Love Inspired Suspense January 2014 (53 page)

TWELVE

L
aney threw herself into ice time with as much vigor as she could muster. The fast laps were just what she needed. Bunched in with the other skaters, the ice dampened with buckets of water to make the surface less brittle and primed for speed, there was no room left over for preoccupation.

Laney relished the opportunity to focus her mind on one thing and one thing only: going fast and hard over ice, the thing she loved more than any other activity on earth. It was not a racing situation, so she felt no pressure, and even the fatigue held off until nearly the end of the exercises. Then, as they circled around to hear Coach Stan's comments, Laney noticed the blank expression on Max's face.

Of all the people to lose focus. She waited until they broke to go and tease him. “Daydreaming?”

He did not smile.

“What's wrong?”

He held up her cell phone. “You got a text while you were skating.”

She flushed. “You shouldn't be checking my texts.”

“Didn't have to. You didn't have your phone locked and the text popped up.” He thrust it at her. “You've arranged a meeting with Hugh Peterson.”

She raised her chin. “Yes, I have.”

“That's a bad idea.”

“He knows something. He mentioned Ancho's name, and besides...”

“Besides what?”

“I think my father needs the money.”

Max started to answer and then looked away toward the great domed ceiling of the arena.

“You think so, too, don't you?” she said quietly.

“Not my place.”

“I'm being really careful. We're meeting at a coffee shop, a public spot, at the not-so-scary hour of six o'clock. No bogeymen out at that time.”

He still didn't smile. She tried to change the subject. “Saw you sharpening that boy's skates. You're going to ruin your grizzly-bear reputation.”

“His name is Nolan, and you're not going to believe what he gave me.”

“What?”

“Go get out of your skin suit and I'll tell you on the way to town. We don't want to be late for Mr. Peterson.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. When Max was determined, something dangerous flashed down in the depths of his eyes, turning them flat and cold. She'd seen it just before races when he'd broken world records and crushed his competitors. It was there now, just as dangerous.

In a few minutes she was back in sweats, gear safely stowed, and sitting in the passenger seat of Max's truck. He handed her a photo.

Emotions rushed to the surface as she peered at it. “I remember this. It was just before...” She swallowed. “Well, anyway, where did you get it?”

He directed her to open the duffel bag near her feet and she examined the sharpening kit while he retold Nolan's story.

She made him tell it again. “What you're saying is that you think Nolan found the car that hit us?”

“It's a possibility,” he said. “Small white car, cracked windshield, with speed skating equipment inside and a photo taken before the accident. That's pretty coincidental.”

“And that car isn't there anymore.”

“Probably not, but there might be some of it left.”

She shook her head to clear it and suddenly there were tears. Everything inside went all wobbly.

Max grabbed her hand. “I'm sorry to bring it all up again.”

“I don't want to remember it,” she whispered. “I think that's why I never have. I don't want to remember, like you. I've moved on. In the past few years I've gotten flashes of memory, but I turn it off because I want it to stay buried.”

He gripped her fingers, his skin warm, hers cold.

“I'm sorry, Laney. I don't want to go back there, either, but I think whatever happened then is connected to what's going on now.”

She sniffed. “How could it be, Max? How could that terrible accident have the slightest thing to do with my skating? Or Trevor Ancho? That was years ago.”

“I don't have those answers yet, but the junkyard is a place to start.”

“So you're going to check it out? On your own? Without the police?”

He ran a hand through his hair, which pushed it more into a rumpled state than it had been. She longed to finger the black wave that fell across his eyebrow.

“I think we need to be careful not to draw any more attention to you right now, and going to the cops with Nolan's story isn't going to help much. Let me check it out. If there's anything to find, I'll go to the cops without involving you.”

She gripped his palm. “No, Max. I'm in it. I'm going with you to check out the junkyard.”

He withdrew his hands. “It's better if you don't.”

She fished a tissue from her jacket pocket and wiped her face, then collected her flyaway hair into a more presentable shape. Plastering a smile on her face, she took a calming breath. “Well, you butted in on my visit with Peterson, so consider me your partner from here on in.”

The winter sun was low on the horizon, casting shifting shadows over the snow-clad ground. His face was dead serious. “Laney, you could lose your spot for the trials.”

“We'll be careful.”

He banged his palms on the steering wheel. “If you miss out on the team again, because of choices I made, I won't be able to forgive myself.”

She joined his hand once more with her own and grazed her lips over his knuckles before planting a soft kiss on his thumb. “I think that's your whole problem, Mr. Blanco. You haven't forgiven yourself for a lot of things.”

Max didn't answer, but she saw him swallow convulsively and he allowed his hand to rest in hers until he pulled into a space in front of a wood-sided coffee shop. A sign with cheerful red trim proclaimed it The Daily Grind. Cutting the engine, he shook his head. “How about we take it one step at a time? Let's find out what the good Mr. Peterson has to say.”

“Is this like the ‘you've gotta put on the skates before you can start to sprint' advice you usually give me?” she said with a grin.

The look he gave her seemed exasperated and tender. “Birdie, you are something else.”

She got out of the truck, savoring the nickname, letting it roll around her heart just for a moment, reminding her of the sweet bond they used to have, the time captured for one split second in the photo. Though he didn't know it, she remembered him taking the picture, his strong shoulders silhouetted in his skin suit, smile radiating confidence and something more, admiration for her. Love, even?

Doesn't matter what it was,
she reminded herself sternly.
He's your trainer only, and he's made it abundantly clear that's all he wants to be.
Something in her heart thrilled anyway, as she walked close to him, a part of her that did not seem to hear anything but the rush of warmth she felt as he put a hand on the small of her back and led her inside.

* * *

Max held the door for her and they entered the small shop, the air redolent with coffee, wooden tables filled with customers sipping lattes, chatting and peering at their laptops. He tried not to look too obvious as he scanned the tables for Hugh Peterson. Finally Max spotted him at the very back of the shop, in a small battered booth festooned with pictures of Frank Sinatra in the early years. As they wove their way through the scattered clusters of people, Max was startled to spot Jackie, Tanya and Beth sitting at a corner table. He fixed on a smile and went to greet them, Laney following.

“Hello there,” he said.

“Hey, girls,” Laney said brightly. “Had a caffeine craving?”

Beth raised her cup in salute. “Decaf latte with cream. Even the prisoners get treats once in a while.”

Jackie did not rise to the bait. Instead, she sipped her black coffee.

Tanya laughed. “I'm just tagging along, soaking up the strategy talk.”

Jackie caught Max's distracted look. “Meeting someone?” she said.

He was not sure how to respond, how much to make public. Trevor Ancho appeared to be the enemy, but he had a feeling Ancho wasn't the only one interested in seeing Laney fail.

Laney saved him from replying. “Just gonna talk to the reporter. See if I can set up an interview quick in case I crash into another wall and have to retire or something.”

“You won't crash,” Tanya said. “I'll bet you got it all out of your system.”

Beth sipped her drink through a straw. “Never know, Tanya. Any of us can go down at any time and take their fellow skaters right along with them.” She was not smiling when she said it, until she looked at Max. At him, she beamed a breathtaking grin.

Jackie's face was grave as she studied Beth. “Well,” she said finally. “We don't want to make you late for your meeting.”

Feeling the three women staring at them, Max led Laney through the crowd and slid into the booth across from Hugh, Laney beside him.

Hugh chewed on his mustache, sat back with folded arms. “Ms. Thompson, I didn't think you were going to bring your bodyguard with you.”

“Max isn't a bodyguard,” Laney said.

Unless I need to be.
“You wanted to talk to Laney, so talk. And we've got some questions of our own to ask.”

Hugh sucked down a mouthful of coffee from a chipped brown mug. “What might those be?”

“What do you know about Trevor Ancho?”

Hugh swallowed and wiped his mustache with the back of his hand. “I know he's the reason I can't see out of my left eye and why every time it rains my shoulder gives me fits.”

Max wanted to wait, to let the silence lengthen until Hugh felt the need to fill it. Unfortunately, he hadn't clued Laney in on the plan.

“What are you talking about?” she said.

“I mean, I was the journalist who was assigned to your hit-and-run. I got there while you two were being loaded up in the ambulance. You,” he pointed at Laney, “were mumbling about a white car with a cracked windshield.”

Laney blanched, and Max scooted closer to put an arm around her.

“It was snowing pretty hard by then, and the cops were photographing, so I did a little exploring on my own, saw some tire tracks leading up the mountain, but I lost them after a while. Hit-and-run. Somebody driving drunk who didn't want to face the music. End of story, or so I thought.”

Max felt her tremble. His own stomach was in knots. Someone who didn't want to face the music left two people to die in the snow. He cleared his throat. “Go on.”

“Two days later I'm in a bar in Levinston, that's a town about ten miles from here, and there's a guy there, who'd had way too much to drink. He starts talking about this job he did, getting rid of a car, a white car that he was ordered to crush. Couldn't figure why someone would want to ruin a perfectly good car with only a small dent in the fender and a cracked windshield.”

Laney moaned. “I feel sick.”

Max asked the waitress for a glass of water and insisted Laney drink some. “Did you confront the guy?”

“I arranged to meet with him, for a small fee, of course, at a park in Levinston, only someone else got wind of the meeting and two guys were waiting for us. Beat us both within an inch of our lives. Guy from the bar managed to get away and I never saw him again. Me, they left for dead, but I was stubborn enough to live and here I am. Took me a long time to get my health back, years in fact. Had to move around for a while to make ends meet, but now I'm back, ready to see things made right.”

“What does Trevor Ancho have to do with all this?”

“The guy from the bar dropped his wallet, and I found Trevor Ancho's name on a piece of paper.”

“Doesn't prove anything.”

“No, it doesn't. Ancho's a contractor here, well respected and upstanding citizen, but I happen to know he dabbles in the loan-shark business and he's dirty.” Peterson put down his coffee mug. “I think he had something to do with making that car disappear. I don't know why and I don't know how, but if he is responsible and paid those guys to beat me up to get me off the trail, he's going down. If it takes the rest of my life, I'll see to it.”

Max tried to read him. “So this is a revenge thing for you? To bring Ancho down?”

Peterson gave him a hard smile. “I don't expect you to understand this, son, because you never spent time in the Hanoi Hilton like I did during the Vietnam War. You were never tortured and dehumanized like I was. It changes you. For me, it left me knowing that I would never allow a human being to brutalize me again. Ancho did, and he's going to pay for that.”

Peterson's face was a hard mask with a strong current running underneath.

“Why Laney, then?” Max asked. “Why have you been trying so hard to talk to her?”

“Because you saw the driver of that white car,” Peterson said, eyes riveted on her. “You are the only one who witnessed it, and I've heard you're beginning to have some memory return.”

“Who did you hear that from?”

He shrugged. “You hang around the arena long enough, you hear things. My dad was Canadian, and we're big speed skating fans. I like to watch as many races and training sessions as I can.” His eyes narrowed. “Until they kick me out.”

A tiny beep from Hugh's phone drew his attention. “I've got to go. I have an appointment.” He leaned close. “If I'm right, and Trevor Ancho was responsible for helping that hit-and-run driver escape, then he's not going to want you to remember that accident because whatever you have buried in that memory of yours can put him away.”

“The police...” Laney started.

“Aren't going to do a thing unless I come up with some compelling proof, and so far I've got nothing concrete. They did their investigation looking for that white car, and it's not a priority for them anymore.”

“I think there's something else,” Max said. “There's some other connection that you're not telling us. Ancho's pretty bold if he's behind messing with Laney's skate and forcing her into the trunk of his car.”