Love Inspired Suspense January 2014

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Appreciate that,” he said.

  Laney passed him again on her way up the stairs, face strained with effort but continuing to work as hard as she had the first round. She was too winded to say anything, but she gave him a thumbs up.

  Laney, don’t let anything stop you. He shoved the keys in his pocket.

  Anything.

  SIX

  The chatter at lunch was lively in spite of the stair workout. Max slid a plate of steamed fish in front of Laney and settled into his own chair.

  “Hey,” she said with a smile. “I thought Mama Love wasn’t cooking fish until she could get some fresh this weekend.”

  Mama Love was a tiny little woman from Barbados with a giant personality who loved cooking as much as she adored the athletes, who she referred to as her dumplings.

  Max winked. “I have connections. I found a new supplier who delivered some fish this morning.”

  Laney pinked. “You did all that because you know it’s my favorite?”

  He shrugged. “I’m responsible for your health and well-being, remember? You need lean protein, and fish is the best for your training regimen.” He handed her a fork. “Eat.”

  She sampled a forkful and pronounced it delicious. Max found himself surprised again. She’d never liked the taste of capers until after her brain injury, which seemed to have rewired her taste buds along with other cognitive and perceptual areas. “Seen your dad this afternoon?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I wanted to ask him about Peterson. He seems like he knows the guy. Was that your impression?”

  Laney drank some water. “Dad said he doesn’t want to discuss it, and that’s good enough for me.”

  “So you don’t think his reaction was unusual?”

  Laney shook her head. “He’s been under a lot of pressure. My rehab and training costs, trying to find a new sponsor, watching me crash and the thing with my skate and the guy with the club. That’s enough for a father to shoulder.”

  “Still…”

  “Max,” she snapped. “There’s nothing wrong with Dad. You’re just reading things into the situation, and you don’t trust Peterson.”

  He wanted to say more, but instead he picked up his sandwich. It was not fair to press her about it. He would go to the source. “You’re right. Sorry.” He changed the subject. “I think you’d better eat that fish, or Mama Love will come out there and spoon feed it to you.”

  She did, except for a small portion she wrapped in a napkin for Cubby. Even as she chatted with Max, he noticed her gaze wandering to the door, watching for her father. It wasn’t unusual for Mr. Thompson to disappear throughout the day to oversee his small fleet of drivers.

  Max cleared his dishes and thanked Mama Love for cooking up the fish.

  She waved a wrinkled hand. “Anything for my dumplings,” she said.

  “You’ve got more dumplings that you know what to do with,” Max replied.

  She laughed. “All I do is feed them.”

  Laney let herself into the kitchen and wrapped the woman in a hug, kissing her cheek. “And you keep track of everyone’s likes, dislikes, allergies and everything. You’re amazing.”

  “Go on and get some rest and don’t let this man work you too hard,” Mama said, pinching Laney’s arm. “Skin and bone. That’s all that’s left of her, thanks to you.”

  “I hope there’s some muscle there, too.” Laney giggled, following Max back out into the dining room and toward the hallway.

  Beth caught her at the door. “Come to my room tonight,” she said conspiratorially. “We’re going to watch old black-and-white movies and eat junk food.”

  Jackie Brewster narrowed an eye in Beth’s direction.

  Beth blew out a breath. “Okay, no junk food, but we can still watch a movie, can’t we?”

  “As long as you’re done by ten o’clock. You need to be suited up at seven a.m.,” Jackie said.

  Beth groaned. “I deserve some downtime, don’t I?”

  Jackie folded her arms. “You’ll have all the downtime you want if you don’t make the team.”

  Beth’s eyes glittered and she opened her mouth, but instead of firing off a retort, she screwed on a sarcastic smile. “Yes, ma’am.” She turned to Laney. “How about it?”

  Laney shot a look at the door. “Not sure. I wanted to go over some things with my dad.”

  “Such a daddy’s girl,” Beth said, complete with eye roll, but Max thought there was a tinge of longing threaded through the sarcasm. “Suit yourself. Catch you later.” She joined Tanya and Lee Ann, who were deep in conversation with several of the male athletes.

  Laney’s eyes once again went toward the door, but her father did not appear.

  *

  The final training session of the day was a killer. It left her body half dead with fatigue, which would be replaced by soreness once the adrenalin wore off. She helped herself to one of Mama Love’s famous kitchen-sink cookies that had everything in them but nuts. Laney called her father several times without getting an answer.

  She approached Max, who was intently focused on the screen of his iPad.

  “Hey, Mr. Blanco,” she said.

  He looked up with a jerk. “Hi. What’s up?”

  “What are you doing on that computer, anyway? Are you cooking up another torturous training plan in there?” She edged around to see the screen, but he abruptly closed it.

  “Nothing to do with training.”

  There was something in the way he’d hidden his work that made her wonder.

  “What can I do for you?” he said.

  She felt suddenly unsure. “I wondered if you’d give me a ride into town. I want to see my dad.”

  He checked his watch. “Kinda late. It’s almost six.”

  “I know, but he hasn’t been returning my calls and I want to ask him something.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth.

  “You want to ask him about what Hugh Peterson said?” Max asked gently. “About how your dad is managing to pay for everything?”

  She looked away.

  “Laney,” he said, turning her toward him. “Your dad is an adult. He knows what he’s doing. He’s under stress, just like you told me earlier.”

  She rounded on him. “Have you been getting paid, Max?”

  “Of course.”

  “Every month? On time?” When he tried to look away she moved closer, putting her hands on his chest, still every inch hard muscle. “I know Dad managed the National Team fees for this month, but what about your salary?”

  He smiled. “Why would you ask me that, Laney? Did Peterson put these thoughts into your head?”

  “No, it’s because of the smoothies.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your favorite Green Monster smoothies, the ones you buy at the Juice Shack downtown. You always said it’s your favorite thing about being here at the oval. Every Wednesday, without fail, you were in town buying your smoothie.”

  His smile waned at the edges. “What about it?”

  “You don’t buy them anymore. You haven’t for the past two months.”

  “And you assumed that’s because your father hasn’t been paying me, and I don’t have the money?”

  She nodded, watching the telltale flush steal into Max’s cheeks. “Is that the reason?”

  He moved away, detaching himself from her touch. “Seems like you’ve decided that it is. I suppose it didn’t occur to you that those Green Monsters pack a lot of calories?”

  “That never made you give them up before. Four years ago you used to rip through those things.”

  “Well, four years ago I was training for the Winter Games, Laney. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not doing that anymore. Now I’m what we used to call a ‘wannabe.’ I have no business partaking in energy drinks when the closest I get to training is watching you.”

  “That’s not true, this morning…” She trailed off, realizing too late what she’d done.

  He blew out a slow
breath. “So you saw that, did you?”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t spying. I just got there early. You looked good…”

  “Don’t.” He raised a palm. “Please don’t do that. The one thing I cannot take from you is pity, Laney. Do me that favor, will you?”

  Her throat thickened at the pain she saw in his face, how she’d intruded on a tender, raw place. She hated to make him uncomfortable, but she had to know. “Tell me if my father has been paying you.”

  Max stepped back, blue eyes hard. “Listen, Laney. I’m your father’s employee. My private business, including my financial arrangements, is not something I’m going to talk about with you. You’re the athlete, and I’m the trainer. Let’s keep it that way, okay?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, grabbed his clipboard and left the dining hall. She started to go after him, to smooth things over, but Beth materialized at her elbow.

  “He doesn’t look happy. Problems?”

  “No. We’re on track.”

  Beth toyed with the streak in her hair, the latest shade in a long line of tints. “If you need another trainer, Jackie can help you find one.”

  Laney stiffened. “I’ve got the best trainer. I’m not looking for anyone else.”

  She shrugged. “Just because he was great at the sport once doesn’t mean he’s what you need.”

  He is what I need. All I need. She blinked the strange thought away. “We’re fine.”

  “I’m the big mouth who always says what’s on her mind so I’m going to lay it out there. I heard your dad hired Max because he felt sorry for him.”

  Laney fought for breath. “That’s not true.”

  “And because I know that you are way too soft-hearted for your own good, I’m thinking you encouraged your dad, because you felt sorry for Max, too, didn’t you?” Beth’s gaze bored into Laney, and she felt like an insect on a pin.

  “He’s an excellent trainer. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Sure you would. Any trainer could have helped you get here, if you really have the drive. You didn’t do Max a favor, you know. He’s finished in speed skating, and having him hanging on to your coattails isn’t going to help him find a new life for himself.”

  “Beth, I appreciate your interest, but I don’t need your advice.”

  “I know, but I always give it anyway, which is why people don’t like me.” She put a hand on Laney’s forearm. “I don’t have many friends, but I consider you one of them. If you need something, a new trainer or some money to get you through, tell me.”

  Laney tried for a smile. “That’s pretty generous from a girl who wants to knock me out of a shot at the games.”

  Beth went quiet for a moment. “You know as well as I do that there are plenty of girls vying for that shot. The day of the race, it doesn’t matter how well you’ve done all season or who was the best throughout the year. It all comes down to that one race, and you have no better chance to win than I do or any of the other girls. Knocking you out wouldn’t secure me a spot.”

  “Then why are you so willing to help me out?”

  Her eyes grew soft. “You got a bum deal because of that accident, and if I can do something for you, I will. Remember that.”

  Laney accepted the tight hug from her friend. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Anytime. Going to get a drink. Want one?”

  Laney declined and Beth went to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of cold water. Laney noticed Tanya a few feet away, intently thumbing through a magazine, almost too intently, Laney thought.

  Laney considered her options. There would be no ride into town from Max, that was certain. None of the other girls had cars on the premises. She could bike the ten miles easily, but maybe that wasn’t such a great idea, all things considered.

  Wandering out into the parking lot, she saw Coach Stan getting into his Mercedes.

  “Hey,” she said, jogging to catch him. “Can I get a ride into town?”

  He started. “A bit late, isn’t it?”

  “I’m going to talk to my father, and then he’ll bring me back. Before curfew, I promise.”

  After a moment of hesitation, Coach gestured her in, and she scooted into the passenger seat of the spotlessly clean car. The only thing cluttering up the vehicle was a neat plastic tub at her feet.

  Coach Stan maintained the pleasant expression he always offered except for the brief moments she’d seen him fuming about some race-related difficulty. Even then it was hard to spot the signs, the clenched jaw and the pinching around the mouth that were as close as he ever got to revealing the ferocious level of competitiveness that had earned him a bronze medal in the 1976 games and followed him through decades of coaching.

  He drove at a slow, steady speed, inquiring politely about her thoughts on the training regimen. Watching flakes of snow pattering down on the windshield, they lapsed into silence that grew uncomfortable. It occurred to her that Coach Stan probably knew nearly everything about her and she knew next to nothing about him except his views on speed skating strategy.

  “How’s your wife?” she blurted.

  He started slightly. “Very well, thank you.”

  Stan’s wife was a slender, dark-haired Asian woman whom Laney had never heard utter a dozen words at one time. “She must be excited that you’re going to be the coach for the U.S. team when we go to the games.”

  He quirked an eyebrow and navigated around a pothole. “What makes you think I will be?”

  Laney gaped. “Well, everyone thinks so. You’re the best coach anywhere,” she said.

  He smiled, but kept his eyes fixed out the front windshield. “This is a political competition as much as an athletic one. Maybe I will be named to that position and maybe I won’t.”

  She finally closed her mouth after trying to dislodge her foot from it. Way to go, Laney. “I didn’t realize there was any doubt.”

  “You didn’t know coaches have to compete for jobs, too?”

  “I guess I didn’t.”

  He sighed. “I’ve been coaching for thirty years and that’s a lesson I’ve had a hard time mastering.” He cleared his throat, a small, high-pitched sound. “And how is your training going? With Max?”

  She flushed for some odd reason. “Fine. Sometimes I forget you were his coach before…before the accident.”

  “I’ll never forget,” Stan said quietly. “Max would have medaled back then, for sure.” She almost didn’t get his last words. “But I doubt it would have made him happy.”

  “Why not?”

  Coach Stan shifted as if he was suddenly uncomfortable on the expensive leather seats. “Max wasn’t skating toward the finish line, he was skating to get away from something.”

  It was as if he’d spoken the thought that had been humming through her mind since she’d met Max Blanco. “What?” she breathed. “What does he need to leave behind?”

  Stan blinked. “Not for me to say. Where shall I drop you, Laney?”

  She gave him directions to her father’s cab company and he left her at the curb. “Thank you for the ride,” she said. “Where are you heading?”

  He again offered the polite smile. “Out and about.”

  She was in such a hurry she nearly tumbled from the car, knocking his neat box of pencils and papers out the door.

  “Oh, gosh,” she said as she retrieved the rolling items and put them back. “It’s a wonder I can even stand up on skates. Major klutz.”

  He said something soothing as she retrieved another item, a business card for Diane Morrison, C.E.O. of Morrison Mining. There was a handwritten number in pen underneath the silver lettering, she noticed as she slid it back into the box.

  She stared at the calm profile of her coach, who did not look at her as she closed the door.

  With a wave in the rearview mirror, he drove away.

  SEVEN

  Max went for a slow jog on the track, letting the tension roll off his shoulders. Through the windows he could see the sun mel
lowing toward the horizon; the temperature would be dropping rapidly. There were others running the track just then, not speed skaters, but regular folks who chatted with each other as they ran. They belonged to another world to which he could not relate. For them, the exercise was the reward, winning was not even in their vernacular.

  It was the only thing in his mind. Laney would win and he would do whatever it took to make that happen.

  He hated the harsh way he’d spoken to her, though he knew he had to keep things straight between them. She was the important one, the competitor, not him. Nothing could keep him from doing his job and the last thing he needed was pity from her or anyone else.

  You’ve gone through plenty of self-pity already.

  It had started out that way, as he lay in the hospital bed in the very same hospital where his brother had died. Why me? Why my family? But long ago that self-pity had evaporated, crystallizing into something harder, a pervasive veneer of ice that had frozen over his soul and sealed in the rage at God. What he feared most was that something would crack that crust and he would succumb to the ire that flowed silently below the surface. Once he let that rage spew forth, he knew he might never be able to stanch the flow and it would drive everyone and everything away.

  After a couple of miles, the tension wound down to a bearable level and he was determined to have one more conversation with Laney before the day ended. A professional, objective chat about their goals for the morning and the notes he and Coach Stan had gone over at the lunch break. Trainer to athlete. Professional.

  He headed off the track and nearly passed the kid before he noticed him sitting on a bench just outside the ice. Same skinny shoulders, same mop of red hair, maybe fourteen, maybe not, next to a pair of speed skates that were the oldest and rattiest Max had ever seen.

  Max stopped. “Didn’t I see you at training the other day?”

  The kid jolted as if an electric current had been applied to his spine. “No.”

  “Sure I did.”

  “I left when they told me to,” he said, brown eyes sparking. “You don’t own the arena, anyway,” he muttered.