Rylan stepped out of reach and mock saluted them. Pointing over his shoulder he said, “I have to go to work. You two enjoy yourselves.” He winked and backed toward the locker room doors.
“Are you sticking around?” Markus asked after Rylan was gone.
“I have an errand to run, shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. Then I planned to be here for the rest of the day,” Brett explained.
“I’d like you to be as visible as possible today.” Markus made an abrupt switch from fan to police officer. “As dicey as it is, I think the only way to flush this whack-job out is to poke the bear a bit. If there’s no signs of a threat, then we’ll know our killer is probably still in Vancouver. Otherwise, I’m going to have to consider everyone in the troupe suspect. Lindsay agrees with me. I’ve talked to Rylan, he’s willing to take the risk. You both will be under watch from here on if you agree as well.”
“Of course, I agree.” Brett squared his shoulders. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been in a brawl or two.”
Markus gave him a small smile. “I know. However, dealing with someone who kills is a far cry from putting yourself between team mates and volatile opposing players. You guys rumbled with fists, not ice picks.”
Brett nodded. “Point taken.” He crossed both arms in front of himself. “What’s the plan from here?”
“You go run your errands, and I’ll stay here and get things set up. Once you’re back you and Rylan just go about your day, do what you’d normally do in public. I’ll have an officer stopping at regular intervals at your hotel tonight. Are you both staying in the same room?” Markus asked.
“Yes.” Brett noticed Markus didn’t ask where that hotel room was located.
“Any change in plans, let me know right away. Rylan already gave me the show itinerary for today,” Markus said. “And it would make my life much easier if once rehearsal is finished for the day you both stay at the hotel.”
“Will do.” Brett smiled and gave Markus a nod.
Brett stayed until rehearsal began, promising the choreographer he’d return soon because Rylan really did focus much better when Brett was there. Or so she told him. It didn’t take long for Brett to get Celia’s phone and engagement ring shipped back to his home in Missoula. He also sent off a letter he’d written to Clive’s family explaining his intentions with her ring. The scholarship the ring would help start would be in both of their names. He didn’t really know any of Clive’s family very well. Clive had been more Rylan’s friend than Brett’s, or at the least they’d spent more time together than Brett ever had with Clive.
It was odd, but completing the simple act of deciding what to do with the ring and then taking the first step of returning it home gave Brett a sense of closure and relief. He was finally able to have something good come of his sister’s death.
His tasks completed he returned to the rehearsal rink just in time for their break. If there were other cops beside James Markus, Brett wasn’t able to identify them. That was the point he supposed.
Brett did his best to act normal, but it was difficult knowing he was possibly being watched by a killer. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help glancing around and over his shoulder every few minutes. Everybody coming close to Rylan or him set off Brett’s suspicions. One wrong move from anyone would get an up close and very personal display of just how good of an enforcer Brett had been.
He and Rylan managed to get a few moments alone at a table, which made Brett very happy. This tour stop wouldn’t have the free time for Rylan their time in Vancouver did. During their stay in Calgary, Rylan would be working fourteen-hour days with the larger portion of those hours in the public eye.
That scenario, Brett realized, was what James Markus hoped would flush out the killer, force them to make a mistake. Whoever the killer was wouldn’t have the opportunities they’d had in Vancouver.
All too soon, Rylan’s break was over and he was heading back to the ice. Brett’s skates had been packed with the rest of the groups’ and he looked forward to getting a little exercise. Once rehearsal was finished for the day, the group would eat and prepare for the night’s show. Brett had a VIP seat down near the ice, but this time neither of the Sweenys were near him. Everyone close by him were spectators with no connection to the performers or crew. Brett was secretly satisfied by the reaction of the audience whenever Rylan was on the ice. There was no tribute, but he was featured in the ensemble numbers. Rylan was still the show’s star performer, people came to see him, and when he was ‘on stage’ he was the focus of the routine.
This performance was an earlier one and afterward the performers took to one of the enormous outdoor rinks to mingle with guests. The night was a lovely, cool, crisp one and it felt good being outside. It was the same whenever Brett and Rylan were together with skating fans, each attracted people who were excited to be meeting and talking with them, the younger skaters present, the up and comers who wanted tips, advice, and autographs. All the attention didn’t give them much time to be alone. In fact, just the opposite.
Brett noticed James Markus now had put traction devices on his shoes for moving across ice. When he took a closer look at the uniformed officers scattered about, many of them wore similar attachments to their shoes. Brett wondered if those were standard for police in Calgary since there were so many sports and leisure events taking place on ice.
Finally, as the number of people began thinning out Rylan and Brett floated away from the main group and to the far end of the outdoor rink. It was one of many in Calgary, long and narrow with trees bordering the sides. Brett turned a wide, smooth circle then turned quickly to face the opposite direction.
Rylan brushed one hand through his hair and laughed. “You almost did a twizzle.”
“See, I’ve been paying attention during rehearsals. Did more than watch.” Brett turned again so he was between Rylan and the main group of people. He leaned down and kissed Rylan softly then whispered in his ear, “The show was good, but you were great.”
“Aw, shucks, thanks.”
Their moment was interrupted by someone calling Rylan’s name. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No reprieve. I’d better get back to mingling.”
Rylan gave Brett’s hand a squeeze and glided around him, picked up speed and headed back to the remaining group of guests. Brett followed a few feet behind him, but he was stopped by some kids with hockey sticks who asked if he’d play with them.
The distance between him and Rylan gradually widened as they drifted to opposite sides of the rink. Brett showed the group of children different ways of holding the sticks and tricks to get shots past the goalie. Rylan was demonstrating some simple figure skating moves and Brett heard laughter coming from the group near Rylan.
Lars Sweeny was at the far end of the rink and began walking in the general direction of Rylan and his group of fans. When Lars stepped onto the ice, the hair at the back of Brett’s neck bristled.
He handed the hockey stick back to one girl. “You keep practicing, but stay over here, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes.” As he pushed off he turned back to them. “Promise me you’ll stay over here.”
A chorus of yes Mr. Rocha followed him as he headed across the rink.
Lars was wearing traction equipment on his shoes. Kathryn Sweeny was skating along the opposite side with her hands behind her back. She started moving casually toward Lars. Brett glided to the side, trying to see if Kathryn held anything behind her back but couldn’t quite get in a good position.
He’d never once seen Lars on ice and tried to convince himself that didn’t mean anything. At one time Kathryn had been a mid-level competitor in ice dancing, but he hadn’t seen her skating, even for enjoyment, since he’d arrived in Canada.
Brett noticed Markus dart onto the ice from the far end, running toward them, waving. He stopped, took out his phone, and held it up for Brett to see. It took Brett a few seconds to figure out Markus was trying to get him to look at his own phone. They w
ere within shouting distance of each other, but for some reason Markus didn’t want to yell. Brett took out his phone.
There was a message from Markus reading, “Lindsay got a match on the partial print. Kathryn Sweeny.”
Rylan’s phone was locked up inside the venue.
Brett blinked at the screen, stunned. Lars summoning Rylan to him snapped Brett into action. He shoved his phone into his pocket. He was closer to Rylan, but more importantly, a man on skates was much faster than one running across the ice in shoes. Brett was capable of going from a standstill to full speed in seconds and he put that skill to use now.
Rylan closed in on Lars. He was smiling, his body language relaxed. Lars said something. Brett couldn’t hear his words, but everything about Rylan changed in an instant.
Lars moved faster toward Rylan. What Rylan did next astounded Brett. He picked up speed, leapt into a jump and kicked out at Lars. Ice skate blades were called that for a reason, they were damn sharp. The finely-honed steel cut across Lars’s arm, turning it red in an instant.
Lars shouted and lunged at Rylan, hitting his leg with enough force that Rylan landed with a harsh grunt face down on the ice.
Brett heard a loud snap. Rylan rolled to his back and grabbed one knee, shouting once then clamping his mouth shut. Even from that distance Brett saw how Rylan bit his lip and the way his skin paled. Things started happening so fast, and at the same time it was difficult for Brett to keep up or make much sense of events.
Cops began running at them from all directions, but Lars managed to recover and darted away.
That fucking bastard killed my sister.
Brett veered away from Rylan and followed Lars. He heard Markus threaten to shoot if Lars didn’t stop. A second later he realized it wasn’t Lars that Markus yelled at, it was Kathryn.
Brett looked back in time to see Kathryn bring a pipe down—over and over—on the knee Rylan held. People began rushing toward them, closing in so Brett’s view was obscured. Rylan’s bloodcurdling screams split the air and was followed by a gun shot that dropped Kathryn where she stood.
They killed Celia.
Brett should’ve let the police deal with Lars. He should’ve gone to Rylan right away. Kathryn wasn’t going anywhere. Lars was getting farther away. Cops were chasing, but Lars had too much of a head start on them. Not on Brett, however.
Spinning around, Brett sped after Lars. The man was no athlete, he could barely manage on the ice even with the added traction to his shoes. He must’ve heard Brett coming, because he turned and held an ice pick out.
Brett snarled, slipped to the side then circled around Lars and barreled into him, knocking him down. The ice pick clanged against the ice and Lars skidded across the ice. Brett lunged after him. Lars scrambled to his feet and tried to get away, but wasn’t nearly fast enough.
In two long strides, Brett was right behind Lars. Fighting while on ice was an art form and Brett was an artist. He hooked one arm around Lars’s neck and yanked backward, pulling Lars off his feet. Lars scrambled up and tried to get away but Brett was on him, grabbing Lars, he spun him and around and slammed his fist into Lars’ face.
The man crumpled to the ground. Brett dove after him, fisting his coat collar in one hand and drew his fist back to deliver another power blow.
“Get up and fight!” Brett shouted. “You fuckers killed Celia!”
He swung his fist, but never connected. Someone grabbed his arm from behind and tugged. That threw Brett off balance. He stumbled back and hit the ice.
“Don’t make me arrest you,” Markus snapped. “Right now, I’ll call it self-defense and you walk free. You hit him again and it’s assault, and your boyfriend doesn’t need you in lock-up.”
Markus gave Brett’s arm a shake, straightened and retrieved the ice pick then returned to Lars and pulled him to his feet. Lars put up a halfhearted struggle. Markus growled, “Give me a reason.”
Brett climbed to his feet. There were sirens and people and commotion all over the rink.
What do I do?
“Rylan,” he whispered. He couldn’t see Rylan, but he heard him and saw people where Rylan and Kathryn had been last. Markus, with Lars in tow, appeared at Brett’s side and gave him a sharp nudge with his elbow.
That set Brett in motion. He skated to the crowd then shouldered his way through. “Rylan!”
Rylan was flat on his back on the ice. Someone had put a coat over him and another was balled up under his head. There were enough pro-skaters around who’d probably ensured Rylan hadn’t otherwise been moved. One of the woman guests knelt beside him, holding his hand, telling Rylan he’d be okay.
“Let him in,” Markus ordered. The two cops who looked as if they were going to try to stop Brett moved back, relief all over their faces. There was an expanding pool of blood beside Kathryn, though Brett saw she was still breathing. Two ambulances pulled up and crews came running with stretchers and equipment.
The woman moved away and wiped tears from her face when Brett dropped to his knees beside Rylan and pulled him close, holding him as tightly as possible until the paramedics and police forced him away.
A feeling of utter loneliness and uncertainty washed over Brett.
What do I do?
The answer was simple, really. He knew exactly what he needed to do. Brett wasn’t alone, not by a long shot.
Brett would be the man Rylan deserved and more importantly the man Rylan needed.
Chapter 11
A wildfire of vicious, white hot pain screamed through Rylan’s right leg with every twitch of his muscles.
I can’t walk. Can’t move.
Every movement other than turning his head was met with resistance. He couldn’t move his leg, but he sure as hell felt it, so he wasn’t paralyzed. That fact almost consoled him. His leg was propped up in some contraption and held immobile, why he couldn’t move his arms, or his other leg was a mystery. He’d been hurt before, the same as anyone else who was any sort of athlete. Some of that pain he even enjoyed to a degree. Nothing ever prepared him for this, however.
The pain in his body was nothing compared to the agony his mind was drowning in.
Lars had threatened him if he didn’t change his mind and agree to stay with Celebration on Ice. That was minor compared to the attack by Kathryn. He’d only had seconds to process her vile words, “You’re finished.”
Rylan squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out what happened next. He wished he could forget, but the flash of metal streaking through the air a few seconds before slamming into his knee was burned into his brain.
You’re finished. Slam went the pipe. You’re finished. A sickening crack of already injured bone. Flashes of metal. Pain. You’re finished.
A garbled scream came from somewhere close by. Rylan’s body jerked and he was staring at ceiling tiles.
“Whoa. Hey. You’re safe,” Brett said softly. One of his hands rested on Rylan’s shoulder, the other stroked his hair.
“I can’t move,” Rylan whispered.
“Yes, you can, but they have you hooked up to all sorts of crap and you needed to be still. You kept flailing when you were coming out of the anesthesia,” Brett explained. He reached over Rylan and pressed a nurse call button on the side of the bed.
A far too bubbly young woman arrived within minutes. “You’re awake, good. We’re going to leave the wraps on your legs, they’ll help with keeping your circulation going, and all these pieces on your knee promote healing, but are portable.” She turned to Brett. “If you’ll give us a minute.”
“No,” Rylan croaked and reached for Brett when he stood up.
“He can wait on the other side of the curtain. This won’t take long.” She closed the curtain and Rylan watched Brett’s silhouette move back. The woman was efficient, and it didn’t take much time for Rylan to be free of straps, catheter, monitor clip and oxygen cannula. “The IV needs to stay in. All you have to do is take this pole with you when you get up and move around.�
�� She gave a tall, metal pole on wheels with hooks along the top a shake. Opening the curtain, she consulted the computer beside the bed, then read off a list of medications prescribed for Rylan.
“No narcotics,” Rylan said.
“Are you sure, they’ll help you a lot the next few—”
“No. Nothing addictive,” Rylan insisted.
The nurse smiled and nodded. “Let us know if you need stronger pain control. Your physical therapy will start tomorrow, but try to move around as much as possible. The faster you get up, the faster you get better.” She nodded to Brett and left.
“I called your parents,” Brett said when they were alone again.
“They’re not—?”
“Nooo. They did offer to cover your expenses, but I told them I’d done that already.” He pulled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly while he pulled a chair close to the bed and sank into it. Rylan thought Brett looked tired and defeated. “I made sure you had the best sports ortho surgeon and I’ve arranged for the top PT equipment to be set up at Big Sky.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Brett shrugged and smiled. “The place needed an upgrade anyway.”
“Thank you.” Rylan looked up when there was a knock on the door.
Brett got up and crossed the small room and opened the door. A woman greeted him and came in.
“Mr. Hennessey, you probably don’t remember, but we met yesterday. I’m Cora Merrill, I’m—”
“I know who you are, Dr. Merrill. Everyone in professional sports knows who you are,” Rylan said in as neutral a tone as he could manage. He didn’t want to be rude, or seem ungrateful, but the simple fact was, if she was involved his condition was worse than bad. She only took the most difficult—hopeless—cases.
Dr. Merrill glanced at Brett before she moved the computer stand around so Rylan had a good view of the screen. “Do I have your permission to speak openly with Mr. Rocha here?”
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