Dirty Deeds

by Sheri Lewis Wohl

  He opened the door and stepped onto the smooth ice. Bill would grumble later when he'd be forced to run the Zamboni again to smooth out all the damage Paul would inflict. But hey, it was good for all of them to break their routines once in a while, Bill included.

  As Paul's skates hit the ice, he no longer thought about Jamie or the bounty hunter on his tail.

  Chapter Two

  From the rapid succession of thumps Louie could hear from the outside corridor of the Spokane Arena, she'd have sworn the entire hockey team was on the ice. Instead, one man circled the arena, methodically lining up a row of small pucks on the red line. Once they were in an order that seemed to please him, he would circle to the opposite end of the ice and then race back toward them. One by one he flew to the pucks, striking them with such force they crashed into the boards and made the glass rattle. Strength and fury roared through each and every shot. Impressive, very impressive.

  Louie didn't need to ask who the skater was. Paul McDonald resembled his younger brother or rather, young James McDonald resembled his older brother Paul. Resembled was the key word, for they were most definitely not twins. James' stats had him at five-foot-ten and about one-sixty which pretty much jibed with her memory of the man who'd come into the office. His face was soft, and tough was definitely not the adjective she'd use to describe James.

  This McDonald was well over thirty and decidedly not thin or soft. From where she stood, her best guess was at least six feet tall. She'd be able to look him pretty square in the eye, though the skates gave him a few more inches. His shoulders were broad and muscled. He wore a white workout jersey with the recognizable Chargers logo. Without all the pads normally worn under the jersey, she could see thick, strong arms flex each time he swung the stick. Oh yeah, this was a big brother in a big way.

  "Not bad," Louie muttered.

  She'd done a little background on Paul McDonald before heading over to the rink. She liked to know who and what she was dealing with. When she was on the job, she learned quickly that the more she knew about a situation, the better. That particular trait had made her a very good police officer; it made her an even better bail enforcement agent. She'd learned that Paul McDonald was an interesting man who, unlike his fugitive younger brother, was a pillar of excellence and achievement.

  He'd begun his professional career in the major junior hockey league as a teen and moved to the NHL at age eighteen. An injury to his knee ended his playing career six years ago and now he coached the WHL team in Spokane. There was a huge following in the community for the team and he was the most popular coach ever. Spokane embraced the Canadian export as if he was a native son and from everything she read, he returned the sentiment. He held dual citizenship and spent the vast majority of his time in the United States.

  The fact he was gorgeous didn't hurt either. Oh, not in a model kind of way. More like a red-haired princely Highlander who opened his arms and made his adopted homeland his kingdom. Earlier she'd decided James would do a kilt proud. Now as she stood watching big brother, Louie decided he could do more than make a kilt proud. She was pretty sure he'd make it downright sexy. She was such a sucker for a man in a skirt. And what exactly did those Highlanders wear under a kilt? The naughty girl in her hoped it was nothing.

  She made her way down the steep steps to the glass topped boards surrounding the ice rink. She waited until he finished slamming the latest row of pucks into the far wall before knocking hard on the glass.

  He spun, sprays of ice shooting up from the blades of his skates. He looked over at her, his eyes hooded and stormy. An instant later they cleared. He covered the short distance to the door in a flash. Opening the door, he stepped through onto the rubber mat.

  "Yes," he said in a deep, rich voice. "Can I help you?"

  She put out her hand. "Coach McDonald, my name's Louie Russell." Now that he was close, she could see those stormy eyes were an enticing shade of green.

  He stuck his right hand under his left arm and pulled off a bulky glove. With his hand now free, he took hers in a solid handshake. His long fingers wrapped around her hand, his grip firm, his skin warm. "The bounty hunter," he said.

  God, she hated that. It made her sound like some sort of masochistic dyke who wore her wallet on a chain and sported a spiky blue hairstyle. Why did everyone insist on calling her a bounty hunter? Too many bad "reality" television shows.

  She removed her hand from his. "Bail enforcement agent." Though she tried, she couldn't keep the edge from her voice. Half a decade of defending herself made Louie a bit on the touchy side.

  "Oh yes," he said, her brusque words seeming to bring a twinkle to his eyes. "Harry told me you don't like being called a bounty hunter, although I've got to say you aren't exactly what I expected."

  "And that would be?" Oh, this ought to be good.

  He raised an eyebrow, shrugged his shoulders and said, "A man."

  That pissed her off. She was sick and tired of people assuming bail enforcement was a man's job. She did it better than ninety-nine percent of the men in eastern Washington and she was damned tired of having to prove herself over and over again. Was this world ever going to change and stop pigeonholing women?

  Her thoughts tumbled of her mouth before she could stop them. "Women are perfectly capable of doing this job, Mr. McDonald." Her cheeks were hot, and she hoped it didn't show on her face.

  He put his hand up as if to shield himself. "Whoa, Ms. Russell," he said in a neutral voice. "I didn't mean it in a discriminatory way. I was expecting a man because every other Louie I've ever met was a man. It was your name that threw me, not your profession."

  Well, crap. She didn't want to think she'd jumped to a conclusion or made the same sort of assumption she'd accused him of…except it appeared she just did. She'd sped right straight to the conclusion he was making a sexist statement. If she was truthful, she couldn't blame him for not knowing she was a woman. Her nickname was masculine and if it wasn't for the fact everyone had called her Louie since the first grade, it might have occurred to her.

  So now she owed him an apology and a bigger person probably would. Louie didn't feel like it. Besides, she didn't even know the guy. He was simply the brother of a fugitive. Yeah, a really attractive and successful brother of a fugitive. She didn't have to explain herself to him or apologize for what she considered justifiable defensiveness. So she didn't. She shrugged and pulled a small notebook out of her jacket pocket.

  "About your brother James," she began.

  Darkness flowed across his face at the mention of his brother's name. Interesting.

  "Come on," he growled. He turned to head for an entryway that opened between the rows of seats that came down all the way to the boards surrounding the ice. Once through it, a private area was revealed. She assumed it encompassed the locker rooms, equipment storage and offices for the hockey team staff. Sure enough, he pulled open one door and ushered her into a warm and inviting office.

  The furniture was old though comfortable-looking in a homey way, and well-used, not put in place for simple decoration. The room smelled of sweat, old leather and, very faintly, cologne.

  The desk he walked around was a cluttered mess with piles of papers and file folders. In the corner was a huge hockey bag, just like the kind his brother had used while attempting to smuggle his stash of BC bud into the States. Paul dropped into the chair behind his desk, bending over to take off the skates.

  "Go ahead," he said, his attention focused on the laces.

  Louie poised her pen over the as-yet-empty note pad. "Any ideas on where we might find him?"

  "Not a clue," he answered.

  "Friends, girlfriends?" Surely he'd have something to point her in the right direction.

  "I don't know any of his friends, and I don't believe there's a girlfriend. I'm relatively certain Mom would have mentioned a woman, if there was one."

  "He wouldn't tell you?"

  The skates hit the floor with a thud and he pulled back upright in his
chair. His green eyes narrowed. He didn't look like a happy man. "No, he wouldn't tell me. You need to understand, Ms. Russell, my brother and I aren't close. I haven't even talked to him in years."

  She believed him. The frosty edge to his words spoke volumes. She nodded, scribbling with a quick hand in her notebook. "I'm Louie, please, and even if you don't talk with your brother, anything you can think of might help. In fact, sometimes I find that when people run, they don't run to the newest group of friends but to the oldest."

  "Trust me, I wouldn't be the one he'd come to."

  "Maybe, maybe not. I've done this long enough to discover what makes us feel safest is sometimes what's the most familiar to us, like our past. Anyone from his past who might draw him?"

  Again his eyes flashed. "Like me?" he asked.

  She met his gaze, her own brown eyes rock steady. He was sharp and she liked it about him. "Like you. After all, you're his rich, successful brother."

  "I'm telling you again, Jamie will not come here, period. He knows better."

  "You won't help him?"

  "No." There was ice in that single word.

  Ice didn't scare her. "And if the bond ends up forfeited?"

  "I don't know." He closed his eyes and sighed. He ran a hand through his thick, red hair and she watched it as it fell around his face. "It would be disastrous for the folks."

  She studied him for a moment. What about this big, successful brother? He was handsome, rich, and powerful. So what was his story?

  Louie wasn't above asking. "So, Mr. McDonald, given forfeiture would be such a financial hardship to your parents, why haven't you stepped up to at least take the burden from them?" It was a reasonable question if the financial impact was indeed that great upon his parents.

  His eyes grew dark and narrow. "Perhaps you don't fully understand me, Ms. Russell. There are reasons why my brother and I aren't close and trust me, I'd be the last person Jamie'd come to in any situation. As to my stepping up with my checkbook, that Ms. Russell is personal and none of your business." The ice in his voice had gone glacial.

  Possibly true; it didn't mean she'd give up on this particular line of questioning. If he thought she would, he had a great deal to learn about her. "But you're family."

  "Just because we're related doesn't mean we're friends and in this instance in particular, Jamie'd know better than to come to me. He wouldn't ask me for money, and he'd know in this case, I'd put him in your hands so fast, he wouldn't know what hit him. Is that clear enough for you?"

  Not really. She shrugged. "It's a logical assumption."

  "True enough, it's just an erroneous one. If I could get hold of him, right after I beat the crap out of him for what he's doing to our parents, I'd hand him over to you in a New York minute."

  "The money?" She prodded in case he forgot the little detail.

  His face relaxed a fraction and some of the flash went out of his eyes. "You don't give up, do you?"

  She shook her head. "Not a chance. I'd make a pretty piss-poor bail enforcement agent if I did. So, about the money…"

  He took a deep breath and put his hands together on the top of his desk. He leaned forward as if to get closer to her. "As far as the money goes, I'd drop a hundred grand in a heartbeat to help my parents, if I had it. Look around yourself, Ms. Russell, and you'll see my money. Every dime I made in the NHL was dumped into this facility and into the team. I look real good on paper, but as for liquidity, forget it. It's easier and quicker to find the little bastard and drag him back here than for me to come up with six figures in cash. I can do it, but I suspect it'll take more time than we have."

  The truth was deep and dark in Paul's eyes. No doubt he'd do precisely what he said. She'd gotten the hard answers she came searching for. Now she needed to coax out any little detail he might remember about his brother, something to put her on the right trail.

  Paul could hold the key without even realizing it. Even families that weren't close knew details about each other no one else did, and success was more often than not in those details. His fractured relationship was by no means a show-stopper.

  "You call him Jamie." She made a note because that little piece of information was not in Harry's file. She liked the nickname, it was warm and friendly. Not exactly the moniker of a big, dangerous drug lord.

  "Yes. I can't say what his new friends and associates call him, but we've always called him Jamie."

  She didn't miss the inflection on the words new friends and associates. There was distaste in his words and it came across as clear as a bell. Paul McDonald didn't think much more of his brother's current profession than she did and it put another plus in his column.

  Once she made the last note, Louie folded the notebook shut and slipped it along with the pen back into her pocket. From her other pocket she pulled a business card that she handed to Paul. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, his touch light and electric.

  "If you think of anything that might help, please give me a call."

  He looked down at the card and then back up to her face. "Of course."

  "Seriously, Mr. McDonald."

  "Paul."

  She paused and then nodded. "Paul. Anything you think of could be important."

  "If come up with anything, I'll call," he told her.

  "Promise?"

  He used his index finger to make an 'x' across the left side of his chest. "Cross my heart."

  "Thank you."

  She shook his hand once more, then turned and made her way back out of the office and into the public area of the arena. She didn't leave right away, but instead stood in the dim light at the top of stairs gazing down at the now quiet ice.

  Paul McDonald wasn't hiding anything from her. She'd been around enough to know lies when she heard them, and he wasn't lying. He was as angry with his brother as if the bond money came right out of his pocket. Paul could prove helpful in making her job much easier.

  So what was the nagging feeling rolling around in the pit of her stomach? She was missing something. But what was it?

  * * * *

  He watched and waited, darkness falling deep enough so he could move to the back door without detection, but he jumped every time a car drove by. Walking to Kendall's house with his hands stuffed in his pockets, he tried as best he could to look like a guy doing nothing more than taking an early evening walk. At her driveway, he looked around before he raced to the back door. Feeling around with his fingertips inside the lip of the hanging plant, he found the key she left there for emergencies.

  Unlocking the door, he slipped inside. Only then did he let out a breath. The feeling of safety the dark entryway gave him almost brought him to tears. A spicy scent hung in the air and he recognized it immediately. Kendall's homemade spaghetti sauce.

  "Kendall," he said in a voice quiet enough he hoped he wouldn't scare her.

  She stood at the kitchen sink a few feet away from where he huddled in the shadows. At the hushed sound of her name, she jumped. With her hand over her heart, she spun toward the back door and the direction of his voice. "Jesus, Jamie, you just about gave me a heart attack."

  "Sorry." He meant it too. He hated the look on her face and knowing he was the one who put it there.

  He didn't move from the back door, afraid to get too close to the large dining room window with a full view of the yard. He couldn't be certain he wasn't followed, and he wasn't about to take any more chances than necessary.

  Kendall seemed to sense the root of his reluctance to come further into the room and went around the counter to the window. Pulling the cord, she closed the blinds. Relieved, he moved to wrap her in his arms and dropped his head to her shoulder. God, he wanted to be strong, to be the kind of man Kendall deserved, but he just couldn't pull it off. His best intentions dissolved the moment he felt the touch of her lips against his cheek. Sobs he couldn't stop rolled out.

  "Oh, baby," she cooed into his ear, her arms holding him tight. "Come on, sit down and tell me what's going on.
"

  He managed to get himself under control long enough to follow her to the table. His head hung as he dropped into one of the high-backed chairs. His body still buzzed with emotion. At least the tears stopped. He hoped he got it out of his system. Some big tough guy he was, bawling like a baby.

  "I'm so screwed." His words were muffled, his head in his hands. It was too hard to look at her. His heart told him she must be as disgusted with him as he was with himself. Any reasonable person would be. He couldn't bear to see the disappointment in her eyes.

  "Your mother called looking for you. She said you failed to show up for your preliminary hearing. I don't understand, Jam, why did you jump bond? We'd have gotten through this." Her words were soft and full of caring.

  He pulled his head up and turned his watery eyes to her face. There was no sense in beating around the bush. At the very least, she deserved the truth.

  "I didn't have a choice, Kendall, they're going to kill me, one way or the other. If I stay in jail, somebody will put me down in there, and if I don't hide, they'll take me out here too. I'm a dead man either way."

  She reached out and took his hands in hers. Her face mirrored the concern in her voice. "I still don't understand. Who are they?"

  "The guys I've been working for."

  She brought his hands to her lips and placed a kiss each on the back of each. "Jamie, this is crazy. Nobody's going to kill you. You're scared and over-reacting. They don't kill people for marijuana." She gave him a small encouraging smile.

  Pulling his hands away, he stood up and went back to the window. He pushed aside the blinds so he could peek out between the window frame and the edge of the closed blind. Quiet darkness spread out before him with ominous shadows that quivered and shifted. Anyone could be out there right now waiting and watching for him. He wasn't safe. He'd never be safe.

  "They'll find a way. I know too much and they're not going to take a chance I'll talk."

  She sat back in the chair and studied him. Her eyes were bright and intelligent. Her arms were crossed over her chest. "All you were doing is a little dope running, right?"