Love Inspired Suspense January 2014

by Shirlee McCoy

  “I’m…” she started when the crash of glass made her jump. Her father’s rear window fractured, pieces glittering in the moonlight.

  Laney raced to the vehicle, Max a few paces behind her. She found her father crouched on the other side of the car, arm raised to his face as a squat, bushy-haired stranger readied a club to crash into her father’s skull. The stranger’s face was partially obscured by a cap.

  “No!” she shouted, surprising the man with the club. He swiveled quickly, swinging the weapon in an arc toward Laney. With reflexes born of elite levels of training, she ducked under the blow.

  The club fell viciously, whistling by her ear, causing her to fall back against the car while the weapon smashed into the passenger door, crumpling the metal.

  With an animal roar, Max went after the guy, who whirled on his heel and ran, Max in hot pursuit. Laney sprang to her feet, not sure if she should chase after Max or stay with her father.

  “Laney,” he croaked. “Keep out of it.”

  “Daddy,” she breathed, eyes filling as she crouched next to him. “Are you hurt?”

  “Just a knock on my thick head. Your mum always told me I had a hard skull.”

  Laney’s stomach twisted in agony as she strained to catch a glimpse of Max. What would happen if he caught the guy? Squeezing her father’s hand to comfort him, she felt the heavy thud of her pulse in her throat.

  Finally, Max returned, panting.

  “I lost him. I’ll call the cops.”

  “No,” her father barked.

  Laney’s mouth dropped open. “The guy could have killed you.”

  “He was a thief, wanted the iPad I left in the back probably. My own dumb fault.”

  Max dropped to one knee. “Mr. Thompson, the cops really should be notified, and the security team here at the oval.”

  “No cops,” he repeated again, getting to his feet with Laney’s help. “No harm done except a broken window and a dent, the price for my stupidity.”

  “But, Dad…”

  He waved a hand. “I’ll go inside and report it to security, but no cops. Not necessary. Now go on back to the dorms before you get a chill.”

  “I don’t want you out here by yourself,” Laney said as severely as she could.

  “I’ll have someone from security to walk me back. Go, go,” he said with a flap of his hands. He bent with a groan and picked up his bag.

  Laney was grateful when Max put his arm around her. His touch was the only thing that seemed to push away the cold that seized her from the inside out.

  She was almost sure that she’d seen a glimpse of her father’s iPad tucked safely in his bag before he left.

  *

  The distance from the oval to the athlete housing was a mile, which Laney and Max traversed in silence. Reaching the dorms, he used his pass key and held the door for her. Laney had been fortunate to be assigned her own room in the dormitory on the bottom floor where the female athletes and coaches stayed. Max was in another dorm with the male trainers, coaches and athletes. He waited while she opened her door, greeting her old cat, Cubby, whom she never traveled without, if possible.

  “Thanks for walking me back.”

  “Anytime.” He cleared his throat. “I feel bad about what happened to your father, that I couldn’t catch the guy.”

  She shivered. “Dad could have been hurt badly.”

  “And you, too,” he added, feeling again the chill that had swept his body as the man’s club had come within inches of her.

  “I hope security can help.”

  “Strange how he targeted your dad’s car. There were plenty of fancier models parked close by.”

  “He said the man was after his iPad.” She looked away.

  “But you don’t believe that?”

  She shook her head. “I’m really tired. Gonna rest for a little while.”

  “Good idea.” He paused. “You know, Laney, you really were skating an excellent race.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Except for that bashing into the wall thing?”

  He couldn’t help it, the wry expression on her face made him laugh, and she joined in. Then he grabbed her for a quick hug, pressing her fiercely as if he could push away the edge in his earlier words. “I’m sorry if I sounded like I didn’t believe you about the skates.”

  She rested her head on his chest. “It’s okay. I can take it. I’m ferocious, remember?”

  He thumbed her chin up and shook his head at that easy smile, the gleeful twist of the lips that carried her through every situation. “Definitely,” he said. The urge seized him to stroke that tumble of hair and press his lips to the silk of her cheeks. Knock it off, Blanco. That life is long gone. It had ended when he’d woken up in a hospital bed, irretrievably broken and with an unquenchable anger that he did not want Laney to witness. Ever. He’d hidden himself away from her, from the world, not allowing himself to consider the feelings he’d cherished once upon a time. He stepped back. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  She nodded and closed the door.

  He was halfway down the hall when she opened the door again. “Max?”

  He jogged back. “Yeah?”

  She held a small, white rectangle between her fingers. “I guess that reporter really does want to speak with me. He wrote a note on his card saying he hoped I hadn’t hurt myself today.” She frowned at the paper. “He was watching the race. All of it.”

  *

  Laney turned the reporter’s name around in her mind again as she walked to the dining hall an hour later. Hugh Peterson. Had she ever spoken to him before? She did not think so, but somehow the name dinged a little bell in her memory. There had been many reporters anxious to talk to her before, when she was poised to go for the gold four years ago, and some had followed her progress for a while after the accident, but their interest had eventually died away. The tragic injury of a promising athlete was newsworthy; a long, painful rehab with no guarantee of success was not.

  Max was troubled by Hugh’s card more because of the fact that the man had been roaming the halls of the athletes’ quarters unattended. Somehow he’d gained entry without a pass key. Laney figured it was typical reporter nosiness, though she was uncertain as to why Peterson wanted to speak to her. Sure, it would be a great comeback story, but she was far from any kind of victory. Most media types would wait until after the trials.

  You’re like a bird, tottering on the edge of the nest. You gonna fly or crash?

  The image reminded her of the paper cutout Max had made her so many years ago. How she wished she still had it, to remind herself of the tenderness he’d shown, the sweet, intense man who was so out of keeping with the brilliant short-track star. She shook the thoughts away as she entered the dining hall, saying hello to the benches full of girls, coaches, trainers and the nutritionist who greeted her with anxious inquiries about her health. Furtive looks indicated they’d heard about her father’s incident in the parking lot.

  Max was at the end of the table, a half-eaten chicken sandwich in front of him. Her father arrived, greeting everyone jovially, a bruise swelling his cheek as he settled in to listen intently to Max. She joined them.

  “So this reporter really wants to speak to Laney. Said he’s called many times,” Max finished. “Do you remember hearing from him?”

  Her father frowned. “What’s his name again?”

  “Hugh Peterson,” Laney said, sliding onto the bench in time to see her father clank the glass down on the table so hard he spilled a puddle onto the wooden surface.

  She blinked. “You told him no before, I take it?”

  “Yeah, I did. He doesn’t listen very well.”

  “Have you met him, Dad?”

  “He’s no good,” her father said vehemently.

  “How do you know him, Mr. Thompson?”

  Her father waved a hand. “Not important. I know I don’t like him.” He turned a direct gaze on Laney. “You’re not to talk to him. He shouldn’t have come here after I told
him no interview.”

  The anger in his tone surprised her. “Why do you dislike him so much?”

  “I already said that’s not important. Do you trust me to manage these things for you or not, Laney?” He stood, pushing back from the table.

  She went to him then, circling him in a hug. “Of course I trust you, Daddy. If you don’t want me to talk to him, then I won’t. I was just curious, that’s all, and worried about that guy with the club who nearly decked you.”

  “Max scared him away. He won’t be back.” Her father embraced her gently and rubbed circles on her shoulders, soothing, restoring the easy connection between them. “I’m sorry, Laney. I didn’t mean to bark at you. I just want to take care of my girls. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

  She pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks. “I know that. Sit down and let’s eat. I’m going to Skype Jen soon and we can talk. She’s cramming for her biology finals now.” Laney felt the thrill of pride that her little sister, who’d once been an abandoned foster kid, was close to finishing her premed requirements. It was an achievement for anyone, but more so for a girl whose life had started out living in cars and stepping over dirty needles on bathroom floors. Laney thought Jen’s accomplishment outweighed any medal from any race.

  He set her at arm’s length. “Later. I’ve got to have the car window fixed.”

  “But…” She didn’t want him out on his own in case he was wrong about the violent stranger.

  “I’ll be back.” He gave her shoulder a final squeeze and made his way through the throng.

  “Why don’t you get something to eat?” Max said.

  She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  He pulled her to sit next to him. “A girl who burns five thousand calories in a day needs to eat. I’ll get you something. Stay here.”

  She didn’t argue. Her thoughts swirled around her father. Dan Thompson was not a man quick to anger. If anything, he’d been blessed with an abundance of patience and an overwhelming helping of compassion. An overworked cabbie, struggling to start his own small taxi business, he’d needed them in order to take in foster kids in the first place. It was a decision he and his wife Linda had made, having no children of their own. And what well of grace had made them take on two girls—a wild six-year-old kid with dirty hair, used to finding food for her and her sister in the garbage can when their mother left on her drug binges, and a selective mute who would not speak until she was nearly ten?

  He could have walked away at any point. Perhaps when she’d taken Jen and ran away after being punished for punching the neighbor kid. Maybe when the teacher had sent her home for refusing to wear shoes in class. Certainly when Linda had died of breast cancer as they were still in the process of formally adopting the girls.

  He’d stayed and loved them through it all, and introduced her to the ice. Stolen hours between his cab fares, precious moments where she’d discovered a passion and let go of the hurt. God-blessed moments. Her father’s face was composed and calm as he stopped to make some comment to Jackie, and it cheered Laney to see him that way as he left. Maybe there really was nothing wrong, after all.

  THREE

  After dinner, Max dutifully made sure the hallway door was locked when he escorted Laney to her room. He turned to find her shifting from one foot to the other. He recognized the fidgets for what they were: Laney trying to process something: worry or fear, anxiety about her father’s attack, no doubt.

  So different than his own bent. When he was stewing on something he went quiet, withdrawing to a place where he could be perfectly still, hushed as the long corridors in which he’d become invisible seventeen years prior when his brother lay dying. The softest sound, the barest squeak of a rubber-soled shoe on those yellow hospital tiles could break the fragile silence that meant his brother was okay, sleeping peacefully through another night.

  God worked in those still moments, he’d been told. So he’d stayed silent, waiting for healing that God withheld. Often Max would go back to that place in his mind, and his fingers would once again reach for his pocket for the tiny pair of scissors that was no longer there. He required stillness to wrestle with tensions he could not skate away from, but not Laney.

  “Let’s go walk the track.”

  She started, as if she hadn’t realized he was still there. “What?”

  “You aren’t going to be able to sleep.”

  “How exactly do you know that?”

  Because I know you almost better than you know yourself. Every sinew, every muscle, every weakness, every magnificent strength. “You’re twisting.”

  She looked at her finger, wound in the string of her windbreaker. “Well…”

  “And your foot is jiggling up and down, and you look like you’re about ready to break into a wind sprint.”

  She flashed an exasperated grin. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t know me so well.”

  “I’m your trainer. It’s my job.” My job. So why did Laney Thompson feel like so much more than just his job?

  “I’m just keyed up about what happened to Dad.”

  “I know.” The hallway lighting picked up glints of gold in her hair, an irrepressible twinkle in her eyes.

  “All right, Mr. Blanco. To the track we go.”

  Max waited at the door while Laney changed into her running shoes and fed Cubby his fish dinner. Cubby was a slow eater, and Max stood patiently as Laney watched to be sure the old animal finished every bite.

  “Good job, Cubby Cat,” she said as the cat licked his paws with a delicate tongue.

  The night closed around them as they started away from the athlete housing, the sky pricked by numberless stars. To the left was a small trail that led to a lake now frozen over. They’d run it many times in years past when their training and competition schedule had brought them here. A delicate veil of snow drifted through the sky as they took the other direction, on a well-paved sidewalk that led to the training facility.

  He wondered if she ever fought flashbacks of the night they’d been the victims of the hit-and-run driver. Though he’d never admit it, he hated to run anywhere in the vicinity of a road, preferring now to do his workouts on the track or on quiet mountain trails when he could find them. If he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to travel back, he could hear the skidding tires and the snapping of his own femur. Worst of all, he remembered hearing Laney cry out, his own body too mangled to allow him to claw through the snow to reach her. One quiet moan that would live forever in his memory.

  He forced his brain back to the present as they hiked to the oval. He marveled again at the engineering feat required to build such a venue. Five acres, roughly the size of four football fields, nestled under a clear span suspension roof, home to a four-hundred-meter speed skating oval and two international-size ice sheets. Buried under the ice sheets and track were thirty-three miles of freeze tubes that kept the concrete base at eighteen degrees Fahrenheit no matter the season. They were headed now to the four-lane 442-meter state-of-the-art running track.

  He ushered her in first, darting one more look at the serenely falling snow behind them. A movement caught his attention. Off near the tree line, under the shifting shadows. A person? He looked again. Nothing at first, making him think perhaps it was a raccoon or maybe a bird. As he started to turn away, a figure detached itself from the shadows and began moving toward the lake.

  Probably someone out for a walk, not unusual, except that the person appeared to have come from the direction of the athlete housing. So what? he asked himself again. An athlete or trainer out for a stroll, nothing more, winding down just as they were. Nonetheless, prickles of unease danced along the back of Max’s neck as he noticed that the person had a small bundle under one arm.

  “Be right back,” he called to Laney, and for some reason he could not explain he found himself following.

  “Max?” Laney called from behind him. “Where are you going?”

  He didn’t answer. Walking quickly, h
e closed the gap.

  Whoever it was didn’t notice his approach until they were nearly to the wooden dock that served as an overlook and a cast-off point for fishermen trying their luck in the lake. The figure gave a surreptitious glance around, stealthy and unsettling.

  “Hey,” Max said.

  The form jerked.

  Max saw he’d been right—the stranger held a bundle in his arms, which he now readied himself to throw into the water.

  “What are you doing?” Max said again.

  He heard the sound of running feet and Laney sprinted into view. Max knew suddenly what was in that dark bundle, and he also knew he would not let it go to the bottom of the lake. He reached out to stop the outstretched hands, trying to seize the wrists.

  Something sliced through his forearm in a sizzle of pain. He heard Laney cry out as he pitched backward into the water, the weight of his body punching through the thin crust of ice at the lake’s edge.

  *

  Laney hadn’t realized she was screaming as she ran. No words, just an explosion of emotion. Events unfolded in rapid-fire, just as they did in every race. The shove. Max crashing into the water, chips of ice spiraling upward luminous in the moonlight. Movement, darkness, an endless moment of fear.

  Then Max’s head popped up. The person who’d pushed him slipped, fell forward before getting up and running along the trail. She didn’t think, just moved, muscles overriding good sense as she closed the gap and hurtled onto the shoulders of the person who had just shoved Max into the pond.

  “What are you, crazy?” she grunted.

  He, it was a man, she concluded quickly, was sturdy and strong and her fingers lost their grip on the slippery fabric of his ski jacket. She fell to one knee and the man wriggled out of her grasp, grabbed the bundle from the ground and sprinted away. She could run him down, she knew, but she was not sure she could restrain him.

  Scrambling to her feet she turned to the water. “Max,” she screamed as loud as she could.

  Beth Morrison raced up, dressed in a warm jacket and jeans. “What…?” she started.