fast."
He was about to agree with her when a sudden, horrible thought occurred to him. "What about my parents?"
Chapter Four
Paul McDonald was the real thing: a genuine, good old-fashioned nice guy, a stark contrast to the person portrayed in the newspaper articles Louie'd pulled up on him. He was incredible on skates, a pro player with throngs of hopeful women waiting outside the locker room doors, and legions of fans with his jersey on their backs. He was the it guy until an injury pulled the plug on his career. Or at least his career as a player. He seemed to have made the transition from player to coach with the smoothness of a seasoned professional. Bottom line, Paul McDonald loved the game of hockey and found a way to stay in it even when he couldn't be a player.
Now, he sat in the cold light of the all-night restaurant, his face a pale testament to his discomfort with violent death. His look, one that couldn't be faked, went a long way toward easing her mind. She'd walked away from his office earlier not completely convinced he was on the up and up with her. He may have been truthful with her, but there was always the omission factor. What was it he didn't tell her? He came across sincere enough and yet, who could blame him if he tried to protect his little brother? Blood was thicker than water. She wouldn't blame him for protecting his brother; she'd be a hypocrite if she did.
Her fingers wrapped around his, and she stroked the cool skin on the back of his hand with her thumb. Though he tensed when she first touched him, he didn't pull away. She found that somehow comforting and even a little exciting. She didn't typically touch a client's family members. Not exactly professional, and it was always wise to keep things professional. Or not.
She continued to hold his hand.
"Come on." She finally, reluctantly, let go and slid out of the booth to stand. "Let's check on your parents."
"I've got my cell." He started to dig in his pocket.
She shook her head. "Not in here. Too many people."
"Yeah, maybe you're right." He followed her to the door.
Outside the night had become dark and the air cold. Fall was coming. Each day grew a little shorter and a bit cooler. Louie took a deep breath. She treasured this time of year. Loved the way the breeze kissed her skin and the air smelled clean and fresh. Not far in the distance, was the splash of ducks as they paddled in the nearby Spokane River. She felt alive and peaceful. Or, as peaceful as she ever got anyway.
Over by the SUV, Paul leaned on the rear door and flipped open his cell phone. Worry lines creased his forehead beneath locks of wavy red hair. As he talked, the fingers of his free hand rubbed at one temple as if he was trying to massage away a migraine. She had the strangest urge to go to him, slide her hands along his cheeks where just the hint of stubble darkened his skin, and try to smooth away the concern. Probably not an urge she'd act on. The man already thought her capable of murder; she didn't want him thinking she was a nut-bag as well.
His conversation was brief. When he put the phone back into his pocket, the worry lines were gone. She walked over to him and, despite her best intentions to keep her hands to herself, put one on his arm. Warm, strong muscles tensed beneath her touch.
"Are they all right?"
"Yeah. Everything's quiet in Surrey. They haven't seen Jamie or anyone else, thank God. I told them to call me the second they set eyes on little brother. If they do. I also told them they needed to leave the house and why."
"Are they going?" She hoped so. Some failed to really grasp the danger they could be in when one of their family members played with the devil, like James McDonald had managed to do. Bad things could and did happen to people whose only crime was to be related to a screw-up.
He nodded. "It surprised me Mom didn't put up more of a fight. I guess the word murder did the trick. They're heading up to the cabin. It's remote enough
He was about to agree with her when a sudden, horrible thought occurred to him. "What about my parents?"
Chapter Four
Paul McDonald was the real thing: a genuine, good old-fashioned nice guy, a stark contrast to the person portrayed in the newspaper articles Louie'd pulled up on him. He was incredible on skates, a pro player with throngs of hopeful women waiting outside the locker room doors, and legions of fans with his jersey on their backs. He was the it guy until an injury pulled the plug on his career. Or at least his career as a player. He seemed to have made the transition from player to coach with the smoothness of a seasoned professional. Bottom line, Paul McDonald loved the game of hockey and found a way to stay in it even when he couldn't be a player.
Now, he sat in the cold light of the all-night restaurant, his face a pale testament to his discomfort with violent death. His look, one that couldn't be faked, went a long way toward easing her mind. She'd walked away from his office earlier not completely convinced he was on the up and up with her. He may have been truthful with her, but there was always the omission factor. What was it he didn't tell her? He came across sincere enough and yet, who could blame him if he tried to protect his little brother? Blood was thicker than water. She wouldn't blame him for protecting his brother; she'd be a hypocrite if she did.
Her fingers wrapped around his, and she stroked the cool skin on the back of his hand with her thumb. Though he tensed when she first touched him, he didn't pull away. She found that somehow comforting and even a little exciting. She didn't typically touch a client's family members. Not exactly professional, and it was always wise to keep things professional. Or not.
She continued to hold his hand.
"Come on." She finally, reluctantly, let go and slid out of the booth to stand. "Let's check on your parents."
"I've got my cell." He started to dig in his pocket.
She shook her head. "Not in here. Too many people."
"Yeah, maybe you're right." He followed her to the door.
Outside the night had become dark and the air cold. Fall was coming. Each day grew a little shorter and a bit cooler. Louie took a deep breath. She treasured this time of year. Loved the way the breeze kissed her skin and the air smelled clean and fresh. Not far in the distance, was the splash of ducks as they paddled in the nearby Spokane River. She felt alive and peaceful. Or, as peaceful as she ever got anyway.
Over by the SUV, Paul leaned on the rear door and flipped open his cell phone. Worry lines creased his forehead beneath locks of wavy red hair. As he talked, the fingers of his free hand rubbed at one temple as if he was trying to massage away a migraine. She had the strangest urge to go to him, slide her hands along his cheeks where just the hint of stubble darkened his skin, and try to smooth away the concern. Probably not an urge she'd act on. The man already thought her capable of murder; she didn't want him thinking she was a nut-bag as well.
His conversation was brief. When he put the phone back into his pocket, the worry lines were gone. She walked over to him and, despite her best intentions to keep her hands to herself, put one on his arm. Warm, strong muscles tensed beneath her touch.
"Are they all right?"
"Yeah. Everything's quiet in Surrey. They haven't seen Jamie or anyone else, thank God. I told them to call me the second they set eyes on little brother. If they do. I also told them they needed to leave the house and why."
"Are they going?" She hoped so. Some failed to really grasp the danger they could be in when one of their family members played with the devil, like James McDonald had managed to do. Bad things could and did happen to people whose only crime was to be related to a screw-up.
He nodded. "It surprised me Mom didn't put up more of a fight. I guess the word murder did the trick. They're heading up to the cabin. It's remote enough
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