“Janorowski’s the town pump.”
“Then she doesn’t have a damn thing to lose by telling the truth, does she?” Mick plowed his fingers through his hair. “What’s the deal here, McMahon? Even if Miller was the hottest thing since the Happy Hooker, what has it got to do with us or the operation? The only possible value she could still have to this case would be publicity wise . . .” His voice trailed away.
Ah shit.
“Bingo,” he said quietly. “That’s it, isn’t it?” The question was purely rhetorical, given the charged silence on the other end of the line. “How did you envision the headlines, sir? Something along the lines of OLYMPIC SILVER MEDALIST’ S REIGN OF TERROR ENDED BY DEA? Or maybe you foresaw something with a yellower tinge. Wait—I’ve got it: SLUT SKATER ENDS SLAYING SPREE, SURRENDERS TO DRUG ENFORCEMENT ADMINISTRATION. WEST COAST ADDICTS BREATHE EASIER.” Anger was an ice-cold knot in his chest. “Give me the information I requested,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “And don’t send that snot-nosed kid to deliver it.”
“You can be replaced, Vinicor.”
“Yeah, so I can. I can also cause a stink so severe it’ll take the agency years just to live it down. You know damn well I don’t like drug dealers, McMahon. But you know what I like even less? Seeing an innocent woman railroaded in order to make some ambitious suit look good.”
Mick replaced the receiver with gentle care.
Then he sat back and chewed on the fact that he’d just made an irrevocable decision concerning the future of his career in the Drug Enforcement Administration.
He was feeling aggressive by the time they reached Spokane. “Here.” When Sasha reached the head of the line awaiting room assignment, he reached into his pants’ pocket and pulled out a key, thrusting it at her. “This is to my room. You’re staying with me.”
She studied his expression in silence for a moment, then took the key and turned away without a word. He watched her walk away until Connie’s impatient, “Vinicor, do you mind?” dragged his attention back to what he was doing. Finding Connie’s place on his roster, he passed her the appropriate room key.
He didn’t know what to expect when he got to the room. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see the occupied sign flipped on above the doorknob, in which case he’d be shit out of luck, because not even a key would get him in then. Luck was on his side, though. This hotel didn’t boast that particular security feature and the key turned smooth as silk when he inserted it. He stepped inside and closed the door.
Sasha’s framed photographs and personal stuff were already scattered around and the shower was going in the bathroom. Mick tossed his suitcase on the bed and snapped open the clasps. Pulling out her purloined panties, he stuffed them in the hidden compartment containing his DEA equipment, gun, and ID and closed it back up again. He started to empty his suitcase but the sound of the shower lured him. Looking at the closed bathroom door, he kicked off his shoes and began pulling off the rest of his clothes.
Sasha jumped when the shower curtain abruptly swished open with a click of its rings, her right hand slapping in sheer reflex across the top of her left breast. “Jeez, Mick, you scared me half to death!”
He climbed in the tub, jerked the curtain closed behind him, and turned to her. She was staring up at him with big eyes, her hair in an unwieldy topknot that was listing heavily to one side and precariously anchored in place by a pair of rhinestone-studded, enameled black chopsticks. He made a sound deep in his throat and bent down to kiss her.
One minute Sasha was all alone; the next she was up against the tub-enclosure wall, with Mick’s back blocking all the spray from the showerhead and his mouth moving on hers with an urgency that was only minimally in control. As approaches went, it had all the finesse of a Stone Age courtship ritual. If only she could think straight, she was sure she’d decide that this was just too Neanderthal to be the least bit arousing.
But all her analytical circuits were blown, so all she could do was respond. And what she responded to most strongly was the neediness in him. Mick was not a needy man by nature, but he seemed to require something from her right now that she was, by God, going to give to him. Ignoring the too-tight grip of his arms, the almost painful roughness of his mouth, Sasha simply hung on and kissed him back as best she could.
“God.” Mick ripped his mouth free and stared down at her, breathing raggedly through his mouth. “I’m sorry; I’m hurting you.” He started to release her but she tightened her grip around his neck.
“No,” she said. “You’re doing just fine, Mick. Don’t stop holding me.”
“Ah, Jesus.” Then his mouth found hers again and emotions that had cooled down for a brief moment escalated out of control once again.
Seconds later he was blazing a hungry path down her throat. Then his hands were on her waist, lifting her against the wall. “God, I love your nipples,” he muttered, worrying one with his teeth, his tongue, his gaze snapping up to lock on hers as he sucked it into his mouth.
She felt the heat of his look, watched his cheeks flex. Felt the resulting tug like hot lightning shoot from breast to loins, and whimpered helplessly. Her thighs spread apart and he was there between them suddenly, sliding into her, solid and intrusive, reaching high.
“Oh, Micky.” She wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck and pressed her face into his neck. Her ankles locked behind his waist. Mick reached up with one hand and yanked the chopsticks out of her bun. They clattered to the tub floor as her thick hair tumbled down around them, spilling over his left shoulder and down his arm and back.
“Love your hair,” he muttered and then he was silent as he gripped the underside of her thighs in hard hands and surged into her with deep, emphatic strokes. It wasn’t until he felt her begin to climax that he spoke again.
“Love you,” he breathed into her ear, his voice guttural as he listened to her pant and sob for release, her arms a stranglehold around his neck. “Love you, love you, love you, Sasha . . . Ohh God.”
She couldn’t have said afterward how they got from the bathroom to the bed. They must have remained locked together when he carried her in because her first conscious thought was when he pulled out and rolled to his back, snagging her with a brawny arm to pull her near. And then it hit her. “Oh, God, Mick,” she breathed in horror. “You didn’t wear a condom.” Aware of the rush of moisture on her thighs, she automatically counted on her fingers, scrambled through a mental calendar. Then she relaxed. What was she doing? She didn’t have to sweat the remaining days until her period. Like a lot of female athletes, her periods, due to the intense level of physical activity and perhaps the constant travel as well, were sporadic at best. The last one had been about twenty-one months ago. But Mick didn’t know that and his actions had been foolhardy. So had her own, come to think of it, if she had even subconsciously counted on that for birth control.
“Shit!” He reared up on one elbow and stared down at her. “God, Sasha, I’m sorry. I’ve never been that careless in my life; I swear to you.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what got into me.” He’d been like an animal marking his territory. Jesus, talk about primal. “What’s the timing like? Christ, if I got you pregnant—” He smoothed the wild corkscrews of her dark hair away from her face. “I’ll take care of you, darlin’, I swear I will.”
How? she wondered. He’d said he loved her. She hadn’t expected that, but she couldn’t deny it thrilled her to the marrow. But, how did he plan to take care of her? Pay for the abortion and hold her hand? Pay child support and make arrangements to see his kid on alternate weekends and six weeks every summer? Marry her? She knew she ought to question his intentions, demand some concrete answers, but in truth the prospective reply scared her to death. “No, I think it’s an okay time,” she said instead. Oh, God, Sasha, you’re so spineless.
They were both silent for several moments, lying curled together on a bed they shared with his open suitcase. Finally, she said, “Mick?”
“Uh-huh?
”
“I’ve never lived with a man before. What do we do when we’re not making love?”
“We talk.” Except there were so damn many things he couldn’t talk about. He was just beginning to realize the tight little corner he’d painted himself into in this situation. If he had only one honest bone left in his body, however, he swore this on it: he would never lie to her again, no matter what. He might have to skirt around the edges of the truth at times, but he would not tell her an out-and-out lie. “Like, for starters, you tell me what it was like giving up your entire childhood to become a professional ice skater. And I’ll tell you about growing up in Montana.”
The Follies was such a tight little society that nothing escaped its notice, or comment, for long. As soon as someone heard that Amy Nitkey had been discharged from the hospital and was going home with her parents to recuperate, the word spread. And it didn’t take more than a few hours for the news that Sasha had moved in with Mick Vinicor to reach Lon Morrison’s ears.
He felt betrayed. The logical part of him knew perfectly well that situations in life were never stagnant, but a stronger, more stubborn corner of his mind insisted she owed it to him to always be there for him, to always be the same. When Sasha tracked him down and invited him to have dinner with her, he simply stood there staring at her with flat eyes that gave away no hint of his emotions. Eyes that had lived through incarceration. “Sure you wouldn’t rather eat with lover boy?” he asked her insolently.
“Uh-oh. You’ve heard the news, I take it.” She threaded her arm through his and tried to tug him toward the hotel dining room. “I wanted to tell you myself, but I guess I can’t honestly say I’m surprised that someone beat me to the punch.”
“Yeah, well.” He disentangled himself. “My felicitations,” he offered stiffly. “I hope you’ll be extremely happy.”
“Ooh, such sincerity.” She hooked arms with him once again. When he simply stood there so unyieldingly, she snapped with the impatience of years of familiarity, “Oh, get the stick out of your rear, Lon, and c’mon. You’d think I was out to swindle you out of your last buck. It’s a crummy dinner and I’m buying.”
“Damn right you are,” he agreed sourly as he allowed her to maneuver him toward the dining room. “My last buck is about what I’m down to.”
She smiled at him as they seated themselves. “I could lend you some money if you’d like.”
“I don’t need your fucking charity, Sasha!”
“And I’m not offering you any, you dipshit!” she snarled back. “Jeez, Lon, if you were any stiffer you’d be an ironing board.” She forced a smile for the waiter who stopped by the table to hand them each a menu. The minute he’d recited the daily specials and departed, however, she leaned over the table and said through gritted teeth, “I didn’t offer to give you any money, you jerk; I said I could lend you some. But if you’re too proud for that, then be broke. Just do me a favor and don’t whine about it. If you had ever saved a dime in your life you might not be in this predicament.”
“Yeah, okay; I’m sorry,” he muttered. Rationally he knew she was right. But emotionally he thought, what the hell did she know about it, anyway, when it came right down to it? She was so goddam perfect she never seemed to feel the same impatience the rest of the world struggled with. Where most people could barely tolerate the wait to get their hands on a certain possession, Sasha quietly saved and abided. Christ. It was enough to make you gag.
Well, he was tired of waiting. He’d given it a shot her way. But he was merely a sinner, not some goddam flawless angel like Saush. He didn’t understand how she’d turned out the way she had, given the way both of them had started from the same place. He admired and loved her more than anyone else in the world. But he wasn’t like her. He didn’t want to scrimp from pay check to pay check. He wanted stuff now, not a month, a year, two years from now.
And he knew just how to get it.
FOURTEEN
Not that she’d taken the time to apply much rational thought to the matter, exactly, but in some unacknowledged corner of her mind Sasha must have expected that it would be difficult getting used to living with Mick on a full-time basis. Instead, she found herself taking to it like a cat to its creature comforts.
She’d known the sex would be good but had been more than a little leery that they would get in each other’s way once they rolled out of bed. Mick, however, turned out to be thoughtful in ways she hadn’t anticipated. He didn’t require round-the-clock entertainment. He steered clear of the bathroom until she was finished with it in the mornings, and the night a line skater with man problems had shown up with tale of woe and a pint of cheap vodka seeking female advice and comfort, he had discreetly made himself scarce.
Most days they each went their separate ways much as they had when occupying separate rooms. Mick was usually out and about doing managerial stuff all day long, and she still spent the usual amount of time testing the ice in various arenas and exploring with Connie. And even if they’d been tripping all over each other in the worst way possible, the unadorned truth was she probably still would have labored like the devil to find a way to make it work. For Mick possessed two traits that Sasha found almost impossible to resist. He was physical in ways that owed nothing to his sexuality and he spent a great deal of time simply talking to her.
Except for her mother, no one in Sasha’s life had shown her much physical affection. She was a toucher by nature, and Mick fulfilled a need she hadn’t even realized she possessed when he hugged her, or pulled her onto his lap, or toyed with her hair, or guided her along as they walked, one of his warm, hard-skinned hands wrapped around the back of her neck beneath her heavy fall of hair.
Little by little, she was learning about him. He had strong opinions on selected subjects, the most important of which she tended to agree with, a few of which they had argued to a standstill. He was verbal, tactile, and sometimes a shade too possessive for comfort. He said he loved her, and she refused to say it back until she was absolutely certain it wasn’t just the novelty of great sex that she loved.
But deep in her heart she knew she was merely marking time. The man was beginning to own her, body and soul. And eventually she broke down and told him so.
Fairy tales really did come true.
Oh, Jesus, he was in a whole lot of trouble. He’d always thought love was for other people, never for him, but he’d fallen like a ton of bricks for a pretty little skater with big gray eyes and a mass of curly black hair. The feelings she could induce so effortlessly stripped him of every single protective layer he’d ever owned and he didn’t even have the good sense to give a damn. This was the genuine article, all right, Love with a capital L. And no matter what, he was hanging on to it tooth and nail.
The question was, how?
He’d never had a relationship that had lasted more than six goddam hours in his life, but in his arrogance he’d actually thought he was doin’ okay, thought he had it all under control. All he had to do was treat her the best he knew how, show her how he felt, use this time to entrench his position.
Then last night she’d told him she loved him.
God, he could see her still, going to pieces in his arms, breath coming fast, eyes luminous, whispering, “I love you, Mick; oh God, Micky, I love you.” It wasn’t until then he’d realized just how precarious his hold on this relationship really was. Sooner or later, his conscience taunted at the very moment she was making all his dreams come true, you’re going to have to tell her the truth, chump. You’re gonna have to look her in those big trusting eyes and tell her you lied to her from the beginning.
And that was going to be the death of all his dreams.
For he’d gotten to know what was important to her. She revealed a new detail of her private life daily. It never even occurred to her to hold anything back, and the minute she realized how defenseless she’d left herself she was going to hate him for it. More than anything he wished there was some way he could reciprocate, some wa
y to hand her a few weapons against him to bolster her defenses, but there were too many aspects of his life that he simply couldn’t share with her, at least not yet. Hell, the way he’d made his living for the past decade pretty well was his private life, and God knew that cut down fairly dramatically on the number of conversational topics that were safe to discuss.
So he’d talked to her instead about the things that were important to him. What he thought, how he felt about things, what he could live with, what he couldn’t.
And knew without being told that it wasn’t going to be enough. Not even close. After all the dishonesty that had poisoned her life, finding out he’d lied to her too was going to be one transgression too many.
He knew in his gut it was going to be the one she absolutely would not tolerate.
Lon rolled off Karen and stretched out on his back, smiling in satisfaction. Now this was more like it. It was restful to be in the company of someone who didn’t expect him to be so damn good all the time. When Karen looked at him she saw him for exactly what he was. She wasn’t forever conjuring up some friggin’ boy scout who never had and never would exist outside of a sweet woman’s wistful imagination.
He wished more than anything that he could be that boy scout. At the same time he was eternally weary of struggling to be what he damn well wasn’t.
Karen rolled onto her stomach. She draped herself across him, scratching her fingernails lightly across his stomach. Lonnie wrapped a friendly arm around her shoulders and stroked her hair where it rested against his chest. He waited for her to once again bring up the subject of distributing her bootleg heroin. He was finally ready to be convinced—his days as a choirboy were definitely coming to a close.
On Thin Ice Page 19