Thin Ice (29 page)

Muling over what she might be able to add to the subject that Ms.

Muling over what she might be able to add to the subject that Ms.

Martinez hadn't already covered, Emily leafed through the rest of the paper. She hit the society page and froze. Staring back at her in ful color was a large photograph of herself, Eric, Ronald and Catherine Stump, and John and Patricia Montgomery.

The caption identified each of them by name and inanely stated they were congratulating Eric on receiving the United Hope Community Service award. Inanely because she was speaking, her hands in the air as if emphasizing a point, Catherine and Ronald Stump were giving her their undivided attention, Eric stood beside her looking at her as if she were the only woman in the room, Patricia wore a vacant but socialy correct smile, and John stared with simmering hostility at the photographer.

Emily groaned. Of al the pictures of Eric they could have run. John and Patricia would be appaled by the reminder of how they'd had to endure listening to her views on battered women. Ryan would be livid, seeing her with his parents and fiancée.

Whoa. What was she thinking? Ryan Montgomery no longer controled her life. No longer had any say in it at al. She could talk to anyone she wanted to. Go anywhere she wanted to. Do anything she wanted to.

She smiled grimly. Including an interview on battered women for the Star Tribune.

The interview with Carmen Martinez over lunch the folowing day The interview with Carmen Martinez over lunch the folowing day went exceptionaly wel, with both women in agreement about the slant the article should take. In short order, they'd wrapped up the subject in a neat, if not pretty package. The end result would be an in-depth piece recognizing the psychological and emotional signs of abuse, folowed by information on the avenues of support available to women seeking to escape an abusive relationship. It was a common misconception that the only recognized form of abuse was physical abuse. But there were al kinds of abuse that could be perpetuated without ever hitting a woman. Power and control, intimidation, coercion, verbal abuse, financial abuse, spiritual abuse, isolation, and sexual abuse to name a few. The article was designed to get readers to see physical abuse as only one piece of the entire picture. Emily was pleased with how much they were able to cover, considering the amount of space they had been alotted.

Pleasantly surprised by the instant rapport she'd shared with Carmen, Emily had agreed to give a folow-up interview in a few months. She didn't understand it, but there seemed to be a connection there—something that went beyond a professional relationship. When Eric caled that night she was stil riding high on the wings of her success. Eric was fired up as wel; the Saints had skated circles around the Blues the night before and the team felt they had a strong chance to win the division finals without going the ful seven games. Emily let Eric's enthusiasm carry the conversation, and decided to save her own news until he returned.

The article ran on Wednesday, the day before Eric was due back.

Emily spent most of her day fielding compliments from her Emily spent most of her day fielding compliments from her coleagues. Her patients, on the other hand, had no intention of letting her enjoy her flirtation with fame. Business was brisk, and kept her busy al morning.

After lunch, Augustus drew her aside. With an uncharacteristicaly sheepish expression, he explained that a friend in St. Louis had offered him a center ice ticket to tonight's game. Would she cover for him until seven?

Since they'd already agreed that as long as the Saints stayed in the playoffs any conflicting Wednesday night visits to Harmony House would be shifted to non-game nights, Emily sent him on his way with her blessings. Her generosity backfired, however, when she ended up working past seven-thirty. Game time was at eight. She finaly escaped the ER at a quarter to, her thoughts centered on plotting the quickest route home that included a pizzeria. She'd promised Robbie they'd share a large double cheese, pepperoni and mushroom while they watched Eric play.

The night was unseasonably warm, so she didn't bother to put on her coat. She'd tossed both coat and briefcase into the Suburban and was halfway into the driver's seat before she noticed the large manila envelope with her name on it stuck to her windshield. She slid back out of the car and reached around to pluck the envelope from beneath the wiper blade.

Maybe it was something from Carmen, who'd mentioned she might stop by the hospital today. Emily took a moment to check. Instead she found several cozy close-ups of herself and Eric at the United she found several cozy close-ups of herself and Eric at the United Hope banquet. One showed them sharing a quiet kiss on the dance floor.

"Helo, Emily."

Her blood ran cold. Slowly, she turned. Her worst nightmare leaned against the driver's door of the dark blue van parked next to her car.

Ryan smiled chilingly, while Emily noted exactly what he wanted her to. One, it was dark. Two, the van blocked the view from the hospital and pedestrian traffic. Three, its proximity to the Suburban had left her no backward avenue of escape once she'd opened her door.

As always, he'd planned his ambush wel.

"I think it's time we had a talk,” he said.

Emily knew better than to bolt. When it suited him, Ryan could move faster than a rattler. And running made him angry. Very angry.

So she stayed perfectly stil—and prayed she looked perfectly calm.

His smile became mocking. “Cat got your tongue? Interesting, considering how chatty you were in this morning's paper."

Obviously he'd read the article, and recognized many of the references to methods of abuse that left no physical marks as those references to methods of abuse that left no physical marks as those he'd inflicted on her. Emily swalowed. “What do you want, Ryan?"

"What I've always wanted. For you to know your place and stay in it.” His pale blue eyes glittered with suppressed fury. “Who do you think you are, appointing yourself public expert on this kind of bulshit?"

Ruthlessly Emily queled her fear, knowing he'd zero in on it like a vicious dog. Fingers flexing, he moved closer. She forced herself to hold her ground—a first between them. “You forget, I am an expert, thanks to you."

Ryan only smirked. “Cordel was right. You have changed."

"Cordel?"

"Peter Cordel. Catherine's cousin. You made quite an impression on him the other night. He couldn't wait to tel me al about it. Or about what you've been up to these days."

Emily's mind spun. Peter Cordell was behind this?

"I can't tel you how embarrassing it was to hear about this idiotic crusade of yours,” Ryan said. “Then to open today's paper and read al that garbage about—"

"Letting women know how to escape from their abusers isn't garbage, Ryan."

"You never escaped, Emily. I let you go. If I stil wanted you, we'd stil be together."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I know you. And I also know what you're up to here, trying to point a public finger at me to gain support for your stupid little organization."

"This isn't about you, Ryan. I didn't mention names."

"You didn't have to. Anyone with half a brain can tel you're speaking from experience. It won't be long before they start putting the pieces together and make the connection between us."

"I'm a doctor, Ryan. I volunteer at a women's shelter. Anyone with half a brain wil think that's the source of my experience."

"Wrong, Emily. I've already had a few eyebrows raised in my direction and I don't like it."

Whose? Catherine's? Her father's? Emily didn't dare show her pleasure at the idea, or ask. Instead she surreptitiously angled her body towards her car. The door was behind her, trapping her in the V between door and car. If she could just swing around and jump inside—

"Don't even think about it, Emily. We're nowhere near through, yet.” Ryan smiled nastily. “Why do you think I rented a van?"

yet.” Ryan smiled nastily. “Why do you think I rented a van?"

She stiled, the ugly possibilities racing through her head. She remembered how he'd enjoyed messing with her mind, threatening things she knew he was fuly capable of, yet rarely folowed through on. Back then the threats had been enough to keep her in line. She chose to let him think they stil did. Slowly, she turned to face him.

"As I was saying,” he continued, I'm getting some strange looks because of your interview and I don't like it."

"I only presented the facts,” she said calmly, quietly. “I can't be held responsible for how others interpret them."

"The hel you can't! You're the one who stirred up this whole mess, spouting off at that banquet about your stupid shelter for whiney women. I'm warning you, Emily. You take this campaign to discredit me any further and I'l come down on you so hard what happened before was child's play."

"You cal breaking my jaw, my arm and three ribs, then trying to run me over with your car child's play?"

"You're overreacting, Emily. Just like you always do. You shouldn't have run from me that night. I wouldn't have hurt you."

"If you believe that, or any of this business about me trying to personaly discredit you, you need professional help, Ryan. What you attempted that night was murder. You should be in jail for it."

He tensed, then seemed to relax with a visible effort. No doubt keeping his dark side from Catherine had given him considerable practice at restraint. “Instead I'm in private practice,” he said, apropos of nothing.

Emily blinked. “What are you talking about?"

"I'm a doctor, Emily. I've been in private practice for four years now. Plastic surgery."

He had to be kidding. When she'd left him he'd been flunking out of med school, content to let his father's connections get him through his courses. Now he was a plastic surgeon? The irony of it didn't escape her. Nor did the power and control aspects of it. As a plastic surgeon, he could physicaly change women into whatever he wanted them to be.

"How ... nice for you,” she said uneasily, realizing he was waiting for an answer.

He smiled. “I'm glad you approve. But I'm afraid I can't say the same for you."

"Your approval doesn't concern me any more, Ryan. I'm no longer your wife."

"No, now you're a hockey player's whore.” Smoothly, he removed the photos and manila envelope from her hand, then tossed them into the open driver's window of the van. “It's obvious you're into the open driver's window of the van. “It's obvious you're spreading your legs for him."

Emily said nothing, sure of Cordel's hand in this now. He must have paid someone to snap those pictures of her and Eric, knowing exactly the kind of trouble they would cause.

"What? No denials, Emily?"

"My social life is none of your business, Ryan."

"It is when you're corrupting my son's morals."

Emily froze. Ryan knew about Robbie?

"You thought I didn't know?” His chuckle was chiding. “Of course I did. This city isn't that large, Emily. If you'd wanted to keep our son a secret, you should have gone farther than across the bridge."

She lifted her chin and braced herself for a backhand. “He's not yours."

Instead, Ryan laughed and stepped forward, tracing a cold, lazy finger down her cheek. Emily fought back a flinch. “Of course he is.

He was born nine months after our trip to Barbados."

She remembered the Barbados trip wel. A true honeymoon period between them. She'd left him two weeks before, during mid-year exams. He'd spirited her off to the island between semesters to woo her back. He'd succeeded admirably, making a complete fool of her. Within days of their return, he'd beaten her again. Savagely.

her. Within days of their return, he'd beaten her again. Savagely.

"It was so good between us, Emmie. Do you remember how good?” He touched her hair, bound only by barrettes, and idly twisted some around his fingers. “I love it when you wear your hair down,” he murmured, canting his head and looking at her, an unholy lust entering his eyes. “I've always loved running my fingers through your curls,” he said as his free hand brushed between her legs.

She jerked back in revulsion. “Stop it!"

He fisted a hand in her hair, yanked her closer. Instinctively her hands came up to keep their bodies from touching. “Or you'l do what? Cal for your award-winning lover to save you? Sorry to disappoint you, Emmie, but he's in St. Louis thinking about plays and pucks, not you.” Ryan's sneer filed her field of vision. “I want you to stop seeing him, Emily."

She blinked, partly in pain, partly in confusion. “Eric? What's he got to do with—"

"Everything,” Ryan snarled. “Cameron has everything to do with my having to run down here and set you straight tonight. Until he came along, you were content to live in your dul little house in the suburbs and bandage scraped knees for a living. Now, thanks to him, you've suddenly taken it in your head to become some sort of misguided advocate for complaining women."

"That's not true..."

"That's not true..."

His grip on her hair tightened. “Isn't it? If it hadn't been for that overrated puck chaser squiring you around like some social paragon Saturday night, you never would've attracted that reporter's attention."

Emily grimaced and fought to keep her knees from buckling. Ryan smiled at her pain. “She's using you, you know. Capitalizing on your disgusting affair with Cameron for her own benefit.” His smile turned mean. “You always were too gulible for your own good, Emily. Don't you realize that in latching on to Cameron, you've only made a fool of yourself? Carmen Martinez is probably laughing her head off right now."