Ghost Dance (Tulsa Thunderbirds Book 3) (9 page)

EVEN THOUGH IT
took almost thirty minutes to get to Nazarenko’s because of how heavily the snow was falling and how many cars were stuck—giving me ample time to think about the situation—nothing could have prepared me for what I encountered when we arrived.

The problem? His house was a split-level. That meant stairs to get just about anywhere in the house. In fact, I’d never been inside a split-level house that had a bathroom on the same floor as the living areas. They were usually upstairs with the bedrooms, and maybe down in the basement area.

This wasn’t going to end well.

“I’ll have to carry you inside,” he said as he turned into the driveway, pressing the button to open the garage door.

That much was clear. There were six steps leading from the sidewalk to the front door, and now that I could see into the garage, I could see it was the same leading into the house from there.

“Any chance I can stay on one floor once I’m in?” I asked, holding on to some tiny shred of hope that I wouldn’t have to rely on him to constantly carry me everywhere in order to get around. I didn’t do well without my independence. I’d learned to get around in my wheelchair sooner than the doctors had expected, and I’d been adapting to whatever the world threw at me ever since, finding a way to live my life as normally as possible.

He shook his head. “No bathroom on main level.”

Yeah. Exactly what I expected. I tried not to sulk.

After he closed the garage door, he shut off the engine and got out to cross in front of the car. I undid my seat belt and opened the car door, determined to do as much as possible on my own. “I should warn you,” I said, flashing my eyes up to meet his. “I weigh more than it looks like, and I’m not a fan of letting anyone carry me. Ever.”

“Should I let you crawl?” he asked, his sarcasm dripping. He took a step back and waved toward the steps. “Be my guest. Do it yourself.”

It was a tempting offer, but I kind of liked the idea that he was as uncomfortable about this as I was. I scowled and raised a brow, angling my body so he could better manage it.

“It’ll be a bit like carrying dead weight,” I joked, even as he put an arm under my knees and lifted me out of the car. I stretched my right arm across his shoulders and tried to carry as much of my weight as I could. That drew us closer together, though, and he tensed.

“Just be still,” he demanded, all his sarcasm giving way to agitation.

I grinned and twirled a finger through his long hair. “Is the hair hiding something, too? Like the beard?”

“Leave hair alone,” he groused. He looked like he wanted to bat my hand away, but his were both otherwise occupied with trying to carry me.

I released the hair in my fingers, but I wasn’t done picking at him. Not yet. Grinning, I reached up with my other hand and delved into the tangled, wiry strands hanging from his chin. Only they weren’t as wiry as I’d expected them to be. They were almost soft. I kind of liked the feel of his beard against the soft skin of my palm. “You know, we’ll probably be holed up here for days, just the two of us. That’s a long time to try to keep a secret from me.”

He glared at me for a moment, kicking the car door closed. Then he stomped into the house and deposited me on the couch before returning to the garage for my wheelchair, not giving me an answer.

Yeah, this was going to make for a very interesting Christmas.

AFTER WE ARRIVED
at Nazarenko’s house, I called the police again and officially filed a report.

They made sure to inform me, multiple times, that while they were taking my stolen car seriously and would investigate as soon as possible, the current weather situation in the state would be occupying all available resources for the time being.

Not really a surprise. It didn’t matter, in the short term, because whether I had my car or not, I wasn’t going anywhere in the foreseeable future. In the short span of time from when I’d left my place, gotten to the gas station, left there with the cranky Russian, and arrived at his house, the weather had deteriorated at a rapid pace. I was perfectly aware just how much of a mess everything was right now, thank you very much.

Once I was done with the police, I put in a claim with my insurance company. Whether they ever recovered my car or not, chances were high it would at least need some repairs. I only hoped the thief didn’t screw with my hand controls, if they did leave my car somewhere. Neither the police nor the insurance adjustor seemed to think it likely I’d ever see that car again, though, and if I did, it wouldn’t be in usable condition.

Then I called my landlord, Dan, to inform him my keys had been stolen and I needed the locks to be changed. He said he’d get it done, and once I came home after the holidays, I should stop in at his house next door for the new key.

Finally, I called Gray to fill him in. He didn’t take the news so well.

“I’m coming to get you,” he said, once I’d finished explaining the situation.

“No, you’re not. You said it yourself this morning. Going out in this weather is a suicide mission in this part of the country.”

“So you’re just going to stay with a stranger for however long it takes for the city to thaw out, huh?”

“He’s not a stranger.”
Strange,
yes. But not a stranger. I’d had coffee and dinner with him before. That was more than enough to realize Dmitri Nazarenko wasn’t a threat to me. He might not be the most pleasant person to be around, but he wouldn’t do anything to harm me. “It’s not ideal, but it’ll be fine.” And if I kept repeating those words enough to convince my brother, maybe I’d eventually start to believe them, too.

“I don’t like this, London.”

“She’ll be fine,” I heard Dad say in the background, and I stifled a grin even though neither of them could see me. “She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself. I think we should all know that by now.”

“Exactly what Dad said,” I agreed. And if anyone should have that drilled into his head by now, it was my father. “Look, we have electricity. We’ve got heat. He has a fireplace, too, so even if the power lines go down, we should be able to stay warm.” If he had firewood…something I hadn’t bothered to ask yet. “And I’m sure there’s food in the kitchen.” At least, I hoped there was. And that he knew how to prepare it, since his kitchen wasn’t designed to be wheelchair-friendly. I doubted I’d be much help. “It’s not like it’ll be forever, and there are a lot worse places I could be stuck.”

I shuddered, thinking about what might have happened if I’d let Nazarenko take me to the police station, like he’d intended at first. What would they have done with us once we realized we couldn’t leave, put us up in some of the empty jail cells? Not my idea of a great time.

“What about your emergency supplies?” my brother demanded.

“My big kit was in the trunk, along with all my Christmas presents for everybody. I’m sure we’ll never see most of that again, if any of it. I do keep a few spare things in my purse, though.”

My eyes flickered over to Nazarenko. He was sitting in an armchair across from me, wearing a formfitting T-shirt that showed off all the rippling muscle underneath and a pair of sweats that hugged his ass and thighs in impossibly perfect ways, but he had his nose buried in his phone and didn’t seem to be paying me any attention. He hadn’t said a single word to me since bringing in my wheelchair and setting it next to me on the couch.

Whether he was paying attention or not, I still didn’t want to say the word
catheter
out loud, let alone mention things like leg bags. In my experience, people tended to freak out about bodily functions, and my accident had caused me to lose control over most of mine. But honestly, I had my wheelchair, a few spare bits of that all-too-important tubing, and at least one spare bag. There was no reason to think I should need more than that for a few days—less if we were lucky.

Clothes, on the other hand, were going to be a bigger concern. I didn’t exactly go around with clean undies and spare jeans in my purse. I supposed I could steal a T-shirt from his closet, if it came down to it, and wash what I was wearing. Too late to worry about that now. We’d just have to figure it out.

“I’m going to be fine,” I repeated again, still trying to convince us both.

“As soon as the roads are clear, I’m coming to get you,” Gray said. Or was threatened a better word? Hard to be sure. Heck, it could have been a promise, and it might have been all of the above at once. When it came down to it, he was the best big brother a girl could hope to have, precisely because of that very ambiguity.

“I’d expect no less,” I said. “Tell the kids I’m sorry, and I’ll make it up to them once the roads are safe.” After all, I had the whole week off work, and the kids were out of school. We could have some fun once I escaped this temporary prison.

He gave me a grumbled promise and said he’d text me pictures of their snowman once the masterpiece was complete. I swore I’d contact him immediately if anything was wrong, even though there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it but commiserate. Finally, we hung up.

I slipped my phone onto the coffee table in front of me and sighed, putting the back of my arm over my eyes as I leaned against the couch cushions. Getting through the drama of my morning and the phone calls had left me with a splitting headache.

“Bet you had no idea what you were getting yourself into when you went out for some gas, huh?” I said, peeking out for a moment.

“Should know by now.” He flashed his eyes up from his phone to meet mine. “Trouble always finds me.”

I burst out laughing. “That’s me. London
Trouble
Hawke. Can’t take me anywhere unless you’ve got bail money lined up.”

“Cops can’t help me now. Too much snow.”

“That’s right, Nazarenko. You kidnapped me, and now you’re stuck with me.” I straightened myself on the couch, trying to fight off the migraine that wanted to take root.

“Dima,” he said quietly.

“I’ll call you Dima if you’ll tell me about your tattoos.”

“Nothing to tell.”

“Liar. Maybe you forgot you already told me that your tattoos had meaning, but you
did
tell me. I want to know what they’re about.”

“Do you tell everyone about your accident?”

“If they want to know,” I said. “Why? Do you want to know?”

“Same kind of thing, is all.”

“I know about your accident,” I said, refusing to look away this time. “With Sergei.”

“Was all over news.”

I nodded. “It was. So was mine. Well, the local news, at least.” I’d been playing for the University of Minnesota at the time. There was enough coverage that the local hockey community had pulled together to help me out. Some of the women’s college programs had put on fund raisers to help pay for my medical expenses, and there’d been an anonymous donation from someone connected to the Wild. They’d never filled me in on who was behind it, but that money had paid for my car modifications—the hand controls, the electric control over the passenger seat so I could easily slide it forward and backward for getting my wheelchair in the back.

“I know,” he said.

“You do?” I blinked a couple of times. I didn’t know why, but it surprised me that he had any knowledge at all about my accident. When I’d crashed into the boards in that game, it hadn’t received anywhere near the kind of attention that it would have if I’d been a man, or especially if I’d been a pro, like he and Sergei had been. This was four years ago, when I’d been a twenty-year-old junior with my whole life ahead of me. For a time, I’d thought that my life might as well have ended, but I hadn’t let myself stay in the doldrums for too long. How could I when there were so many people who wanted to help me?

“Was playing for Minnesota then.”

The weight of his words hit me like a ton of bricks. For a moment, all I could do was stare at him, open-mouthed, while I tried to take it all in. “Did you send me money?” I demanded.

He stared back, silent and unwavering. Then he got up and headed for the stairs. “Need to change sheets.”

Damn it all if he wasn’t running away from me, and doing it in a way that I couldn’t chase him.