On Thin Ice Page 5

  More important than having an adolescent wish realized, however, this coat was significant to her because she’d bought it the day her mother died. Carole Miller was in her thoughts every time Sasha put it on.

  Connie was responsible for the purchase. Sasha had been knocked flat by the news of her mother’s death, and unable until the following morning to get a flight out of the city they were currently playing, she’d nearly climbed the walls, not knowing how to deal with her grief. She’d holed up in her hotel room, alternately crying and staring into space, until Connie had come knocking at her door.

  “C’mon,” she’d insisted the moment Sasha had opened it. “You know those jackets you’re always raving on about? We’re gonna go downtown and get you one.”

  “Maybe another time, Connie,” Sasha had retorted listlessly, starting to close the door again. “Today’s not a good day to go shopping.”

  Connie had blocked the closing door. “Ah, now that’s where you’re wrong,” she’d disagreed firmly, barging in and bundling Sasha into a coat. Gathering up her friend’s purse and room key, she’d placed them in Sasha’s hand and then held her off at arm’s length, her hands gripping Sasha’s shoulders while she looked her straight in the eye. “Today is the best possible day to buy yourself something you’ve been wanting to buy forever. I think your mom would get a real kick out of knowing you were treating yourself to something special in her honor.”

  And so Sasha had bought this deep red wool jacket with its camel leather sleeves. Two cities later, Connie had found an athletic supply house and bought her a thick wool letter S, arranging to have it applied to the front. For her birthday a bunch of the skaters had gone together and custom ordered a woolly silver FOLLIES ON ICE to put on the back. Jack the bus driver had bought her a skating patch for the sleeve. It was like no other coat anywhere in the world and she loved it.

  She loved the woman who over her protests had dragged her out to make the purchase. It had been possibly the worst day of her life. But warm memories, which the coat inspired every time she slipped into it, was like an ongoing healing process, so she was grateful she’d allowed herself to be coerced.

  Pulling the coat closed against the backstage chill, she joined Connie and Mick. Connie gave her a one-armed hug and whispered, “Good program.” Then Sasha turned to Mick. Thrusting out her hand she smiled up at him. “Hi again. I didn’t stop to introduce myself when I ran into you earlier,” she said. “I’m Sasha Miller.”

  Mick gripped her hand, giving it a firm shake. “Mick Vinicor.”

  His fingers were hard skinned, dry, and warm, and Sasha blinked at the jolt that went through her at their touch. “Yeah, I . . . uh . . .” She cleared her throat. “I know.” She gathered her wits. “That is, Connie told me about meeting you this afternoon.” She realized he was still holding her hand and slipped it free. Unconsciously working her fingers, she opened and closed them at her side.

  Jeez, what was this? She suddenly felt and was acting like a damn high school girl. But he was standing very close, giving her his undivided attention, and for some odd reason she couldn’t seem to draw her eyes away from his.

  She cleared her throat again. “Uh, listen, sometime before we leave Sacramento I need to sit down with you for a few minutes and go over a few things.”

  “Sure.” Mick nodded agreeably and took a step back, giving her a little space. “What sort of things do you have in mind?”

  She drew a deep breath and quietly expelled it, feeling on safer ground with some distance between them. “Just the usual business stuff that Henry used to take care of. Like making arrangements for me to have first day access to the arenas where we perform. It’s important to me to be able to check out the ice in a new place and I’m hoping you’ll continue where he left off.”

  “No problem.” Without warning he once again closed the gap between them. Standing close, eyelids developing a sudden carnal heaviness, he looked down at her. “I’m in room 415; stop by anytime. We’ll . . .” His gaze fastened on her mouth, his tongue slipped out to touch his lower lip. Then his eyes rose to meet hers. “ . . . talk.”

  Connie choked. When Mick turned his head easily in her direction and Sasha, with a little more effort, dragged her gaze from Mick’s to look at her, she coughed a few additional times and waved a hand at them. “Swallowed wrong,” she explained, pressing the tips of two fingers to the hollow of her throat. “Well, hey!” she said brightly the moment she got herself under control. “I’d better go change my costume. I’ll, uh, talk to you two later.” Without awaiting a response, she turned to go.

  “Wait, Connie, I’ll go with you.” Sasha turned to Mick. “See you, Mick; I look forward to working together,” she said and moving as fast as her delicate blades would allow, hurried to catch up with her friend.

  Connie flashed her a sidelong glance but waited until they reached the locker room before saying anything. Then she turned to face Sasha, fanning her cheeks with her fingers. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. That man is potent,” she declared.

  Swallowing, Sasha nodded her agreement. That was the God’s honest truth—more potent than anything she’d ever before come across.

  “At first when he was standing so close and looking at you—the way he was looking at you—I was a little jealous. I mean, I saw him first after all.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t say dibs.”

  Connie laughed. “Yeah. And just as well, I think, too. I have a feeling that fella is way more man than I’d know how to handle.”

  Sasha grabbed Connie by the wrist and dragged her over to the frayed couch in the corner of the room. “And you think I can?” she demanded, collapsing onto the dusty cushions. “Even supposing that I wanted to . . . God, Connie, he probably comes on like that to every woman he comes into contact with.”

  “No, I don’t think so, Saush.” Connie sat down next to her. “I stood there talking with him for a while and there wasn’t so much as a hint of anything like that. Not with me, not with Karen this afternoon, and not with Brenda, Lois, Mary, or Sara, all of whom came up for introductions about the time you were coming off the ice. God, when he said ‘we’ll . . . talk,’ I about swallowed my tongue. I think what he was really saying was, ‘come to my room and I’ll rip all your clothes off and do stuff to your body so nasty it’ll make you scream.’ ”

  Sasha licked her lower lip. “It wasn’t just in my mind then,” she said slowly. “I thought maybe I was exaggerating the . . . vibrations.” She rubbed her hands down her thighs and gripped her knees. “Wow,” she whispered. “He’s good. I mean, I’m used to those guys who drool all over me after they’ve seen me perform, and I know how to handle them. But he’s a lot more subtle—which makes him about a hundred times more effective.” She turned her head to look at Connie. “I take it it’s safe to assume he watched the ‘Playing with Fire’ number?” Dammit, how many times had she been through this, through the multitudinous come-ons from men who thought she was what she skated?

  “Yeah, he did,” Connie acknowledged. “And I’m as sure as I can be, without having checked to see if there was any action going on behind his fly, that it turned him on. But I think you’re seriously underestimating the man if you think he’s the type to allow himself to be led around by his hormones. Y’ask me, if he’s decided he wants you, it’s got nothing to do with having watched one performance on ice.”

  “Maybe. But in a way, Connie, that’s an even scarier scenario, don’t you think? Because, I mean, you’re right.” She leaned over and tugged at her laces, working them loose to take off her skates. Finally, she looked up at her friend. “He is potent and you’re not the only one who wouldn’t have a clue how to handle him. There’d be no staying in control with that guy.”

  “So you’re going to just let an opportunity for a romp with a man like that one pass you by? Ah, Saush, tell me it isn’t so.”

  Sasha’s laugh was involuntary and nervous. “Well, at the very least I think I’ll ex
ercise a little native intelligence for once in my life and arrange for any future meetings between the two of us to be conducted in the hotel coffee shop.” Her eyes held confusion when they met Connie’s. “Maybe if we didn’t have to work with this guy for God knows how long...”

  She blushed and gave Connie a sheepish smile. “You know I’m not a big fan of one-night stands, but I’m telling you, Connie, it would be a real temptation if this was just someone who was going to be left behind when we move on.” Then she shrugged and shook her head. “But that’s not the case; he’ll be coming right along with us when we leave. So, yeah, I believe I’m gonna steer clear. Who needs the aggravation? No,” she mused, and Connie wondered just whom she was trying to convince here, “I really don’t think it’s smart to complicate a working relationship with sex.”

  Mick had different ideas on the matter. Restless and edgy, he stalked the corridors of the arena trying to burn off the synapse of hot energy that pulsed along his nerve endings and arced between his cells. Mixing sex with business sounded like a fine idea to him. It sounded just about right in fact. Mixing a whole lot . . . of both.

  Okay, so it wasn’t what had been in the game plan when he’d set out on this assignment. But she’d changed the rules tonight when she’d stood there staring up at him with that fraudulent wide-eyed uncertainty. He didn’t like being played for a fool.

  God, he had to hand it to her, though, she was good. Mick unknowingly echoed the same sentiments Sasha had expressed about him. Hell, she had to know how good she looked, yet she was smart; she hadn’t played that angle at all. Instead she’d worked it casual and friendly and then had stood there all but trembling when he’d turned up the heat a little. Those big gray eyes had told him all sorts of contradictory stories. They’d seemed attracted but uncertain. Come closer, they’d said; stay away.

  Hell, yeah. She was damn good.

  He’d never in his life played the whore for an assignment, no matter how important it was. Well, call him a slut, but this was one instance where he was more than willing. He’d spent most of his time the last few years hanging out with the dregs of the earth. But they at least were halfway honest about their unrelenting avarice. Most of them owned up to it; they didn’t pretend to be something diametrically opposed to what they actually were. Just who did this little honey think she was fooling? No one who sold product that killed off half the junkies on the West Coast was saving it for marriage.

  But if that’s the way she wanted to play the game, then he would, by God, play it right along with her.

  FOUR

  Mick never got an opportunity to play it one way or another. Sasha Miller managed to avoid him quite handily for what remained of the Follies’ Sacramento run. Only once were they alone together and even then “alone” was a relative term. She requested a meeting to discuss the arrangements she’d previously mentioned, but insisted on holding it in the hotel dining room. They were alone in the sense that nobody bothered them, but it was in the midst of a roomful of diners.

  And just to add to his general frustration, even her phone remained mute.

  He knew better than to expect instantaneous results on any assignment but found it aggravating nevertheless in this instance. For the first time in his career he was impatient, anxious to rush a case, unwilling to let it unfold at its own pace. In all his years of doing covert work, he had never felt the pull of an unwanted attraction involving the subject of an investigation, and be it involuntary or otherwise, the fact that he was battling such an attraction now made him competitive in ways he’d never before encountered.

  Dammit to hell, it took more than a pretty face and a great body to distract Mick Vinicor from his given goal. True, his quarry were generally men. But he’d been offered the favors of innumerable girlfriends, whores—hell, even the occasional sister or wife—in the course of previous investigations. Sometimes, if the woman herself was willing and not simply the chattel of some drug czar, he’d availed himself of those offers. More often he hadn’t. But never had the potential for sex possessed the ability to distract him from his objective.

  And he wouldn’t permit it to distract him now. The attraction for Sasha Miller might be stronger than any he could remember in a long, long time, but he didn’t give a damn how sweet faced this little skater dolly was; he’d blow her out of the water before he’d allow her to lead him around by the gonads.

  His mood was decidedly dark the last few days of the California run.

  Further opportunity to advance the investigation into the next phase didn’t arise until the end of the week. When the skaters left for the upcoming leg of the tour they were transported by air, Follies policy stating its performers were to be conveyed by bus only if the ride could be accomplished in four hours or less.

  At the conclusion of the final show in Sacramento, the road crew packed up the semis and hit the road early the following morning. The skaters, however, were given a rare day to sleep in, a few hours to themselves in which they could catch up on their laundry, simply be lazy, or go out and explore the city before they had to leave to catch the afternoon flight for Eugene, Oregon.

  Thinking this would be a good time to begin the seduction of Sasha Miller, Mick went to her room. She wasn’t there and he was unable to track her down before it was time to catch the bus that would take them to the airport. Cursing both himself and the suits who’d assigned him to this case, Mick’s intention when he turned in his room key was to grab the seat next to Sasha on the bus. He needed to begin insinuating himself into her life and was anxious to get on with it. The sooner he wrapped this business up, the quicker he could get back to the type of cases he was accustomed to.

  However, he hadn’t calculated Connie Nakamura into the equation. On time for once in her life, she outmaneuvered him as they jostled for position in the bus’s narrow aisle. Knocked out of the way with one economical movement of the petite Asian woman’s hip, he took a seat in the row behind them and openly eavesdropped on their conversation. It garnered him absolutely nothing in the way of new knowledge that could advance his case.

  He vowed to do better on the airplane, but his assistance was required in his role as manager and by the time he untangled the problem, the two women had boarded the plane and were once again sitting together. Mick stood in the aisle, hands on his hips, and stared at them a moment with barely concealed irritation. Jesus, were they joined at the hip or something?

  As if knowing exactly what she had thwarted, Connie grinned at him knowingly. Gritting his teeth, Mick gave her a feral grin in return and moved on. To add insult to injury, the only available seat on the plane was next to Karen Corselli. Ah, hell. That was all he needed to round off an unproductive and exasperating week.

  He half expected to spend the flight being forced to listen to another lecture regarding the foulness of his language. But Karen pretty much ignored him as she stared out the tiny porthole window.

  Until the turbulence struck.

  They hit a pocket of bad weather just as they were passing over Roseburg. The plane took a pounding as they bucked head winds, causing it to shudder and shake a bit.

  At first Mick merely assumed Karen was a nervous flyer. The airplane took a little swoop and she gasped and grabbed for his leg, nervously clutching him just above the knee. The next bit of turbulence had her gripping his thigh. Mick patted her hand reassuringly.

  Two minutes later, her fingers were softly groping the denim of his fly.

  “Jesus Christ!” Mick jumped a foot. Head whipping around to stare at her, he felt himself gaping like an idiot. God Almighty. He had long ago ceased believing there was anything left in this world that could shock him.

  Only to discover in that moment that he was mistaken.

  Was this the same young woman who just three days ago had read him the riot act for using obscene language in her presence? When it came to shock value, not much could beat having her grab his crotch out of the blue. It did the trick, absolutely, stunning him nearly
speechless.

  Heads turned at his involuntary exclamation and Mick did something else he hadn’t done in years. He blushed. Karen’s head was still averted, but it was turning in his direction as he grasped her wrist and yanked her hand away from his lap. Her fingers stretched to administer one last surreptitious stroke even as she instructed him coolly, “Kindly don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

  “Holy shit, lady,” he whispered hoarsely. “What’re you, crazy? ”

  “Mr. Vinicor,” she reprimanded him frigidly, “I will not tell you again. Watch your language.” Then in an undertone, as the plane’s engines whined with the change of altitude, she murmured without even bothering to turn her head in his direction, “You’re the man in charge of room assignments so I assume that means you know what my room number will be.” Her head turned briefly to meet his astounded blue eyes and she passed a delicate tongue over her lips. Her voice was contrastingly crisp when she instructed, “Come see me.”

  Mick was jumpy and unnerved the rest of the flight. He’d been an agent with the DEA for nearly twelve years and had dealt with many diverse personalities. It was an aspect of the job he’d always taken for granted; it simply came with the territory and was an accepted part of the job description. Hell, he’d broken bread with sociopaths and conned psychotics; he’d partied with conscienceless killers and out-lied pathological liars, all without breaking a sweat. Bringing one small-time dealer to justice should be a piece of cake in comparison.

  So then why did it feel as if this were shaping up to be the screwiest goddam case he’d ever had the misfortune to be assigned to?