On Thin Ice Page 27

  She took off after her.

  But it was too late. She called out as the elevator door began to close, but Sasha either didn’t hear or chose not to respond. Her face was austerely composed, her eyes fixed with unblinking attention on the lighted number panel above her head, as the doors that separated them slid silently closed.

  Lon’s fingers were stiff with the need to hurry. One by one he picked live ammunition out of the bullet chambers and tumbled in blanks in their stead. He’d only had time to exchange two-thirds of them when he was interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening.

  Whispering a curse under his breath, he shoved the gun back into its hiding place, swept the live ammunition off the comforter into his palm and tossed it, along with the box of blanks, into the pocket of his jacket on the chair next to the bed, hoping to hell he wasn’t going to clatter like a baby rattle when he put the damn thing on. He threw himself onto his back in the middle of the bed, stuffing his hands behind his head in a pose of nonchalance he was far from feeling just as Karen strolled into the room.

  And immediately knew he was in trouble. She looked just as beautiful, just as desirable, as ever. His heart was thumping double-time, adrenalin was pumping through his veins, danger was in the air, and there was a woman in front of him wearing next to nothing. He should have been hornier than a sailor on shore leave. Yet, he looked at her and knew that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to perform for her.

  Ah, Jesus, this was just what the situation called for. First this morning and now again. If he didn’t get aroused, her suspicions sure as hell were going to be. He’d never been fussy before—if it was warm and wet, he was its man. So why did his damn dick have to pick now to develop a conscience?

  Karen sat down on the bed beside him and reached out a hand to stroke his hard stomach. There was a little half smile tugging at the corner of her lips and he could see she was on the verge of speaking. But before she could say a word he’d shaken her off and rolled to his feet.

  When in doubt, pick a fight.

  Pacing restlessly, he prowled to the window, pulled back the drape, and looked out. Dropping the curtain, he turned back to face her. He shoved his hands into his pockets and rolled his shoulders. “Let’s go out.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Karen frowned at him. “There’s not enough time before tonight’s program.”

  “Bullshit,” he said testily and prowled the circumference of the room. “We’ve got a few hours yet before we have to be at the arena. Time enough.”

  She didn’t like being contradicted but she took a deep breath and humored him. “Okay. Then how about this? You know we don’t dare be seen together.”

  “Oh, screw that, Karen.”

  “Lon,” she began, but he cut her off impatiently.

  “Dammit to hell,” he snarled. “I’m sick of being cooped up in here. If I’d wanted to have this many restrictions placed on my life I coulda stayed in jail.”

  “I have been trying to be patient,” she said in long suffering tones, “but I’ve had quite enough of your foul language.” Then the strained tolerance in her voice disappeared and she added in her usual autocratic manner, “You will refrain from swearing in my presence.”

  He was across the room in two strides to loom over her. Grabbing her chin in his hand, he jerked it up and leaned down until they were eyeball to eyeball. The muscles in his jaw jumped erratically. “Don’t tell me what I can or cannot say,” he snapped. “Now, grab your friggin’ coat and let’s go.”

  “No,” she stated adamantly. “We can’t be seen together.”

  “Have you rented your car yet?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Drive it two blocks to the north and pick me up there,” he instructed her crisply. “And that takes care of that problem. We’ll go to the other side of town where no one on earth is gonna know us.” Releasing her chin, he turned away.

  And spotted a bullet in the carpet beneath his jacket, whereupon he nearly had a heart attack. But glancing back at her face, he realized her attention was fixed too intently upon him to have noticed it as well. He casually crossed to the area and holding her gaze, he picked up his jacket, sat down, and lounged on his spine. He hooked the neck of his jacket over the arm of the chair, which allowed the bottom edge to puddle on the carpet over the gleaming bullet, and beneath its cover, dangled his arm over the side and swept the bullet into his hand. He slid it into the pocket and raised an eyebrow at her with all the insolence he could muster.

  He’d been pretty sure her incessant need to maintain control would make it impossible to take a direct order from him. To his gratification, he discovered he was correct. Karen’s chin went up.

  “I’m the one calling the shots here, Mr. Morrison,” she reminded him coolly. “Not you. You seem to have a problem remembering who’s in charge. Now, it’s too dangerous to be seen together and I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Then I’m outta here, baby.” He looked her up and down. “You sure you don’t want to change your mind and come along with me? This is your last chance.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him coldly. “I believe you know what you can do with your last chance.”

  “Fine.” He slapped the chair’s arms, gathered up his jacket, and rose to his feet. “I guess I’ll just have to go rustle up someone who’s a little more fun than you. That should take about ten minutes.”

  He heard something hit the door seconds after he closed it behind him, making him wince. It probably wasn’t especially bright to piss off a woman with a gun. But at least he was spared having to come up with an excuse for why he was once again unable to perform.

  Sasha stood in the shadow of a piece of scenery and watched Mick. She couldn’t have said why, precisely, but then she hardly recognized herself or any of the things she did these days. Full of pain and anger, she tried to remember the last time she’d laughed, couldn’t, and wondered if she’d ever laugh again. The soundtrack the music director had made mocked her night after night as she glided into the spotlight. Most likely the big phoney smile she worked to paste in place fooled no one either.

  She tried to keep her eyes on the set mover in his big rubber boots, but her gaze kept sliding past him to the man with whom he was speaking. Mick. Dammit, what was wrong with her? For over a week now he had been trying to talk to her, to get her to forgive him, and she had turned a deaf ear to it. Now that he’d stopped, now that his words were impersonal and he looked at her with the same polite courtesy he’d accord his maiden auntie, she wanted to make up. God, it was so crazy, but she wanted to hear him say “I’m sorry” just one more time and wanted to say in return “yeah, okay, you’re forgiven; just, please, please don’t lie to me ever again. And hold me. God, Micky, hold me, I’ve missed that so much.” She’d never known how safe his arms had made her feel until it was taken away.

  But those words were never going to be said. Mick was leaving when this whole mess was over and she had too much pride to try to convince him to stay.

  There was a concerted groan from the audience and Sasha knew whoever was on must have fallen. Whose performance was this? By concentrating on the music for a moment it came to her. Oh, sure, Karen Corselli. She shrugged. It happened to all of them at one time or another.

  It took her by surprise when Karen sought her out at the conclusion of her own performance. She was walking down the back hallway on her way to the line skaters’ locker room to change into her street clothes when the blond skater fell into step beside her.

  “His.”

  “Hi, Karen.” Sasha racked her brain for something further to say, but she really didn’t know the other woman all that well and with an inward shrug finally gave up the attempt.

  “I suppose you know I fell tonight,” Karen said glumly.

  “Afraid so. I didn’t see it, but I heard the crowd. I’d tell you ‘it happens’ but since I’ve never been able to shrug it off lightly myself . . .”


  “Exactly. Thanks anyhow.” I’d like to tell you it happens, Karen mimicked with silent viciousness. To you, maybe. As for me, I did it on purpose, you namby-pamby little incompetent. And don’t think the necessity didn’t gall me, either Her thoughts hid behind guileless eyes as she turned toward Sasha. “Um, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

  “Fire away.”

  Karen almost laughed. Oh, I shall, eventually. “Would you stay after the show and go over the ice with me? I know you always check these rinks out thoroughly.”

  “Oh, Karen, I don’t know—”

  “Please,” Karen put a soft hand on Sasha’s forearm and looked earnestly into her eyes. “If I’d simply fluffed it on my own, I’d shrug it off as bad luck and walk away. But there was a divot in the ice and I want to mark the spot in order to avoid it for the rest of the engagement. I know you know where every flaw is located. Please, Sasha.” Abruptly her head turned aside. “What?”

  “Beg your pardon?” Taken aback, Sasha craned her own head in an attempt to see what was going on.

  “Huh?” Karen turned back to her. Then a flush climbed up her throat and onto her face. “I’m sorry, you must think I’m such a fool. I thought I heard somebody say something.” She turned redder yet, scared by the voices that kept whispering in her ear and lethally furious that Sasha Miller of all people had been a witness to her witless behavior. “So will you?” she forced herself to plead sweetly. “Please? You don’t have to worry about catching the bus; I’ve rented a car.”

  Sasha really didn’t want to, but it was the blush that got to her. Karen had always struck her as such a chilly and composed woman that to see her all flustered like this was kind of disarming. She grimaced. What the heck—what would it hurt to give her a half an hour of her time? Besides, she could use the time herself since her hangover had prevented her from going over the ice this afternoon.

  And it wasn’t as if anyone was holding his breath waiting for her to get home. Stopping at the door to the locker room she shrugged and said, “Okay then. Sure.”

  “Thanks, Sasha.” Karen gave her a smile of surprising warmth. “I’ll see you in the rink after the bus leaves.”

  Sasha stood with her hand on the door handle and watched her walk away. Then, with a little smile and a shake of her head, she turned the handle and pushed the door inward.

  “Saush! Wait up.”

  Hesitating, she looked down the corridor. Connie was jogging down the hallway toward her, her hands on the skate boots slung around her neck keeping the laces pulled taut to prevent the boots from banging against her chest with the motion. Sasha let the door close once again.

  Breathless, Connie skidded to a halt in front of her. “Why was Karen Corselli getting so chummy—she wanna be your new best friend?”

  “No, she just wants me to—”

  “Never mind; forget about her,” Connie interrupted. “She’s not the reason I tracked you down.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Saush, I’m sorry about this afternoon. I’ve had something on my mind that I’m having a hard time getting a handle on, but I didn’t mean to go all Joanie Junior High School on you.”

  Sasha’s mood elevated instantly. “Yeah, you really oughtta learn to be more mature.” She nudged her friend’s shoulder with her own. “Like me.”

  Connie grinned. “I’ll take that under advisement,” she said. “So, how’s your head?”

  Sasha touched it gingerly. “It’s going to stay on, I think.”

  “And has your love life improved since we last talked?”

  “I wish. Oh, Connie, it just keeps on getting messier.”

  “Well, mine has taken a twist.”

  “Yes?” Sasha perked up. It had been about eight months since Connie had had a boyfriend. “Tell me.”

  “I’ll tell ya on the bus, but you have got to give me your word you won’t go ballistic on me.”

  Sasha waited for her to elaborate and when she didn’t, said indignantly, “You can’t just say something like that and then leave me hanging. Come on! Tell me now.”

  “I can’t Saush. You hotshot headliners may be all finished for the evening, but the rest of us peons still have another number to do, remember? I’ve got to be back on the ice in—what?—seven minutes? I’m going to need longer than that to talk to you about this, ’cause it’s complicated. I’ll tell you on the bus.”

  “Then at least give me a little hint to hold me until—ah, no, damn! ”Sasha thumped the door frame with her fist. “I’m not going to be on the bus, Connie.” She flapped her hand in the general direction that Karen Corselli had exited. “That was what Karen wanted. She asked me to go over the ice with her so she doesn’t land on her butt tomorrow night like she did tonight. Ah, dammit anyway, I didn’t particularly want to do this in the first place.”

  Connie nodded in understanding. “Because she’s one of the ‘possibles’ on Mick’s list?”

  “Uh, well, no,” Sasha replied and grimaced. “I sorta forgot about that, to tell you the truth.” Then she made a disparaging noise and waved it away. “Nah, c’mon, can you honestly picture Karen Corselli mixed up in a drug ring?”

  “Our Lady of the Perpetual Snow? Hey, really, why not? Drug dealers must come in all shapes and sizes. It’s true I can’t quite see Miss Squeaky Clean in the role, but what do you suppose a typical dealer looks like, anyhow?”

  “I don’t know. Some skinny Columbian with a pockmarked face and patent-leather hair?” Then she sobered. “I shouldn’t joke about this, because when it comes right down to it what the hell do I know? I mean, let’s face it, Connie, I never would have picked Lon as a pusher either.”

  Connie didn’t have the time to pursue that particular avenue right then. “If it wasn’t the list thing, then why weren’t you hot to help her out tonight? I mean, I know she’s not exactly a bosom buddy, but you’re usually such a sport about that sort of thing.”

  “Well, it’s just . . . I feel sorta awkward knowing she’s been sleeping with Lon . . .”

  “What? ” Connie’s voice came out in a strained whisper.

  An expression of guilt flashed across Sasha’s face. “Oh, great, so much for my word that I wouldn’t tell anyone, huh? I guess I’ve got brass calling Mick a liar at every turn—at least he knows how to keep a secret.”

  Connie grabbed her arm. “Beat yourself up some other time,” she said through gritted teeth. “I wanna know how you know about Lon and Karen.”

  “I caught him coming out of her room last night.” Sasha took in the paleness of her friend’s face and nodded. “I know, it’s kind of a shocker, isn’t it? No matter how many rumors have been circulated about her, it still about knocked me off my feet.”

  “A shocker,” Connie said with some bitterness as she loosened her grip on Sasha’s arm. “Yeah. That’s one way of putting it.”

  Sasha looked at her closely. “Am I missing something here?” It was beginning to occur to her that Connie’s distress went deeper than the situation seemed to merit.

  “No. Look, I’ve gotta go, Saush.” Connie couldn’t seem to draw a complete, to-the-bottom-of-the-lungs breath, and she had to remove herself before she did something really stupid . . . like started to scream. “I’m gonna be late.”

  Sasha was disconcerted by the abruptness in her friend’s voice but said gamely, “Okay. Listen, I’ll see you as soon as we finish up here, okay? What room are you in? I’m dying to hear your news.”

  “Oh, God,” Connie said with a strangled laugh. Then without answering the question she turned on her heel and fled, leaving Sasha to stare after her in bewilderment.

  Mick glared at the charts he’d compiled. Dammit, the answer had to be in here somewhere. He’d eliminated a few names on the basis of who had been in the crowd immediately following Amy Nitkey’s hit-and-run. Dave DiGornio, for example, had been easy. He’d been talking to his father and Cathy on the patio when Amy was struck; ergo it wasn’t possible that he was the driver. One name off the list. Two others w
eren’t quite as cut and dried but they were close enough. Mick recalled seeing them within a time frame in which he thought unlikely that the driver could have ditched his car and blended back into the crowd.

  Presuming he’d bothered to blend back in at all.

  He tapped his pencil on the next name on the list. Karen Corselli. Huh. Doubtful. All the same, he didn’t write anybody off without compelling evidence, so give it some consideration. What did he know about her?

  She preached at the drop of a hat. She set his teeth on edge. She was uptight, easily offended, and tight assed.

  But not so tight assed that she’d hesitated to grab him by the balls.

  He threw down his pencil and sat up straighter. What with one thing and another he’d forgotten about that. Jesus. It was an anomaly that should have jumped out at him right off the bat, but he’d been preoccupied with Sasha. It was for reasons such as this that surgeons didn’t operate on their own family members and cops should never get personally involved with women on their cases. He rolled his shoulders. Well, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it now, so concentrate on what he knew. Karen Corselli. Dainty, mealymouthed, and devout. Okay so far, but . . . Militant about stamping out offensive language, but not an iota of shyness when it came to glomming onto the crotch of some guy she hardly even knows and obviously doesn’t like? Fondling him, inviting him up to her room, while simultaneously chastising him for taking the Lord’s name in vain?

  This was not the profile of an entirely reasonable personality.

  Mick shoved back from the table and went to the closet. Pulling out his suitcase, he opened the false bottom, pulled out his ID and gun, then kicked the suitcase aside. He checked the clip, snapped it into place, and shoved the gun into his waistband, pulling his sweater down to cover it. Sliding his identification into his hip pocket, he picked up his keys and left the room.