Thin Ice (45 page)

Emily smiled and nodded. “I think she'd be interested."

* * * *

* * * *

It was after three before they got Robbie settled into bed. Emily dropped into a kitchen chair, prepared to put up her feet and enjoy the tal glass of iced tea her mother had waiting when she remembered to cal Miranda.

She heaved herself to her feet and dialed Miranda. No luck. After much internal debate, during which her pride took a wel-deserved beating, she dialed Eric's apartment. No answer. Damn. His cel phone number was on her desk at home. On a long shot, she dialed Anna. Maybe she could run over to the house and get Eric's number for her.

Strike three.

She sighed and left Anna a message, then settled in to wait.

* * * *

Eric felt like a kid on prom night as he paced the airport terminal.

Despite his basebal hat and dark glasses, several people stopped to ask, “Aren't you Eric Cameron?” Each time, he cursed his purple jaw anew, but somehow managed to convince them he wasn't who they thought he was.

For the umpteenth time, he checked Emily's flight number against the monitor. They'd landed. His pulse picked up speed. He hoped he wasn't jumping the gun. But he couldn't wait to see them again.

He'd even rented a limo to take them al to the arena. He'd wanted He'd even rented a limo to take them al to the arena. He'd wanted his hands free to hold onto any part of Emily he could. Then, after the game...

His heart dipped and squeezed. He could only hope she didn't have other plans. He reached the boarding area as the first arrivals streamed through the door that led to the jetway. With each unfamiliar face his nerves stretched tighter. Good grief. Weren't they supposed to let women and children off the plane first or something? Where were they? Around him families and lovers melted into hugs and kisses, and it made him ache with the need to hold his own loved ones close.

The arrivals slowed to a trickle, giving him a clear view of anyone crossing the threshold. Stil no Robbie or Emily. Had she changed her mind again? Decided she couldn't stomach watching him play after al? His insides knotted al over again.

The flight crew emerged, joking amongst themselves. Eric was the only non-passenger that remained at the foot of the ramp. He started up the ramp when they locked the door to the jetway. No.

It wasn't possible. They had to be on that plane. He needed them to be on that plane.

"Excuse me, sir. May I help you?"

He looked down at a pretty brunette in a navy blue uniform who blocked his path, a polite smile on her bright red lips. He had to give her credit for planting herself in front of him.

"I ... was expecting someone. A woman and a boy. They didn't get off the plane."

"If they were on it, sir, they would have used this exit."

"You're sure?"

Her smile never faltered. She'd obviously had this conversation before. “Quite sure. Everyone on the flight has deplaned. If you'd like, we can check to see if they were on the flight."

Feeling completely off-balance, he folowed her to the check-in counter in the boarding area. “Names?” she asked.

"Jordan. Emily and Robbie. Maybe Robin,” he answered, with a last hopeful look at the door to the jetway.

"They did have reservations. If you'l hold on a minute, I'l cal to see if they boarded in Detroit."

"Thank you,” he said, but already knew the answer.

She'd changed her mind.

* * * *

Emily, seated on her mother's couch with Robbie's head in her lap, watched Eric play like a man possessed. A man possessed with an angry need to win, an angry need to prove he wasn't a loser. She angry need to win, an angry need to prove he wasn't a loser. She didn't flinch when he rammed into his opponents this time, but her heart ached for him just the same. She'd wanted to be there.

Wanted to cheer him on in person. Wanted to hold him in her arms and assure herself he was fit to play again after Friday's fiasco.

Fit or not, he was clearly determined to handle whatever the Bombers threw his way tonight, and then some. In time, they appeared to have picked up on his mood, and apparently decided to give him a wide berth and focus on disabling his teammates instead. For that, Emily was selfishly grateful.

She'd caled Miranda several times before the game, to no avail.

She'd even caled the arena, but found the people there singularly uncooperative. Sure, she needed to get a message to Eric Cameron. They'd see what they could do. Miranda Manzelrod?

Never heard of her. There would be no help from that quarter.

Anna hadn't caled back, either. Heartsick, Emily had settled in to watch the game. Nothing she could do until it was over.

The Saints won again, this time by a landslide six-one. Emily felt as if she'd been given a reprieve. The next game, the sixth of the series, would be in Baltimore in two days. Assuming the Saints won, there would be a seventh game in Minneapolis, which meant Eric wouldn't leave for his home in Barton before she could get back to Minneapolis. Starting at eleven, she caled his apartment again. And again, and again. When she'd received no answer by three, she colapsed on her bed in defeat. She dreamed of Eric smugly smiling at her across a crowded room as he celebrated his victory with a at her across a crowded room as he celebrated his victory with a gorgeous woman on each arm. You left me, he said. Was I supposed to wait for you to come back?

After she tried Eric again in the morning, without success, a frazzled and frustrated Emily finaly touched base with Miranda at work.

"Emily? Where were you last night?"

"I'm stil in Turnersvile, Miranda."

"What? Why? Good grief, Eric went to meet your plane!"

"He what? Oh, no. Oh, no. Tel me he didn't."

"Sorry. I told him you were coming home."

Emily didn't have the energy to debate the merits of that decision.

“Listen, Miranda, Robbie has an ear infection. He can't fly until it clears up. I didn't find out until we were leaving for the airport. I tried to cal you. I even tried to cal Eric's apartment. Do you have his cel phone number?"

"He was so angry,” Miranda murmured, almost to herself. “I've never seen him so upset. After the game, he asked me if I'd heard from you, and when I said no..."

Emily didn't want to hear it. “His cel phone number, Miranda. Do you have it?"

"Sure. It's saved in mine. Let me get it for you."

"If I can't reach him, and you happen to see him..."

"I'l tel him to cal you right away. Do you have a cel number?"

"Of course.” She gave Miranda the number.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Eric wasn't caling anybody. He was too busy hiding out at the Hilton, licking his wounds. It didn't matter anyway. He didn't have his cel phone with him. He didn't know what he'd done with it, but figured he must have left it in his apartment. No way was he going back there. Not anytime soon, anyway.

Feeling too raw inside to face the champagne and roses that waited in his apartment, he'd had the limo drop him off at the hotel instead.

He didn't leave his suite until the folowing afternoon, when it was time to catch the flight for Baltimore.

He settled into a seat apart from the poker parties and bul sessions and immersed himself in his dog-eared notebook on the Bombers’

hockey strategies. What had once been a source of friction between himself and his teammates—his pre-game aloofness, was now a respected tradition. Al he had to do anymore was reach for his notebook and he became invisible.

Just as wel. His emotional annihilation at Emily's hands had left him in no mood for socializing. Al he wanted now was to find the key to beating Granger at his own game, then get the hel out of Dodge.

With any luck, come fal, he'd step onto the ice somewhere far, far away. Even Europe was looking good these days.

A shadow fel across his notes. He glanced up and saw Bil watching him, a look in his eyes that made Eric want to deck him, best friend or no.

"You okay?"

The question set Eric's teeth on edge. He didn't want pity. He wanted to be left alone. He had a job to do. A score to settle. A woman to forget. “Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You didn't show up at any of the victory parties last night."

"I was busy."

Bil studied the coffee-stained pages covered with diagrams and cryptic notes strewn across Eric's seat back tray. “Looks to me like you've been obsessing."

"I'm entitled. The man tried to bury me ten years ago."

"Doesn't explain why you're so hyped on retaliation now. It isn't like you haven't had other chances over the years."

"You got a problem with the way I'm playing, Coach?"

"You got a problem with the way I'm playing, Coach?"

Bil's smile dropped. “Don't start that player-manager shit with me.

I'm asking you what the hel's going on with you as a friend. You want to play hardbal, I'm in. But I'd rather find out what's been eating at you these past few weeks."

Eric said nothing, his glower warning Bil to back off. Bil stayed put. Wearily, Eric raked a hand through his hair. “Three guesses."

"So Miranda was right again. This is personal. She's said al along more than just a need to show up Granger was driving you. She's worried about you, you know. She feels awful about what happened at the airport."

Miranda was worried. Miranda felt awful. Not Emily. Eric had thought his shattered heart beyond pain. He was wrong. It hurt like hel. “Wel, you can tel her I survived being stood up by our fickle doctor friend—again."

"Miranda said she caled again. Something about—"

Eric held up his hand. “Don't even go there, man. I don't want to hear it. Not now.” He indicated his notes. “Al I want right now is to find a way to make sure the Saints whip Baltimore's ass tomorrow night."

His friend studied him for a long moment, seemed to come to some sort of decision, then nodded. “Need someone to bounce ass-whipping ideas off of?"

whipping ideas off of?"

* * * *

By Wednesday night Emily was at wit's end. Eric seemed to have falen off the face of the earth, except to suit up for his games.

Miranda, who caled daily to check on Robbie's progress, insisted no one—Bil included—knew where Eric was staying. He kept to himself and simply vanished when the team parted company.

He didn't answer his cel phone, either. Again and again she caled, and became more and more frustrated. When Suzanna stopped by on her lunch hour and caught Emily brooding on the porch swing, then gently suggested she might be better off without a man who could disappear so easily at whim, Emily actualy agreed—then burst into tears.

By the time Suzanna left, Emily knew what she had to do. On a burst of inspiration, she caled Sheila to ask her for a favor, then drove into town for supplies. On her way home she picked up the portfolio case holding the signs Sheila had made for her, then got Robbie in gear while Catrina packed a cooler. At dusk she waved goodbye to her misty-eyed mother and headed for the interstate in her rented Explorer, her driving phobias be damned.

Emily Jordan was going to a hockey game.

While Robbie counted license plates from the back seat, Emily prayed for good weather. Her luck held as far as Chicago, where a torrential downpour forced her to pul into a rest stop or risk being washed off the road. As the wind howled and rain hammered at the windows, beating a relentless tattoo against the Explorer's roof, Emily slid her seat back down, and closed her eyes. Her last thought before sleep claimed her was she'd lost her mind.

She awoke to the steady hum of traffic and a sparkling clear sky.

They entered Minneapolis just after ten. As she puled into the hospital parking lot to make a pit stop Robbie insisted couldn't wait another half hour, Emily exhaled in relief. She'd made it. Home turf at last.

While Robbie used the restroom, Emily used the phone, once again with no luck. She was listening to her voice mail messages when she heard a name and number combination she'd never expected to hear. Patricia Montgomery was staying at Harmony House?

She listened to her messages again, and counted three messages from Patricia, left Tuesday, Sunday, and Friday the week before.

"Something wrong, Emily?” Sarah asked from the doorway. “I stopped by to say hi, but ... you look rattled."

"Um, no. I'm fine. Just dazed from sixteen hours on the road."

"Sixteen hours? Did you have car trouble?"

"No, but I spent most of the night stuck at a rest stop because of the weather. Otherwise we'd have been home hours ago.” Between the weather. Otherwise we'd have been home hours ago.” Between that and coming back to this...” She waved a hand at her overflowing desk.

"I know. Makes you want to turn right around and go back on vacation."

Or think about finding another job, Emily thought as Sarah left to answer a page. She recaled how impressed she'd been by the facility in Turnersvile, how friendly the staff had been when Dr.

Melrose had given her his promised tour. The man definitely wanted her on his staff. He also definitely wanted to spend some time with her mother.

But Emily didn't have time to think about Doctor Melrose and her mother. Not when her own romance was on the rocks. Where the hel was Eric? And why didn't he answer his phone? Grimly, she went to colect Robbie. She found him charming the ladies at the nurse's station with tales of his trip.

"Time to go, Tiger. Mom needs to catch up on some sleep.” She winked at Susan and the others. “See you al Monday, bright and early."

At home she found Anna airing out the house, two tickets to tonight's game tucked in her dress pocket. “Miranda dropped them off. Said she didn't want to take any chances."