Thin Ice (32 page)

"No, no, no, Emily. I'm not asking what he would want to do—we both know what that would be—but what would he do?"

Was Carmen saying Eric would restrain himself around Ryan? “I don't know,” she admitted honestly. “I guess he'd stil confront him somehow. Maybe warn Catherine off the marriage? But why can't I somehow. Maybe warn Catherine off the marriage? But why can't I do that? I've met her. She knows me. What's to stop me from giving her a cal?"

"You tel me."

Emily said nothing, realizing Carmen was right. Remarkably enough, after al these years, she was in the driver's seat now and if Ryan wasn't running scared, he should be.

"The bastard deserves to be shown for what he is, Emily. You should have brought him up on charges nine years ago."

"I didn't know how. Even if I had known, I didn't have the money. I left with only the clothes on my back. I wouldn't have stood a chance against the Montgomery money and influence."

"It's not too late to do it now. Especialy not with fresh evidence."

Emily was starting to feel cornered again. Instinctively, she lashed out. “What about you? What do you get out of al of this?"

Carmen frowned. “What do you mean?"

"The Montgomery's are big news in St. Paul. You're a reporter."

Carmen's puzzled look relaxed into a smile. “Okay. I see where you're headed with this, and while I'l admit an exposé on the Montgomery's would sel a ton of newspapers, that's not my goal here. For one, I'm a writer, not a reporter. I sel stories. And while here. For one, I'm a writer, not a reporter. I sel stories. And while a part of me would love to write this story, and expose Ryan Montgomery for what he is, believe me, Em, that's not what this is about."

She looked Emily in the eye. “I'm here for you as a friend, Emily. A friend who's walked in your shoes and knows what it's like to think you're facing it alone."

Again, Emily felt that compeling tug toward friendship. “Thank you."

"You're welcome. More tea?"

Emily handed over her cup. Accepting her refil, she took a long sip, then said, “So what's your story?"

"Three years ago I had a leech of a live-in boyfriend who decided I wasn't supporting him in the manner he wanted to be supported in.

He eventualy tried beating some incentive into me. I wised up and threw him out after a year, but it's taken me this long to get over it.” She smiled wryly. “You might cal this latest series of articles my catharsis."

Emily sighed heavily. “I guess we al need one."

"Exactly, and I have a feeling you're just coming in to yours. I'm not trying to start an argument, Emily, I just want you to face the question of whether you're going to let Montgomery put a muzzle on you again, not to mention let him get away with beating the hel out you again, not to mention let him get away with beating the hel out of you again. If you sweep his latest attack under the carpet, you'l be sending the message he can terrorize you any time he wants to.

You know this Emily. You know it."

Emily said nothing. Carmen sighed in frustration and sat back.

“Okay. I'l let it go for now. But what are you going to do about Eric? He's not the kind of man to let it go if someone disses his lady."

"Carmen, I never said we were—"

"Come off it, girl. Denial doesn't suit you. One look at that picture in Sunday's paper and you'd have to be blind not to be able to tel the man's crazy about you."

Emily leaned her head back and blew out a long, slow breath in exasperation. Suddenly Ryan's ugly words came back to haunt her.

Grow up, Emily. It made the papers. Call your new friend Martinez if you don't believe me. I'm sure she knows all about it. She'd have to be as stupid as you are not to.

Obviously neither she nor Carmen was stupid. It was equaly obvious Carmen had a strong opinion about Eric's character. An opinion that differed somewhat from her own in reference to what he would or wouldn't do if he found out about Ryan. The difference was worth exploring. She sent Carmen a sideways glance.

"Tel me, Carmen. How much do you know about Eric Cameron?"

"Tel me, Carmen. How much do you know about Eric Cameron?"

Carmen reached for her tea. “I've never met him, if that's what you're asking. I was scheduled to interview him and several of his teammates shortly after he joined the Saints. A social profile to introduce the players to the city for a special advertising supplement Catherine Stump paid the paper to put out to generate interest in the team.” She grinned wryly, then sipped her tea. “That Catherine is one amazing woman."

"What happened?"

"With Eric? He didn't show. Car trouble, I think. I interviewed the rest of the guys and got my story anyway.” She smiled, remembering. “Quite a rowdy bunch. A few of them too arrogant for their own good, but nobody's complaining now.” She glanced toward the television. “Which reminds me, the game's on. They're probably into the second period by now. You want to check the score?” She reached for the remote.

"Er, no. I'd rather not.” Emily couldn't bear the thought of seeing Eric just then.

Carmen frowned. “What's wrong, Emily?"

I'm about to make a complete ass of myself, that's what. “Have you ever heard anything about ... Eric's ex-wife?"

you ever heard anything about ... Eric's ex-wife?"

Carmen's frown deepened, then slowly faded. “I see,” she murmured, then set the remote aside. You're wondering about that business where she landed in the hospital. If it has any implications for you."

Emily said nothing, the idea of digging into Eric's past like this repulsive to her. Where was her faith and trust in him? She couldn't believe she was faling prey to Ryan's lies again, but damn it, she needed to know.

"What exactly is it you want to know?” Carmen asked, spookily echoing her own thoughts.

"Is it true that he ... that he...” Emily looked into her tea. She couldn't do it. It wasn't right.

"Are you asking if he was responsible for what happened?"

"Forget it. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, you brought it up, you want to know. I'd say you have a right to know. Word is he beat her so badly she had to be hospitalized. I don't know if it's true. Seems the story made a sizeable splash in the papers some ten years ago. My gut feeling is he was set up, but I've never had a chance to ask him about it."

"Set up? By his own wife?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"I ... understand she dropped the charges.” Emily prayed it was because he wasn't guilty.

Carmen nodded. “When he agreed to the terms of the divorce.

From the looks of it she made off with a bundle, considering he was only a minor league player at the time. He must have had some money of his own. As for Eric, right about that time he began developing his reputation as a fighter. Unfortunately, he didn't discriminate between his opponents and his teammates when he let loose. Shortly after the incident with his wife, he was traded to a farm team that prized that sort of behavior. Within a month he'd fought his way into a prime position with the New Jersey Devils.

"But that was years ago. Once he left the Devils he started settling down, and by the time he'd joined the Canadiens, he'd evolved into one of the best and most respected players in the league.” Frowning, Carmen looked around the room. “I've got a couple of books around here somewhere written by former players. They mention Eric frequently—and in a positive light. I'l loan them to you if you like."

"No, that's al right,” Emily murmured, feeling too confused just then to dig any deeper. She needed to get home, needed to sort through her feelings, needed to make sense of the evening's events and the information spinning through her mind before she opened this Pandora's Box any wider.

Carmen studied her openly. “Emily, if the man's past bothers you so much, why don't you ask him about it?"

Emily arrived at Anna's during the last minutes of the third period.

Robbie, sprawled on the family room floor next to a large, empty pizza box, barely glanced away from the enormous wide screen.

Anna took one look at Emily's swolen face and practicaly dragged her into the kitchen.

"What in God's name happened to you?"

"Ryan."

Anna stared, her lips tightening, but said nothing. She spun away, hit the microwave button, then proceeded to make a pot of tea.

"Please, no more tea,” Emily protested. “I'l be running to the bathroom al night."

"Won't bother me,” Anna returned implacably. “At least I'l know you're safe."

So Anna stil expected her to stay the night. Emily sighed, knowing she had yet another battle on her hands before she could go home to bed. The thought of Anna keeping Robbie for the night was a good one, but Emily refused to do anything that might make Robbie feel he was unsafe in his own home. They couldn't run to Anna's every time Emily had a problem with Ryan.

"We can't stay, Anna.” At Anna's impatient scowl, she said, “Don't you see? I can't let the possibility that Ryan might show up again force me from my own home. That would be giving him the power and control again. I can't base my choices on what he might do. I'l drive myself crazy if I start thinking that way."

Anna harrumphed and turned toward the beeping microwave. “It's a good thing the season's almost over,” she muttered, setting two steaming slices of Paisan's pizza in front of Emily.

Emily glanced up in surprise. “Why is that?"

"Your young man wil be around when you need him for a change."

"Anna, Eric isn't my ‘young man’”.

"If he isn't you didn't have any business staying out al night with him.

If I'd known you were just playing with him—"

"I wasn't playing with him, I was—"

Falling hopelessly in love with him.

Emily drew a deep breath. “Listen to me, Anna, because I'm only going to say this once. Eric Cameron is not and never wil be responsible for either my or Robbie's safety or wel-being."

"And why not? What's wrong with the man? Seems to me he's just what you need with your smarmy ex-husband sniffing around."

Emily tensed. “He came by tonight?"

"No, but that doesn't mean he won't. God knows what he'l take it in his mind to do to you the next time. Are you going to let him get away with this, Emily? And don't tel me I don't understand. I understand plenty. You're not making any sense right now and you know it."

She sat down and looked Emily in the eye, speaking gently. “I've got a bad feeling about this, Emily,” she said, her plump, maternal face creased with concern. “We need to cal the police."

"He doesn't want me.” Emily explained about the interview and Ryan's reaction to it. “He blames Eric for putting me in the spotlight.

He says if I stop seeing Eric and back off on giving interviews and campaigning for funds for Harmony House, he'l leave me alone."

"And you believe him? Girl, haven't you learned anything?"

"He says he'l sue for custody of Robbie if I don't do as he says."

"Hogwash. If he wanted the boy, he'd have done something about it before now. You think those Montgomerys would sit stil knowing they had a legitimate grandchild living in the same city? The man's manipulating you, just like he used to. You let him get away with it this time and he'l be back again and again, every time he wants to see you jump, expecting you to say, ‘How high?’”

"Mom! Mom! Come look! Eric's got the puck—and he scoorrres!”

"Mom! Mom! Come look! Eric's got the puck—and he scoorrres!” Robbie belowed.

Emily smiled at Robbie's perfect imitation of the game's play-by-play announcer. She'd joined her son in that same victory cry many times while watching Eric's games, then puled Robbie to her for a big hug. Her smile faded at the thought that she'd never again be able to watch Eric play without wondering about his early career days. Or his ex-wife.

She pushed the thought away, refusing to dwel on it any more than she already had tonight. Her next priority was to speak to Robbie about his father, but from the sound of her son's hooting and holering, to snare his attention while the game was on would be impossible. Her suspicions were confirmed when he crowed the game would run into overtime. Eric's goal had apparently tied the score at two-two.

"Mom! You gonna come watch Eric play or not?"

Emily knew if she stayed in the kitchen with Anna, she'd invite more lecturing. “In a minute, sweetheart. I'm finishing my pizza.” She ignored Anna's disgruntled stare and went to join her son.

Robbie sat cross-legged on the floor—his gaze glued to the screen.

Emily spied Augustus’ vacant and hideously ugly leather easy chair in a shadowed corner of the room and made her way toward it. As she sank into its shiny, wel-worn cushions, she finaly understood why he refused to let Anna replace it with something more in why he refused to let Anna replace it with something more in keeping with the room's French Country décor. Its smooth contours welcomed her like a hug from an old and dear friend.

She slid back and propped up her feet, then closed her eyes and sighed, ignoring the dul throbbing in her shoulder, breast and hip.

Instead she focused on the room's quiet comfort, and settled in to watch Robbie root for his team.

And watch Robbie she did. Not once during the next sixteen minutes did her gaze stray from her son to the television screen. Al she needed to know about the game was reflected in Robbie's squirming body and animated face. When the Saints scored, he leapt up and whooped for al he was worth. Spotting Emily, he launched himself into her arms for a victory hug. Emily winced as his bony knee dug into her bruised hip, buried her face in his baby-soft neck and held him tight. Silently she vowed to do whatever it took to keep her son safe until he grew to manhood.