Chapter 26 #3
“Good. Dillon deserves to suffer.” Logan chuckles, and the tension from moments ago dissipates.
“I told you, I don’t need you lying to protect me,” I whisper, peering up into his handsome face.
“Yeah?” His eyes graze my lips. “What do you need from me, then?”
This arena is always an icebox, colder than the air outside in the dead of winter, and yet the urge to tug off my scarf is overwhelming as sweat prickles my nape.
It takes me a few long moments to gather my decorum. “I need you to stay off people’s radar—”
Two players slam into the boards in front of us, rattling the glass and drawing attention to this spot as the ref calls another penalty.
From the stands, I see Dillon lean over to Donna, and I can imagine what he’s saying.
Is that Emery standing next to Logan Landry?
Is she watching her daughter’s game with that convict, in front of everyone?
Sure enough, a moment later he’s digging out his phone and ten seconds after that, my phone chirps.
I won’t give my ex the satisfaction of checking the message, let alone answering it. “Enjoy the game,” I say to Logan, swiftly walking away from him.
And toward Axel Murphy, wedging myself between him and a parent.
Ian’s son glances over at me before shifting his focus back to the ice, pretending not to know who I am. As if they don’t all have a picture of my face up on a wall somewhere with a strict “Do not talk to her” warning attached to it.
Fine, he wants to play dumb? Two can play that game. I force a wide smile. “Hey, you run Iron Hook Towing, don’t you?” His toque bears the logo.
He eyes me warily. “Yeah.”
“I heard you were a big help at that accident last month. The woman who hit two deer.”
Recognition flickers in his gaze. “Right. That was a gnarly night.” He hesitates, as if not sure whether he should engage. “Do you know if she made it?”
“She did. Some broken bones, but nothing that won’t heal.
” I settle against the glass and watch Isla’s team set up their power play, passing back and forth as the other team scrambles to keep them outside.
Isla sees an opening and fires off a shot.
It sails over the goalie’s shoulder and into the back of the net, earning a round of cheers.
“Nicely done,” I murmur, more to myself, too focused on subtly questioning this guy. “So, who are you here to watch?”
Axel’s mouth curves in an exaggerated frown. “No one. Had a call for a dead battery in the parking lot out front. Thought I’d come inside and catch a few minutes.” He checks his watch. “Time to get back to work.” With that, he marches away, pushing through the closest set of doors.
Plausible? Yes.
But he sure moved fast. Is he avoiding more questions?
There are several cameras on the outside of the arena and, unlike the Bale House, they’re too high up to smash. I make a mental note to check his story on Monday.
A scuffle on the ice pulls my eyes back in time to watch Isla lunge at an opposing teammate, shoving her hard. The girl—Erin Griffin, I recognize—manages to stay on her feet.
Until Isla takes a swing at her face cage, sending Erin backward to sprawl like a starfish, earning shouts from the Cold River parents in the stands.
I frown. This is not like Isla. She may be aggressive during the game, but to go on the offensive when the puck’s not in play—moments after she scored—isn’t her style. It’s stupid, and with a stickler ref, she’ll get punished.
Sure enough, the whistle blows, and after the officials confer at center ice for a lengthy moment and then visit the bench, Isla is skating for the rink door, and a five-minute penalty goes up on the board for one of her teammates to serve on her behalf.
I curse.
By the time I round the rink, Isla has already charged off to the change room.
Logan is where I left him. “Did you see what happened?” The fight unfolded in his corner.
“Yeah, your kid has a nice right hook,” he says, too calmly.
“This isn’t funny,” I hiss.
“No one’s laughing.” He sighs. “Words were exchanged. The Cold River player said something Isla really didn’t like and she reacted.”
“With her fist, though?” After shoving the girl first? Again, that’s not my daughter. She’s learned to shrug off chirping and get her revenge in the game. There might be an odd trip or hook here and there when the ref’s not looking, but never anything that’s grounds for a suspension.
Then again, it isn’t every day she learns we’re no closer to finding her best friend than we were a month ago.
“She’s dealing with a lot,” Logan says, almost echoing my thoughts. “Whatever that girl said, it really got under Isla’s skin.”
A shoe scuff against the concrete is the only warning before Dillon descends on me. “What the hell was that?” he barks, as if I were the one on the ice, throwing down.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Logan saw Erin say something to Isla that set her off.” Those two girls have known each other since grade two. At one point, they were close.
Dillon shoots a glare at Logan before dismissing him without so much as a greeting. “It doesn’t matter. Physical violence is never the answer.”
“Yes, we agree on that,” I say slowly, trying to keep my cool. “I told her about Holly’s case before the game, and maybe that—”
“You did what?” And there goes Dillon’s hands on his hips. Every time he takes that stance, I want to punch him in the face. “Why would you do that before a game?”
“Because I figured it was better she hear it from me than through the Cold River grapevine.”
He purses his lips—a move that says he knows I’m right but will chew off his tongue before he admits it. “You had no right to make a decision like that without running it by me first.”
“Oh, fuck off.” I’ve had enough. I turn away, intent on finding Isla in the change room.
“Hey! We’re not finished.” Dillon grabs my forearm.
In an instant, Logan moves in, his shoulders squared off.
“I’m fine,” I warn, my hand in the air to keep him at bay. If I wanted to, I could knock Dillon on his ass in a blink.
Dillon releases his grip of me and lowers his voice to say, “Honestly, Em. You’re already taking heat with Holly’s investigation and now you chum up to him in front of half the town?”
“I can still hear you.” Logan’s smirk is crooked.
“Don’t you have a curfew to abide?” Dillon snipes.
“Don’t you have a mistress to get back to?” Logan retorts without missing a beat.
“Stop causing a scene. Both of you,” I scold as skaters battle over the puck nearby.
“You’re doing that all on your own.” Dillon leans against the glass, feigning attention to the action on the ice.
“I haven’t done anything except come here to watch my daughter play hockey.
” And slide in a little soft suspect questioning.
“And as far as me taking heat for Holly, it’s what happens when a missing person isn’t found.
It’s unavoidable. But the investigation is ongoing, and these officers are doing their jobs. ”
“They’re gone. On to another case.”
“They’re following orders from the regional office who pay them. As soon as a new lead comes in, Terry and Schmidt will be on it.”
“There’s no way they looked into every lead. No way.” He folds his arms. “Brad Whitley’s already called me twice today, demanding more officers on the case. And I agree with him. This is unacceptable.”
“More officers won’t magically produce new leads.” I force a wide smile. “And I’m managing with what you voted to give me. Any time you want to add budget, I’ll be more than happy to increase headcount.”
He shakes his head. “You can never handle not having the last word, can you?”
“You want the last word? You’ve got it.” I spin on my heels and march down the hall toward the change room just as Cold River scores.