by dlady
Steph shivered and dug in her purse for her mace. She held it tightly in her hand, constantly scanning her surroundings. The neighborhood might be low crime, but she had an active imagination, and a good reason for it. She walked past an alley and could’ve sworn she’d seen a dark figure lurking behind a car parked there. Almost jogging, she listened for footsteps behind her, but the drizzle drowned out most sounds. A dog barked nearby, and Steph jumped, her heart racing.
Taking deep, calming breaths, she tried to get her fear under control. She was fine. Just a few more blocks, and she’d be in the safety of her studio, warm and cozy with a cup of hot chocolate, the gremlins locked outside.
A car turned down the block and drove slowly past her. She couldn’t see past the dark windows, but the driver crept along, either lost or looking for something. She prayed to God that something wasn’t her.
He passed her and continued down the block, turning right and disappearing.
Steph let out a shaky breath. She’d never take the bus again late at night. She’d learned her lesson. Riley would’ve picked her up. The teenager jumped at any chance to drive his uncle Coop’s Mercedes, but she hated putting anyone out.
Across the street, movement caught her eye. She stumbled and regained her footing before falling in a heap on the wet sidewalk. A man with a hoodie pulled over his head leaned against a lamppost on the other side of the street. He was smoking a cigarette, and his gaze followed her. He was oddly out of place in this upscale neighborhood.
She swallowed. Only another long block to go.
Steph glanced at him. His eyes glowed menacingly under the darkness of the hoodie. This man was not Gino. She’d almost prefer the known to this unknown.
She judged the distance to the Blacks’ driveway and knew she’d never outrun him. Had Gino gotten one of his questionable cronies to stalk her? If this stranger wanted to scare her, he was doing a damn good job of it. She’d gotten complacent and assumed she was safe now, but was she?
She swallowed and willed her legs to walk swiftly toward her goal without breaking into a run. If she ran, he would give chase like a dog chasing a cat.
She fingered the mace, flipping up the protective top and holding her finger on the button. Listening for footsteps, she heard none, and chanced a glance over her shoulder.
The stranger still loitered on the corner, his eyes on her. He raised his hand and made a gesture as if he were shooting a gun.
Steph broke into a run. She could hear his sinister laughter ringing in her ears. Whether real or imagined, the effect was the same.
She didn’t stop until she reached her front door. After fumbling with her key, she finally found the keyhole, turned it, and rushed into the room. She dropped her mace and purse on the floor, slammed the door shut, and twisted the deadbolt.
Steph sank to the floor and curled into a little ball, shivering and hugging herself.
This man had been sent by Gino, and it was only the beginning.
* * * *
Sunday afternoon, Jared and the team left on another week-long road trip, starting with a game in D.C. Monday evening. They were hanging in there at second place in the West and with a lot of games left in the season. Jared usually napped after a flight, but all he did was toss and turn on the unfamiliar bed. Finally, he wandered downstairs to the coffee shop for a snack.
He should be thinking about his game, visualizing how to defend against some of Edmonton’s top forwards, but he was thinking about the matchmaker’s assistant instead. She’d been pretty and sweet and soft-spoken. He liked how she watched him through lowered lashes, but he’d been troubled by her skittishness. She wouldn’t be his match, so he needed to get her out of his head. Easier said than done. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, she’d taken up residence and refused to move out.
He glanced up when a chair scraped across the floor. Matt lowered himself slowly into the seat across from Jared, balancing a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a grilled cheese sandwich in the other.
“I signed up with Ethan’s aunties for their matchmaking services.”
Matt grinned at him. “I bet that was an experience.”
“It was. They had their assistant take my application initially, but I met with them the next day.”
Matt narrowed his eyes and leveled Jared with an intense stare. “You met Steph?”
“Uh, yeah, Stephanie. She’s cute.”
Matt’s expression closed off, as if he’d battened down the hatches and locked the door. “She’s emotionally unavailable. Keep that in mind.”
“How do you know her?”
“She’s one of Vi’s friends.”
“I’ve never met her before. Never seen her at your house.”
“I haven’t known her long.” Matt avoided his gaze and dug into his sandwich. “Don’t tell Vi I’m eating this. I’m sure it’s not organic, and it’s definitely not healthy.”
Jared nodded, undeterred. “How long has Vi known Steph?”
“They’re casual friends, so we really don’t know much about her. If you have questions, the best person to ask is her.”
“Never mind. I was just curious.”
“Any prospects for matches yet?”
“Just got interviewed late last week.”
Matt’s face softened. “Those ladies have a way of finding the right match, but it’s weird. Almost like they have a sixth sense or something.”
“Vhat ladies?” Rush slid into the seat next to them, followed by Drew Delacorte, their talented but enigmatic young forward. “You got lead on good escort service?” Rush’s eyes lit up. The Russian loved women, and the more the merrier. In fact, his nickname had more to do with him rushing the ladies and the net like a speeding bullet than it had to do with him being Russian. Right now, he was eyeing the blonde waitress. While hot, she was old enough to be his mother. Rush didn’t care. He never discriminated when it came to females. Short, tall, thin, plump, they were all potential bedmates, and he gave as good as he got, so Jared heard.
Drew sipped his coffee and watched the interplay without comment or expression. Jared knew very little about his teammate other than he was uber-talented, and his father was a hockey god. Lately, Drew rarely smiled, and his play had been mechanical, lacking all emotion or drive. He’d been silent and sullen. Jared had seen the worry in the coaches’ eyes as they studied the guy who’d been pegged as their next star player and tried to figure out what made him tick. Or lately, not tick much at all.
Until lately, he’d partied with the guys, drunk a lot, but never said much, and never left with a woman. Yet Jared was somewhat certain Drew wasn’t gay—not that it would matter to Jared or their team if he were.
Rush had his phone out, his index finger poised. “The ladies? You have number?”
“They’re not an escort service. They’re matchmakers.”
Rush’s eyes grew big, and he shoved his phone back in his jeans pocket. “Not for me. Not looking for long-term committed.”
Jared and Matt threw back their heads and chortled at Rush’s horrified expression. Drew didn’t crack a smile or even smirk. The guy was missing his calling. He should be a pro poker player.
Rush ignored their chortles. Nothing offended the carefree Russian. “You hire matchmaker? Didn’t you just gain freedom?”
“Yeah, but I—”
“You’re fucking nuts,” Drew declared, and his eyes flashed with a rare display of anger and disgust. They stared at him in open-mouthed shock. The guy rarely contributed to discussions other than one-syllable answers or grunts, and never displayed much in the way of emotions.
“Maybe,” Jared conceded. “I like commitment.”
Drew’s frown deepened. “It’s all bullshit. Women want to change you. Make you someone you aren’t. They want your pocketbook, not you. Out of all of us, you should get that.”
“I guess I’m not as cynical as you, buddy.” Jared patted him on the back, and Drew stiffened. He rolled his eyes, picked up a menu
, and hid his face behind it, his brief moment of socialization all but gone.
The other three shared a look of concern. Even Rush, who was rarely bothered by much, shrugged and sighed.
Jared had known men who’d lost the fire, their competitive urge, and their love for the game, but they’d all been fourth-liners or at the end of their careers. Not a blue-chip guy like Drew who had years left to play. Yet Jared had seen Drew pull up near the boards time and time again to avoid a hard hit.
Jared should say something to Coop, or the A captain, Smooth. If anyone could get a guy to talk, it was Smooth. But did he really need to get involved? It wasn’t like Jared didn’t have enough problems of his own. Like his love life, or lack thereof.
Jared lifted his coffee and took a long sip. Stephanie—or Steph—had made an impression on him. He had to believe the women he was actually matched with would be even better. Yeah, he had to believe that. Steph wasn’t the one, but the sisters would take care of him. They had a great track record. Or so he was told.
Right now, his personal life issues needed to be locked into their private place to be pulled out at a later date. He had hockey to think about.
* * * *
On Monday morning, Steph asked Riley to drop her off at the McIntyre sisters’ mansion on his way to school. She was still a little—okay, maybe a lot—freaked out by what happened last Thursday night. She’d called in sick to work at the sisters’ on Friday and stayed home all weekend escaping into romance novels. Fantasy men were so much better than real men. She hadn’t told anyone. She didn’t want Vi or Izzy to fret about her. Most likely it was just some stranger toying with her.
Riley pulled up to the curb and shot her a glance. “I won’t be able to pick you up. I have practice after school.”
“That’s okay. I can walk home.”
“You could borrow Otto to escort you to and from work. He’s harmless, but he’s big and imposing, and he has a great bark.”
Otto was Riley’s Newfoundland. Steph could imagine what the McIntyres’ cats and poodle would have to say about the huge, lumbering beast invading their domain, not to mention the sisters themselves.
“I doubt the sisters would like that.”
“They love Otto.”
“They’ve met him?”
Riley grinned an engaging, lopsided grin. “Yeah, he’s visited before.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Steph said. She didn’t know much about dogs. She’d never had one growing up. “The sisters have cats.”
“Otto likes cats. Or, at least, he ignores them.”
“Thanks, Riley, but—”
“Don’t worry.” Riley put his SUV into park in front of the McIntyres’ massive entryway. “They can’t resist me.” He winked at her and hopped out.
With a sigh, Steph followed him. He was adorable. She imagined all the teenage girls at his high school had major crushes on him. She would if she were his age.
The sisters met Riley at the door with hugs. They fawned all over him, and the teenager ate it up, grinning from ear to ear.
Next thing Steph knew, she was going to work each morning with Riley’s bear of a dog. She didn’t admit to any of them that such a huge animal scared her. When she thought about it, just the size of Otto would be enough to deter anyone from approaching her. For that reason alone, she didn’t argue, not that any of them gave her a choice.
And the next day, Steph walked down the street in a misty rain with a huge, hairy black beast next to her. Riley had forgotten to mention the animal slobbered worse than her grandfather had on a morphine drip after his hip surgery.
She tentatively held the leash, slightly shocked at how easily Otto walked alongside her, never once pulling and always keeping his nose even with her leg, except for a few times when he forgot his manners and stopped to sniff and pee on an irresistibly enticing bush, the one time she stumbled and almost fell. Otto gave her an apologetic look and blinked those big brown eyes, did his business, and they were off again.
He kept throwing tentative glances her way, as if he considered her slightly unbalanced. A long line of drool hung from his lip and swayed as he walked.
Ugh.
She shuddered.
Mounting the steps to the McIntyre mansion, she rang the doorbell. Otto sat obediently next to her, and she couldn’t help thinking the dog was messing with her. He rubbed her thigh with his big head, leaving a long line of slobber down the leg of her jeans. Steph grabbed the drool rag Riley had given her and wiped off his mouth and her jeans. The big dog looked up at her, the picture of innocence, but she swore he was laughing his big butt off.
Agnes opened the door and swept Otto into her arms, unmindful of the drool and black dog hair adorning her once-immaculate cream knit suit. All seemed right with the world.
Steph settled in to work, while Otto seemed perfectly happy to lie on her feet and snore. The cats eyed him with suspicion, but he didn’t acknowledge their existence. The poodle sniffed at him and strutted away, as if he wouldn’t be caught socializing with such a furry monster.
Finally, Steph looked up. She hadn’t seen any effort on the sisters’ part to match Jared with the myriad eligible young women in their database, yet they’d been scheduled to do a personal interview with him last Friday.
“How did the interview with Jared go on Friday? Do you have any potential matches for him? He seemed eager to get started.” Steph’s interest was purely business, of course.
Agnes stopped chewing on the end of her pencil, stuck it behind her ear, and looked up. Iona took a sip of her ever-present wine and scowled at Steph, but a good scowl, not one of her watch-out-I’m-pissed scowls.
“Jared?” Agnes seemed puzzled.
Iona raised a darkly penciled, razor-thin brow.
“The hockey player for the Sockeyes,” Steph said.
“Which one?” Agnes was being purposely obtuse. She’d already revealed her love for all things hockey, especially the young men with their tight asses. Iona would only admit to liking the fights and slams against the boards. They knew whom Steph was referring to.
“Jared Roderick.” Steph managed to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
“Ah, Hot Rod.” Agnes winked at her. Much to her horror, Steph could feel her face heating up.
“Yes, him.”
“We talked with him. Nice young man. He finally dumped that gold-digging bitch who had her claws in him,” Iona said.
“After his divorce, he’s looking for a nice girl,” Agnes said. “You know, the churchgoing type who never swears and wears conservative clothes and would never cheat on him.”
“Somewhat like you, dear,” Iona said innocently. It wasn’t a good look on her.
“No, not like me.” If they only knew, and thank God they didn’t. Steph glanced at Otto, who chose this moment to rest his slobbery chin on her knee. She ran her hand over his silky fur and refused to meet the eagle eyes of the two elderly women. They saw too much. It was unnerving.
Steph glanced up in time to see the two sisters exchange all-knowing glances. Heck if she knew why. They were behaving oddly.
“He’s lonely, and he needs someone,” Steph stammered, feeling as if she were digging a bigger hole. They seemed to have the impression she was interested in him, which was ridiculous. She didn’t want a man, and this man was out of her league anyway.
Again, another look between the two.
“Did you have a chance to read his questionnaire?” Steph pulled it off a stack of papers on the desk and handed it to Agnes, who gave it a cursory glance and handed it to Iona, who did the same and tossed it in the garbage. Confused, Steph looked from one to the other. “Don’t you want to keep that?”
“We know what we need to know. We spoke with him,” Agnes said.
“One conversation was all we needed, if that,” Iona added.
“But the form is extensive,” Steph said.
Agnes waved her off. “We rarely consult them, but the form makes the
clients feel better.”
Steph frowned and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course, you don’t,” Agnes said. “Love can’t be reduced to words on a form. Love is more magical than words on paper.”
“We’re successful because our matches are spiritual via psychic visions and intuitive perceptions,” Iona said. “The average person doesn’t use the gifts they’ve been given. Don’t even acknowledge them. We know. We feel. We perceive.” She sipped her tea with a self-satisfied smile, as if her words explained it all instead of making Steph even more confused.
“But the other day, you didn’t know a prospective match had been a stripper.” Steph held her breath.
“We don’t know details,” Agnes said. “We know feelings. We can see things, but not always clearly. Being a psychic is not necessarily something a person can control. The visions come and go; they don’t necessarily appear because we want them to. Some people we can’t read, and we tell them we can’t help them. It only takes a short time to determine if they’re a good fit for what we do.” She poured herself another cup of tea, added one lump of sugar, and lifted it to her lips.
“For example, we can help you when you’re ready,” Iona said.
Agnes nodded her agreement.
“You can read me?” Steph asked.
“Yes, but we try not to unless you want us to so don’t fret about it,” Agnes assured her.
“About Jared?” Steph needed to bring this convo back to the subject.
“We have possibilities,” Iona said. “What woman wouldn’t want to date that hottie? If only I were younger.”
“Stick with the program, Iona,” Agnes said.
“Fine. We have a very good candidate, in fact. We’ll arrange something for his next night off. Is he on a road trip, Agnes?”