Love Inspired Suspense January 2014 (43 page)

“More than usual, you mean,” Laney said.

Coach Stan patted her hand. “When you catch your breath, we'll talk it through, look at your dad's tapes.”

Her father nodded and held up the video camera that he was never without. “Got it all right here.”

Coach Stan made more notes on his clipboard and turned to talk to another trainer. “All right everybody. Change and we'll meet up for dinner in a half hour.” And that was that. He hadn't posed the real question. Was she strong enough to win races and compete the following week to snatch at spot at the Winter Games?

For now, she would have to be content to wait. She pulled off the hood of her skin suit and unzipped it a few inches to cool her overheated muscles. Unlacing the boots, she took off the skates and put them in her bag. Max stood a few feet away, arms folded, brows drawn together under a shock of black hair that he'd let grow too long. She kissed her father. “I'm okay. I'll see you at dinner.”

The girls from the race had collected on the nearby benches, removing their skates and discussing their own performances, cheeks pink from exertion, coaches and trainers mingling about. Tanya whispered something to Beth. Laney made her painful way to Max and they strolled to a quiet corner, both gazing out across the ice.

He looked at her closely. “I was tracking you, Laney. The race was pitch perfect until you made the second turn. What happened?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. Something felt off in my right skate.”

There was an accusatory glint in his sapphire eyes.

“What?” she demanded.

“Sure you didn't lose your focus?”

“Yes, I'm sure. It was the skate.”

He frowned.

“All right, spill it,” she said, half-playfully. “You don't believe me?”

“I do,” he said after a long moment. “But we've been having trouble with your concentration, and your skates haven't bothered you at all recently.” He blew out a breath. “It's all up here,” he said, tapping his head. “You've got to put yourself in the zone and stay there.”

A small flame licked at her stomach, and her playful mood was gone. “I was in the zone, fully focused and with my game brain on. It was the skate.”

The girls turned their faces in Laney's direction as they got up and left the arena, headed for their quarters. Coach Jackie gave them a curious glance before she shuttled Beth along, helping tote her gear. Laney allowed Max to put his arm around her shoulder, annoyed that his touch made something happen to her breathing.

“I understand what you've been through better than anyone else,” Max said in low tones. “But you've got to push through that and deliver. The past has to remain on the benches when it's race time.”

She saw herself reflected in the blue depths of his eyes, her outline blurred and morphed into a different shape. “Max,” she said, pulling away a step, “I'm not you, so don't put your stuff on me.”

His mouth thinned. “I'm talking as your trainer, Laney. That's all.”

“And you don't think I'm focused enough because of what happened years ago?”

“I don't know. I'm trying to get inside your head.”

“The problem isn't in my head for once, it's in my skate, so you should focus on that.”

“I'm going to tell you what you need to hear to win, whether you want to listen or not,” he snapped. “That's what your father pays me to do.”

She knew from the anger kindling in his voice that she'd pushed back too much. It was true, she had struggled with focus throughout the season and his assumption about her performance today was understandable. She sighed. “I know you're trying to correct a mistake here, but I didn't make it, not this time. It was the skate.” She hated the way that sounded like a lame excuse. Blaming the equipment was for rookies.

“All right,” he said, wide shoulders stiff. “Let's take a look.”

She returned to the bench and found her gear bag. She fished out the left skate and handed it to him, reaching into the bag for the other. It took two seconds for her to make sense of it. “My right skate is gone.”

Max helped her hunt under the benches and in every darkened crevice. There was no sign of the missing skate.

“One of the girls must have picked mine up by accident.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “No way. Not this level of athlete.”

He was right. Speed skaters relied on their equipment like world-class musicians cherished their instruments. They didn't take the wrong skate accidently. Practical joke by Tanya or Beth or any of the other girls? She couldn't imagine it.

Laney felt at an utter loss. “How could it have walked away on its own?”

“It couldn't,” Max said, blue eyes gone dark in the gloom. “Someone made it disappear.”

TWO

M
ax reported the missing skate, and a full complement of coaches and competitors returned to scour the arena.

Beth flipped back her sleek bob of hair. “This is ridiculous. Laney, did you go anywhere? To the bathroom or something and leave it there?”

Laney's cheeks flushed pink. Max realized that the result of Laney's brain injuries was more public than he had known.

“She was here talking to me the whole time,” he said.

Beth skewered him with a look. “So what you're implying is someone stole her skate? What would be the point, exactly? To cut her out of the competition?” She laughed. “Sorry, Laney, but we're not that scared of you. At least I'm not.”

Max would have let her have it, but Laney giggled.

“You should be. I'm ferocious, didn't you know that?”

Beth grinned. “Yeah, that's you. Ferocious. Still sleep with your night-light on?”

“Of course. Keeps the monsters away.”

Max marveled at Laney's easy smile, the positive glow in all circumstances that puzzled him. She should be a gold medalist already—she had the skill, the natural gift and the work ethic to match, and yet he could not find resentment in her face, the resentment that was so alive in his own soul.

Jackie finished her examination of the top tier of seats and returned. “There is no sign of it.” Her eyes scanned the arena thoughtfully.

“What are you thinking?” Max asked.

“Nothing, I'm sure. I was just considering that there are no strangers here, the girls, the coaches, the trainers, the custodians. No strangers...”

He finished her thought. “Except the guy who wanted to talk to Laney.”

“Who?” Laney asked.

“A reporter,” Jackie said with disdain. “I told him to leave.”

“So did I,” Max said. “But I didn't actually see him go, did you?”

Jackie shook her head solemnly. “I was down on the ice, timing Beth. But what reason would he have for taking her skate?”

“Not one that I can think of,” Max muttered.

Beth wrapped an arm around Laney. “You have spare skates?”

“She's got other pairs,” Max said.

Beth gave him a sassy smile. “Yeah, I figured. Just thought I'd see if she needed to borrow temporarily or something.” She followed her coach through the exit.

Laney sighed. “That was nice.”

Nice? Max wondered. Or patronizing? Top-quality speed skates for skaters at this level were custom-made, the boots constructed using molds of the skater's feet, and there was no possible way for Laney to skate any kind of a race wearing borrowed gear. Beth knew that as well as he did. She also knew they cost upward of three thousand dollars a pair.

Laney's father, Dan, was footing the bill for her training time, equipment, coaching and Max's services. Something skittered through Max's stomach as he considered it might be a real hardship to find the money for another pair of skates. He resolved to talk to Dan Thompson...soon.

* * *

Laney changed and met Max outside. The air was cold, and they blinked to adjust to the darkness. Laney still simmered with annoyance. She wasn't making excuses and she hadn't misplaced her own skate, as the girls suggested. She wasn't
that
addled by her brain injury.

To their left was a parking lot that would be jammed when the public-skating hours commenced on the weekend. Now there were only a few cars, one of which was her father's banged-up Suburban.

“I'm...” she started when the crash of glass made her jump. Her father's rear window fractured, pieces glittering in the moonlight.

Laney raced to the vehicle, Max a few paces behind her. She found her father crouched on the other side of the car, arm raised to his face as a squat, bushy-haired stranger readied a club to crash into her father's skull. The stranger's face was partially obscured by a cap.

“No!” she shouted, surprising the man with the club. He swiveled quickly, swinging the weapon in an arc toward Laney. With reflexes born of elite levels of training, she ducked under the blow.

The club fell viciously, whistling by her ear, causing her to fall back against the car while the weapon smashed into the passenger door, crumpling the metal.

With an animal roar, Max went after the guy, who whirled on his heel and ran, Max in hot pursuit. Laney sprang to her feet, not sure if she should chase after Max or stay with her father.

“Laney,” he croaked. “Keep out of it.”

“Daddy,” she breathed, eyes filling as she crouched next to him. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a knock on my thick head. Your mum always told me I had a hard skull.”

Laney's stomach twisted in agony as she strained to catch a glimpse of Max. What would happen if he caught the guy? Squeezing her father's hand to comfort him, she felt the heavy thud of her pulse in her throat.

Finally, Max returned, panting.

“I lost him. I'll call the cops.”

“No,” her father barked.

Laney's mouth dropped open. “The guy could have killed you.”

“He was a thief, wanted the iPad I left in the back probably. My own dumb fault.”

Max dropped to one knee. “Mr. Thompson, the cops really should be notified, and the security team here at the oval.”

“No cops,” he repeated again, getting to his feet with Laney's help. “No harm done except a broken window and a dent, the price for my stupidity.”

“But, Dad...”

He waved a hand. “I'll go inside and report it to security, but no cops. Not necessary. Now go on back to the dorms before you get a chill.”

“I don't want you out here by yourself,” Laney said as severely as she could.

“I'll have someone from security to walk me back. Go, go,” he said with a flap of his hands. He bent with a groan and picked up his bag.

Laney was grateful when Max put his arm around her. His touch was the only thing that seemed to push away the cold that seized her from the inside out.

She was almost sure that she'd seen a glimpse of her father's iPad tucked safely in his bag before he left.

* * *

The distance from the oval to the athlete housing was a mile, which Laney and Max traversed in silence. Reaching the dorms, he used his pass key and held the door for her. Laney had been fortunate to be assigned her own room in the dormitory on the bottom floor where the female athletes and coaches stayed. Max was in another dorm with the male trainers, coaches and athletes. He waited while she opened her door, greeting her old cat, Cubby, whom she never traveled without, if possible.

“Thanks for walking me back.”

“Anytime.” He cleared his throat. “I feel bad about what happened to your father, that I couldn't catch the guy.”

She shivered. “Dad could have been hurt badly.”

“And you, too,” he added, feeling again the chill that had swept his body as the man's club had come within inches of her.

“I hope security can help.”

“Strange how he targeted your dad's car. There were plenty of fancier models parked close by.”

“He said the man was after his iPad.” She looked away.

“But you don't believe that?”

She shook her head. “I'm really tired. Gonna rest for a little while.”

“Good idea.” He paused. “You know, Laney, you really were skating an excellent race.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Except for that bashing into the wall thing?”

He couldn't help it, the wry expression on her face made him laugh, and she joined in. Then he grabbed her for a quick hug, pressing her fiercely as if he could push away the edge in his earlier words. “I'm sorry if I sounded like I didn't believe you about the skates.”

She rested her head on his chest. “It's okay. I can take it. I'm ferocious, remember?”

He thumbed her chin up and shook his head at that easy smile, the gleeful twist of the lips that carried her through every situation. “Definitely,” he said. The urge seized him to stroke that tumble of hair and press his lips to the silk of her cheeks.
Knock it off, Blanco. That life is long gone.
It had ended when he'd woken up in a hospital bed, irretrievably broken and with an unquenchable anger that he did not want Laney to witness. Ever. He'd hidden himself away from her, from the world, not allowing himself to consider the feelings he'd cherished once upon a time. He stepped back. “I'll see you at dinner.”

She nodded and closed the door.

He was halfway down the hall when she opened the door again. “Max?”

He jogged back. “Yeah?”

She held a small, white rectangle between her fingers. “I guess that reporter really does want to speak with me. He wrote a note on his card saying he hoped I hadn't hurt myself today.” She frowned at the paper. “He was watching the race. All of it.”

* * *

Laney turned the reporter's name around in her mind again as she walked to the dining hall an hour later. Hugh Peterson. Had she ever spoken to him before? She did not think so, but somehow the name dinged a little bell in her memory. There had been many reporters anxious to talk to her before, when she was poised to go for the gold four years ago, and some had followed her progress for a while after the accident, but their interest had eventually died away. The tragic injury of a promising athlete was newsworthy; a long, painful rehab with no guarantee of success was not.

Max was troubled by Hugh's card more because of the fact that the man had been roaming the halls of the athletes' quarters unattended. Somehow he'd gained entry without a pass key. Laney figured it was typical reporter nosiness, though she was uncertain as to why Peterson wanted to speak to her. Sure, it would be a great comeback story, but she was far from any kind of victory. Most media types would wait until after the trials.

You're like a bird, tottering on the edge of the nest. You gonna fly or crash?

The image reminded her of the paper cutout Max had made her so many years ago. How she wished she still had it, to remind herself of the tenderness he'd shown, the sweet, intense man who was so out of keeping with the brilliant short-track star. She shook the thoughts away as she entered the dining hall, saying hello to the benches full of girls, coaches, trainers and the nutritionist who greeted her with anxious inquiries about her health. Furtive looks indicated they'd heard about her father's incident in the parking lot.

Max was at the end of the table, a half-eaten chicken sandwich in front of him. Her father arrived, greeting everyone jovially, a bruise swelling his cheek as he settled in to listen intently to Max. She joined them.

“So this reporter really wants to speak to Laney. Said he's called many times,” Max finished. “Do you remember hearing from him?”

Her father frowned. “What's his name again?”

“Hugh Peterson,” Laney said, sliding onto the bench in time to see her father clank the glass down on the table so hard he spilled a puddle onto the wooden surface.

She blinked. “You told him no before, I take it?”

“Yeah, I did. He doesn't listen very well.”

“Have you met him, Dad?”

“He's no good,” her father said vehemently.

“How do you know him, Mr. Thompson?”

Her father waved a hand. “Not important. I know I don't like him.” He turned a direct gaze on Laney. “You're not to talk to him. He shouldn't have come here after I told him no interview.”

The anger in his tone surprised her. “Why do you dislike him so much?”

“I already said that's not important. Do you trust me to manage these things for you or not, Laney?” He stood, pushing back from the table.

She went to him then, circling him in a hug. “Of course I trust you, Daddy. If you don't want me to talk to him, then I won't. I was just curious, that's all, and worried about that guy with the club who nearly decked you.”

“Max scared him away. He won't be back.” Her father embraced her gently and rubbed circles on her shoulders, soothing, restoring the easy connection between them. “I'm sorry, Laney. I didn't mean to bark at you. I just want to take care of my girls. That's all I've ever wanted to do.”

She pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks. “I know that. Sit down and let's eat. I'm going to Skype Jen soon and we can talk. She's cramming for her biology finals now.” Laney felt the thrill of pride that her little sister, who'd once been an abandoned foster kid, was close to finishing her premed requirements. It was an achievement for anyone, but more so for a girl whose life had started out living in cars and stepping over dirty needles on bathroom floors. Laney thought Jen's accomplishment outweighed any medal from any race.

He set her at arm's length. “Later. I've got to have the car window fixed.”

“But...” She didn't want him out on his own in case he was wrong about the violent stranger.

“I'll be back.” He gave her shoulder a final squeeze and made his way through the throng.

“Why don't you get something to eat?” Max said.

She shook her head. “I'm not hungry.”

He pulled her to sit next to him. “A girl who burns five thousand calories in a day needs to eat. I'll get you something. Stay here.”

She didn't argue. Her thoughts swirled around her father. Dan Thompson was not a man quick to anger. If anything, he'd been blessed with an abundance of patience and an overwhelming helping of compassion. An overworked cabbie, struggling to start his own small taxi business, he'd needed them in order to take in foster kids in the first place. It was a decision he and his wife Linda had made, having no children of their own. And what well of grace had made them take on two girls—a wild six-year-old kid with dirty hair, used to finding food for her and her sister in the garbage can when their mother left on her drug binges, and a selective mute who would not speak until she was nearly ten?