly, I don't even know if you're worth it.” Then, executing a smart about-face on his heel, he rapidly strode away without a backward glance.
 
 
Sasha took her own sweet time navigating the deserted fourth-floor corridor. She'd spent as much time in the bar and then in Connie's room as she dared, but as much as she'd been tempted to spend the night with her friend, she had in the end been too chickenhearted to attempt it, afraid Mick would show up to haul her back to his room. It was true that he was apparently quite fed up with her. But his damn job was something he took very seriously indeed, and if she failed to show up for “protective custody” bed check she wouldn't for a moment put it past him to come banging on doors until he found her. At which point he would probably drag her away by force.
She was strolling past room 426 when 428 suddenly opened up and Lon stepped out into the hallway, softly closing the door behind him. Sasha felt her jaw literally drop open as she stopped dead in her tracks. That was Karen Corselli's room.
The look on his face when he turned and saw her standing there might have been comical at any other time, but at that precise moment she was still too stunned to give it the appreciation it deserved. Resisting the urge to shake her head like a punch-drunk boxer, she set herself in motion once again.
Swearing softly beneath his breath, Lon snagged her by the upper arm when she came abreast of him and hustled her slightly ahead of him down the hallway to the elevator. He had stubbornly refused to give credence to Sasha's speculations that his partner wished her harm because of a promise he'd given to her, but all Lon knew for certain at this moment was that he didn't want Sasha anywhere around if Karen should suddenly decide to stick her head out into the corridor. He didn't draw a complete breath until the elevator doors had slid shut behind them, enclosing them inside.

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