On Thin Ice Read online

  “Dammit! This is impossible.” Sasha tossed aside the sheet of paper and stared out the hotel room’s third-story window through eyes glazed with tears.

  Her fist opened and closed on the tabletop; her chest rose and fell rapidly while she struggled to get a grip on her emotions. Finally she sucked in a deep breath and slowly expelled it. She swallowed a sip of her diet cola, never noticing it had gone warm and flat, and, gritting her teeth, reached for the paper once again.

  It was Mick’s list of names of the people who had been on the amateur circuit at the time of Lon’s arrest.

  God, this was so hard. She didn’t want to believe any of these people were capable of wanting to hurt her, yet she had to consider each and every name. But really, Dave DiGornio? Jack Berensen? Karen Corselli? Come on.

  She tried to block out what she personally felt for the individual as she came to his or her name on the list. The only way this would ever work was to make the assessment based solely on the facts. Okay. Dave DiGornio. What did she know? He came from a monied, warm, and generous family. Jack Berensen. She didn’t really know much about his background, but she liked him. Karen. Yeah, right. Sasha balled up the list and threw it across the room.

  This was impossible.

  SEVENTEEN

  Lon watched Karen during her “Lord’s Prayer” number. She skimmed the ice lightly, sweet as an angel in her trademark silver, blond hair in its prim bun shining under the cool blue spotlight that followed her around the rink as she swooped and spun.

  You didn’t by any chance tell your “stranger” you’d given me your word you wouldn’t sell again, did you?

  He shook his head. Sasha was crazy; Karen wouldn’t hurt a fly.

  Would she?

  Well, sure, she was a bit of a control freak. And she lived for power, no doubt about that. But attempted murder? Karen-Mind-Your-Language-and-Don’ t-Take-the-Lord’s-Name-in-Vain-Corselli?

  Come on.

  Yet the uneasiness that had sprung to life at Sasha’s words persisted. How consistent, when it came right down to it, was Karen’s piousness with her red-hot aptitude for sucking the chrome right off a trailer hitch? The disparities in her personality were the very things that had always sort of excited him about her, but he had to face it, she definitely acted like different women at different times.

  Still.

  There was a huge difference between giving an excellent blow job and trying to hurt someone. The woman prayed all the time, for God’s sake. And what the hell made Saush believe that what had happened to her and Amy Nitkey was anything other than accidental anyway?

  Still.

  Karen did seem to crave knowledge of every little detail of Sasha’s life, no matter how trivial. She also recognized that Sasha had the power to sway his behavior. And Karen didn’t like anyone having more power than she did.

  Still.

  He watched her, all grace and fragility on the ice. And made a rude noise.

  One of the stagehands raised his head, looking Lon’s way. “You say something, Morrison?”

  “Nah.” Lon turned away and went to join the line skaters lining up to go on next. “Except that Sasha Miller is stone crazy.”

  Mick stood watching Sasha during her “Playing with Fire” routine. Man, you’d think he’d be used to it by now but it still made his mouth go dry every time he saw it. Aware of someone joining him in the arena entrance, he reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the ice and looked down. Standing beside him was Connie Nakamura and she didn’t even glance at her friend out on the ice. Her black, almond-shaped eyes, beneath heavy theatrical makeup, were staring up at him assessingly.

  He returned her look for several moments, then blew out a deep, disgusted breath. “Ah, shit. She went and told you, didn’t she?”

  Connie gave him her best imitation of an inscrutable smile and raised both eyebrows inquiringly. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Vinicor.”

  “Don’t jerk me around, Nakamura. She told you. I warned her not to talk about this to anybody.”

  “Oh, that’s just perfect, Vinicor.” Connie dropped all pretense of not understanding. “My God. You men really do take the cake. You’ve turned her life upside down, but she’s just supposed to take it on the chin?” Her voice, although pitched low for privacy, was charged with fury, and the look of pure contempt she directed at him was not in the least bit diluted by makeup that stood out garishly beneath the harsh backstage fluorescents. “Hey, it’s not as if anybody seems to give a rat’s rear end that she’s suffering,” she said sarcastically. “Let’s just all be sure that she has the decency to suffer in silence.”

  She hadn’t heard language the likes of which slipped through the barrier of his gritted teeth since the day she’d first laid eyes on him in that hotel hallway in Sacramento. Her eyes widened and she instinctively drew back when he leaned aggressively close to bring their faces to a more equitable level.

  “I don’t like it that she’s suffering at all, damn you,” he said in a hoarse whisper. His blue eyes burned with a host of indefinable emotions, and his big hands knotted and unknotted into hard fists at his sides. “You think I wanted things to turn out this way?”

  “Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t in your game plan to get caught.”

  “I didn’t want her to be hurt! That’s the last thing I wanted. But what the fuck was I supposed to do, Connie? I was sent here to do a job, and I was doin’ it. At the same time I was busting my hump trying to keep from falling in love with her. Well, I screwed up on both counts, okay? Man, she was there, getting to me, every damn time I turned around, and I didn’t want to believe she could be the one peddlin’ this killer shit, but all the evidence seemed to point right at her.”

  Forcing his fingers to uncurl, he thrust both hands through his hair and stare down at Sasha’s best friend. “I swear to God I didn’t sleep with her until I was convinced of her innocence, but of course she doesn’t believe that now.” His own memory was a bit convenient but the bottom line was that the only reason he’d slept with her was because he’d wanted her. Not because he needed information to make the case, not because of her secrets . . . it was her. “She thinks I was only looking for a piece of ass and hers was the handiest.”

  “Well, can you blame her, Mick?” Connie saw the very real anguish in his face as Sasha’s performance out on the ice drew his attention away from her, and some of the indignation she’d been harboring on her friend’s behalf faded. “And did you really imagine this house arrest thing is going to further your cause?” she inquired in a more temperate tone. “That’s the weirdest damn arrangement I’ve ever heard of, and if it’s the least bit legal I’ll eat that big wooly patch I bought Saush right off her damn jacket.”

  His attention snapped back to Connie with antagonistic intensity. Hell, no, it wasn’t legal. That, of course, was one of the very reasons he hadn’t wanted Sasha telling anyone about it. “You planning on tellin’ her that?” he demanded.

  It was difficult not to react to the hostility in his voice, but she forced herself to stand still and simply gaze back at him without speaking.

  Mick scraped his hair back off his forehead again, then let his hands drop to his side. He sighed. “I guess it’s no secret she’s furious with me, and she’s got a perfect right to be, okay?” he said in a voice that was strangled by the moderation he forced into it. “I screwed up big time; I admit it.”

  Then he suddenly seemed to grow taller in front of Connie’s eyes. He shook off the role of penitent and was imbued with that air of command he carried so naturally as he stood there looking down at her. “I screwed up,” he repeated, then added grimly, “But do you honestly want her running all over creation on her own? I didn’t warn her that she could be in danger merely for the chance to save our relationship, Connie—although I plan to do exactly that. I told her because I’m convinced she is in danger. At least this way I’ve given myself an opportunity to protect her a little better.”

&nb
sp; The sheer arrogance of his proclaimed intention to redeem his relationship with Sasha almost made Connie smile. The guy had done absolutely everything wrong; he’d lied to Sasha, he’d spied on her, he’d stolen her damn underwear, for heaven’s sake. Yet he harbored no doubt he could get her back. Beautiful.

  Out of the blue he inquired, “What made you say, ‘you men.’ ”

  “Huh?”

  “A few minutes ago you said, ‘you men take the cake.’ ” Personal considerations were abruptly submerged and he was suddenly one hundred percent cop again. “You didn’t say, ‘you take the cake’; you said, ‘you men.’ I want to know why.”

  “Oh, give it a wild stab, Vinicor. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

  He looked at her in frustration for a moment, then suddenly scowled. “Morrison? Did Morrison do something to hurt her?” He took a step closer. “Is she okay? I’ll kill him—what’d he do?”

  A snort of laughter escaped her. “I take it back—you really do take the cake. Hands down and all by yourself.”

  “Save your lip for another time, Nakamura. What the hell did Morrison do to hurt Sasha?”

  “I think you’d better take that up with her.” She eyed him consideringly. “Or better yet, why don’t you compare a few notes with Lon himself? It’s not inconceivable that the two of you could arrive at a satisfactory solution to this situation if you tried putting your heads together. And that would make everybody happy.” She blinked. “Well, more or less.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” Mick snapped. He looked around, saw that nobody was nearby, and leaned closer. “But what the hell happens if he says, ‘kiss my ass’ and then tells his partner I’m a narc?” he demanded in a soft voice. “The risk to Sasha could multiply a hundredfold, and there’s simply no way I’m gonna put her in that kind of danger.”

  “I can’t believe Morrison would ever put her in that kind of danger either,” Connie retorted, but Mick was no longer paying attention to her.

  His entire focus had reverted to Sasha as she arrived in the wing and prepared to climb off the ice. He snatched her jacket up off the floor and carried it over to where she was balancing on one skate as she fit a blade guard to the other. As she straightened he draped it around her shoulders and pulled it closed with his fists, effectively pinning her arms to her side and holding her prisoner. He leaned down and pressed a quick, fierce kiss to her lips. Pulling back, he demanded, “What’s Morrison done to hurt you this time?”

  “Oh, very tactful, Vinicor,” Connie murmured. She pursed her lips, rolled her eyes, and beat a hasty retreat, knowing Sasha was not going to be thrilled with her for saying even the little bit that she had.

  Sasha leaned back from the waist and regarded Mick through narrowed eyes. “Let go of me,” she ordered in a low voice. She hated the way all her hormones stood up and screamed for more after that single too-brief contact with his mouth.

  He loosened his grip on her jacket, brought his hands up to tunnel beneath her hair at her nape and freed it from inside her collar, spreading it out carefully over the wool and leather of her jacket. Then he stepped back. “You’re not going to tell me what Morrison did to upset you, are you?”

  She stared at him without speaking.

  “Wonderful. The silent treatment again.” He regarded her with frustration. “Dammit, Saush, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, all right? How long are you going to make me keep paying for what I did?”

  He realized later that when she still refused to speak to him, he should have simply turned around and removed himself from the situation. But it wasn’t his infamous street smarts that whispered with the cool voice of reason into his ear; instead, hot emotion took control. For the past week he’d been wrestling to cope with a massive vulnerability, the power of which he’d never even dreamed could exist, and her continued refusal to speak to him proved to be one blow too many for his pride to gracefully take in stride.

  He wanted to yell, to shake her ’til her teeth rattled. What he did instead was take a step back and say with cool arrogance, “Then the hell with you, lady. I’ve had it up to my back teeth with groveling.”

  His eyes traveled over her from the topmost curl of wayward black hair to the tips of her skates in a slow and deliberately insolent appraisal, as if to say, “And frankly, I don’t even know if you’re worth it.” Then, executing a smart about-face on his heel, he rapidly strode away without a backward glance.

  Sasha took her own sweet time navigating the deserted fourth-floor corridor. She’d spent as much time in the bar and then in Connie’s room as she dared, but as much as she’d been tempted to spend the night with her friend, she had in the end been too chickenhearted to attempt it, afraid Mick would show up to haul her back to his room. It was true that he was apparently quite fed up with her. But his damn job was something he took very seriously indeed, and if she failed to show up for “protective custody” bed check she wouldn’t for a moment put it past him to come banging on doors until he found her. At which point he would probably drag her away by force.

  She was strolling past room 426 when 428 suddenly opened up and Lon stepped out into the hallway, softly closing the door behind him. Sasha felt her jaw literally drop open as she stopped dead in her tracks. That was Karen Corselli’s room.

  The look on his face when he turned and saw her standing there might have been comical at any other time, but at that precise moment she was still too stunned to give it the appreciation it deserved. Resisting the urge to shake her head like a punch-drunk boxer, she set herself in motion once again.

  Swearing softly beneath his breath, Lon snagged her by the upper arm when she came abreast of him and hustled her slightly ahead of him down the hallway to the elevator. He had stubbornly refused to give credence to Sasha’s speculations that his partner wished her harm because of a promise he’d given to her, but all Lon knew for certain at this moment was that he didn’t want Sasha anywhere around if Karen should suddenly decide to stick her head out into the corridor. He didn’t draw a complete breath until the elevator doors had slid shut behind them, enclosing them inside.

  “Oh, my God,” she said in a faint voice and had to quell a sudden, adolescent urge to giggle. “It’s true then what the guys have been saying about Karen? That she . . . that she, uh...”

  “Likes the horizontal boogie?”

  “Karen Corselli? ”Sasha demanded incredulously and shook her head. “I’ve heard rumors to that effect of course, but I gotta tell ya, Lonnie, I’m still having a hard time believing it.” She eyed him speculatively. “And you and Karen? Boy, there’s a combination I never in a million years would have figured.” She was silent then as the elevator descended, gazing at him as if answers to all the questions percolating in her mind would emblazon themselves across his forehead if she only looked hard enough.

  They didn’t. “So,” she finally inquired as the doors slid open at the lobby level. “What’s she like then?”

  Lonnie looked a little beleaguered. He rubbed at the side of his neck and looked around. Then, taking her by the elbow, he escorted her off the elevator and across the lobby to the lounge. “Come on. If you really think it’s necessary to hash this all out, the least you can do is buy me a drink.”

  “As long as you hold up your end of the bargain and spill your guts,” she agreed, surreptitiously checking the denomination of the one bill left stuffed into the front pocket of her jeans and then following along amiably in his wake. It was a ten; that ought to buy a couple of drinks.

  “A coke for the lady, and I’ll have a Heineken,” Lon told the cocktail waitress moments later, and she nodded and started to turn away.

  “Miss?” Sasha stopped her. “Make that a Smith and Kerns instead of a coke will you?” She’d already had several drinks this evening and probably shouldn’t have another. But really . . . Turning to him when the waitress had departed, she said dryly, “I’m not twenty years old any longer, Lon. You seem to have a difficult time rememb
ering that.”

  And that, she thought, was probably their basic problem in a nutshell. From the moment they’d reunited he’d acted as if she’d been wrapped in cotton batting and left on a shelf somewhere for the past five and a half years. He seemed to think she was exactly the same as the last time he’d seen her, regardless of the years that had passed or the experiences she’d gained in that time. Sasha looked at him across the table and said evenly, “While you were in stir, I was busy growing up.”

  “Yeah, okay. Sorry.” He rolled his shoulders uneasily. If Vinicor was an example of one of the ways she’d grown up, then frankly, he didn’t much care for it.

  On the other hand there wasn’t anything he could do about it, so he supposed he might as well learn to live with it.

  “So, tell me about Karen,” she invited. “How long have you two been”—she twirled her hand—“you know.”

  “You know?” The smile he gave her was slanted by irony. “I’d say the growin’ up process has a ways to go if you’re still calling sex ‘you know.’ ”

  “Nice dodge, Morrison. But I’m not budging until I get some answers. How long have you been sleeping together?”

  “A while,” he said gruffly. “And Karen’s okay. She can be bossy, which you probably already know, but she’s also sexy and sometimes there’s a real vulnerability about her.”

  “Really? Give me a for instance.” Vulnerable would have been the last characteristic Sasha attributed to her.

  “Well, she’s deathly afraid of—” He broke off suddenly and drilled Sasha with an intent stare. “This is just between you and me now, Sasha, y’hear me? All of it—my relationship with her, what I’m about to tell you. It’s not to go any further than the two of us. And that includes Lover Boy.”