WHO WANTS TO ICE A WORLD-CLASS SKATER?

Speed skater Laney Thompson still has nightmares about the car crash that almost shattered her lifelong dream. But as she’s poised to compete in the world’s most important games, she finds worse trouble. Someone wants her out of contention…badly. Laney won’t let anything stop her—not sabotage, a stalker or partial amnesia. As she and her brooding trainer Max Blanco strive to overcome past tragedy, the ice between them starts to melt. But as the race draws closer, a killer becomes more desperate, and a race for the gold becomes a race for their lives!

“Laney,” Max said, putting his hands on her shoulders.

Her breathing hitched. When God made those eyes, she thought, he must have mixed in just a little bit of the sky, the windswept California sky where the ocean met the air. She readied herself for a directive. Instead, he offered a request.

“Do something for me.” He leaned close. “Please do not leave this training facility for any reason unless I’m with you.”

“I’m not a prisoner here, am I?”

“Not a prisoner, but much too important to risk anything happening.” He put a finger to her lips when she started to respond. “Not because of the skating, Laney.”

“Why, then?” she whispered.

“Because…” He blew out a breath. “Just do what I’m asking. Will you?”

Why did his fingers awaken trails of longing in her soul?

“I’m not going to lie to you, Max,” she breathed.

“And I appreciate that.”

“So I’m not going to answer at all.”

DANA MENTINK

lives in California, where the weather is golden and the cheese divine. Her family includes two girls (affectionately nicknamed Yogi and Boo Boo). Papa Bear works for the fire department; he met Dana doing a dinner theater production of The Velveteen Rabbit. Ironically, their parts were husband and wife.

Dana is a 2009 American Christian Fiction Writers Book of the Year finalist for romantic suspense and an award winner in the Pacific Northwest Writers Literary Contest. Her novel Betrayal in the Badlands won a 2010 RT Reviewers’ Choice Award. She has enjoyed writing a mystery series for Barbour Books and more than ten novels to date for the Love Inspired Suspense line.

She spent her college years competing in speech and debate tournaments all around the country. Besides writing, she busies herself teaching elementary school and reviewing books for her blog. Mostly, she loves to be home with her family, including a dog with social-anxiety problems, a chubby box turtle and a quirky parakeet.

Dana loves to hear from her readers via her website, at www.danamentink.com.

Race for the Gold

Dana Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

These trials are only to test your faith, to show that it is strong and pure. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—and your faith is far more precious to God than mere gold. So if your faith remains strong after being tried by fiery trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world.

—1 Peter 1:7

To Sugar Todd and all the athletes who pour their heart and souls into their sport and elevate us all in the process.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

World Short-Track Speed Skating Qualifiers

The after-race recuperation did not sting quite as badly today; it was as if her muscles had gotten the news, the glorious golden news. Laney Thompson, gangly underdog in the short-track skating world, had just secured a spot on the American team. She was going to compete on the biggest stage in sports. It was an opportunity that only came around once every four years. Outside the speed skating arena where she’d spent the past two years of her life, the freezing air did nothing to cool the warm crackle of triumph that burned in her belly.

Max Blanco was next to her, suited up for their celebratory cooldown run along the road freshly cleared by a snowplow. She knew his elation matched her own. On a whim, she held a pretend microphone in front of his face, strands of her blond bob whipping against her cheek. “So, Mr. Max Blanco, how exactly does it feel to know you’ll be going after the most important gold medal in speed skating a few months from now?”

He laughed and she tried not to fall too deeply into those aquamarine eyes that made something inside her dance like a wind-borne snowflake.

“Maybe I should be asking you that,” he said. “How does it feel?”

She held her head up to the sky, closed her eyes and let the dancing flakes pepper her cheeks. “It feels like there is nothing in the world I can’t do.”

He suddenly grabbed her around the middle and swung her in dizzying circles until she was gasping for air.

“I told you, didn’t I? You struggled all season, but you laid it down when it counted and now you’re going. All the way!” He returned her to earth. “So after our run are you going to let me take you on a date?”

She felt herself blushing deeply. “We’re together all the time.”

He fisted hands on his lean hips and clucked. “That’s called training, Laney. A date is when two people go out and have a good time together without the need for free weights and treadmills.” He moved closer. “Come on, you promised once the trials were over you’d go out with me. I want to say I dated you before you won your gold.”

She shivered. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?”

He toyed with a section of her hair. “It’s only great if you’ve got someone to share it with, someone who understands.”

Did she understand what drove him? She knew the nuts and bolts of short-track speed skating, she understood the drive, the fiery burn that propelled them all to work through pain, to compete with only one goal in mind. But though Max fascinated and attracted her, she did not fully understand him.

A few people filtered out of the arena, techie types mostly. Most of the athletes and trainers had gone home to celebrate or indulge their sorrows. That was the hardest part. Only six of her women friends on the National Team had made it and the rest were devastated, plain and simple. But that was short track. Friendships were left at the edge of the ice.

Max pulled a small envelope from the pocket of his nylon jacket, fiddling with the corners. “Here,” he said, thrusting it into her hands.

She eased the flap of the envelope open and gently removed a tiny square of paper, notched and cut in what seemed like a million places. “What is it?” she breathed.

He took it from her hands and unfolded the square. It opened into the most intricate paper cutting she’d ever seen. He held it up and the sun shone through the minuscule cuts to reveal a bird, wings tucked, soaring against a cloud, breeze fluttering the paper feathers.

“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She’d watched him sometimes, sitting alone, scissors in his hand that he immediately put away when she approached.

He shrugged and folded it back up and replaced it in the envelope. “A hobby of mine. Learned it when I was a kid.”

She clutched the envelope to her chest. “I’m going to keep it forever.”

“I think of you that way.” He cleared his throat. “When you’re racing, you’re like a bird, flying over the ice without really touching it.”

She found herself speechless as she tucked the little envelope carefully into her pocket. She knew where it would go every race, zipped under her skin suit, right next to her heart. “Thank you,” she managed. “I love it.”

He bent and fiddled with the lace on his shoe. “Ready to go, then?”

She nodded. “I’ll let you lead, since that’s what you’re used to.”

Laughing, sapphire eyes reflecting the sparkling snow, he headed up the road at an easy pace. They ran and laughed and dreamed together until five miles later they found they had looped back to the final bend in the road. Her fingers found the little envelope and she took it out again.

In his eyes, she was a bird, soaring, flying. The image hovered in her heart and awakened something she’d never felt before.

As if in some silent agreement, their pace slowed, breath puffing in the twilight, savoring the last portion of the run together. When they stopped, he took her in his arms again and she stared into those eyes now darkened by the shadows but still luminous as if they generated their own light from deep down in his soul.

He pressed his lips to her temple and she was lost in the warmth, the feel of his strong arms folded around her. “Congrats again, Laney. I know how you’ve struggled for this.”

“We both have,” she murmured.

Neither one of them heard the sound at first. The roar of an engine, the crunching of tires trying to find traction on the snow.

He broke off the kiss as the car rounded the corner, his hand clutching hers.

A flash of metal, the barest glimpse of the driver’s face.

With a sickening crunch, the car plowed into them. As she fell into the crisp layer of snow, she watched the tiny envelope settle gently to the ground.

ONE

Four long years, and it was as if the shock of the accident still lingered in her muscles, weakening the certainty she’d felt as a twenty-three-year-old champion. Now, at almost twenty-seven years old, Laney felt the eyes following her as she climbed from the heat box and clumped her way to the ice. Taking off her skate guards, she slid onto the sparkling surface of the ice and headed for the start line.

Was it whispers she heard from the coaches and the other girls? Or was it her own thoughts bubbling up to the surface, memories from four years before when she’d had her dream and lost it? It wasn’t the venue that sparked the tension inside; she’d spent most of the past year training in this very spot. Nor was it the fear of losing, not really. Though it was a practice race, it was an important one, an indication of her prospects for placing in the trials in a matter of weeks, the event that would decide who made the team for the Olympic Games.

Up until now she’d been training mostly on her own with Max, grinding her body back into shape in spite of the pain. Today was the time she would answer the question publicly. Was Laney Thompson back?

As she glided slow circles on the ice, she pondered the question she’d tried to answer for herself every day since the accident that broke her ankle and left her with a brain injury. Did Laney Thompson still have what it took to compete for the United States in the biggest meet of her life? Her competitions throughout the season had not been stellar, moments of brilliance mixed in with enough mistakes to leave room for doubt.

Again the tickle of guilt that inevitably came with the question. Did she even deserve to be back, poised for a second chance, when Max was not?

She knew he was there somewhere in the arena. How did he feel at that moment? Now a trainer, thanks to the screws in a hip that had been extremely slow to heal, he watched others strive to live out a passion now denied to him.

He’d emerged from the accident scarred inside, too, hidden damage that had caused him to withdraw from her. Or maybe he’d lost any tender feelings for her when she woke up unable to remember chunks of their time together. Something broke there on the snow that day, something more than bones and dreams. She didn’t understand what it was, and maybe she never would.

Beth Morrison gave her a smile, dimples standing out against her pale face, dark hair sporting a hot pink streak today. The girl looked so incredibly young. And when, Laney thought drily, had she become the old lady of the team at almost twenty-seven years old? Beth pointed to Laney’s left skate. “Not tight,” she mouthed.

Laney blushed and dropped to a knee to try it again. Gifted athlete, natural dancer, all-around high achiever Laney Thompson still had to remind herself of the steps to tying her skates. Why had the nuances of short-track speed skating lingered in her memory, but the act of tying her laces remained a challenge? And reading a clock, and remembering to eat or what not to eat? She’d almost triggered an allergic reaction two days prior when she’d been ready to eat a nutrition bar containing peanuts. It’s the brain injury, Laney, not you.

Tanya Crowley shot her an odd look before she concealed her eyes behind racing glasses. Was it disdain Laney saw on her lips? Mind games, an athlete’s trick.

Laney wondered what would happen if she produced a terrible race here today. Practice or not, she knew her performance would answer the question in her own mind. Could Laney Thompson be the person she was before the hit-and-run driver had almost taken away her future?

Her eyes scanned the darkened arena for Max. She did not see him. Zipping her skin suit up to her neck, she had a flash of memory, picturing the cut paper bird he had given her a moment before their lives were changed. After the crash, he’d retreated so far she doubted if there ever really had been the sweet connection between them.

You’re like a bird, flying over the ice without really touching it. Had she read more into those words than she should have?

Would he ever see her that way again? Or was she someone flying away with a dream that should have been his?

No more time to think about it, Laney. Get into position. Game face on.

* * *

Max stood in the shadows, his body tensing just as it always did before the start of a race. Practice run or the real thing, it had never made a difference. When the buzzer sounded, there was only the ice and the finish line and seventeen-and-a-half-inch blades carrying him to victory. That’s what he had loved about it most, how racing stripped everything away to that simple equation. Insane levels of training plus a helping of talent equaled a win.

At least, it used to. He eased the weight off his bad hip, still stiff in spite of the massive efforts he’d made to rehab. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. The only thing that saved him from total despair was this job, the chance to help Laney achieve what they’d both lost. He wouldn’t get all of it back. Anger twisted his soul into an impenetrable knot that separated him from everyone, even Laney.

He found his hands were clenched around the rail as he watched her get into the zone. Would she remember to focus on her cornering? He was already taking notes about her tendency to chat with the other girls. Always kindling with energy, Laney struggled with brain trauma that had left her with a shortened attention span. There was more riding on this practice run than anyone knew, except maybe him and Dan Thompson, Laney’s foster dad, who paced anxiously up and down the opposite side of the oval.

He felt someone next to him. Jackie Brewster, Beth’s coach, stood there with her impeccably perfect posture and gleaming silver hair. Coach Stan Chung was the lead coach of the U.S. national team, overseeing all the girls, but most competitors like Beth had the means to employ private ones.

“Does Laney have it together?”

“Absolutely,” he said, bobbing his chin at Jackie’s athlete. “And Beth looks like she’s in good form.”

Jackie nodded without taking her eyes off her own skater. “At this point, it’s all mental, as we both know.” She paused. “There is a gentleman hanging around out front, asking for Laney.”

“What gentleman?”

She shrugged. “He said he’s a reporter. I told him he could be the King of Siam and he wasn’t going to get into the arena without an appointment.”

Max nodded. “Thanks. She doesn’t need any distractions right now.”

“This is true. Security is lax around here. I already shooed away a kid who was hanging around last night.”

Max had seen him, too, a skinny red-haired kid with a sweatshirt too small for him.

“See you after the race.” Jackie patted him on the arm and went to take her place on the ice, stopwatch in hand, creased slacks an odd contrast to her clunky skate-clad feet. She was the only person he knew who could walk gracefully in skates.

Max saw Laney get into position. It was time for her to prove to herself that she had that heart of a lion, the ability to put everything and everyone out of her mind and go as fast and hard as she could for the five hundred meters it would take to win.

After some last-minute activity, the coaches took their places and everything went quiet. Max tensed with Laney as she raised her arm in front of her and crouched low, her blade tip dug into the ice. He realized he was taking slow, measured breaths, the same way she would be doing, bringing her mind into focus, preparing her muscles for the grueling challenge.

The bell sounded and Laney exploded from the start line so quickly she was a blur. After the initial chopping steps, she settled in to longer pushes, tucking into second position, the place where she was most comfortable as she waited to break away for the win. She leaned forward in the perfect crouch, gloved fingers skimming the ice as she rounded the turn, hands folded behind her on the straightaway.

“You’ve got this, Laney,” he whispered.

“Are you Max Blanco?”

Max jerked. He’d been so intent on Laney that he hadn’t noticed the lanky man come up next to him. “Who are you?”

The stranger regarded Max seriously, chewing on his thick mustache. “I asked you first.”

Max scanned his shirtfront and found no identification tags. “You have permission to be in here?”

He smiled, one eye drooping slightly. “It’s skating, not a nuclear missile test.”

Max looked back at the ice. “What do you want?”

“A story.”

Max offered him a momentary glance. “I’m busy.”

“I want a story about Laney.”

“She’s busy, too.”

“I’m patient. I can wait.”

Max rounded on him then. “Look, man. Laney’s racing, if you can’t tell. She needs to concentrate, and so do I. Call and make an appointment like everyone else.”

“I’ve called. No reply from any of the people I’ve tried. Almost like someone doesn’t want me to talk to her.”

Max looked at Laney as she completed another turn and he saw something there, something hesitant, a tiny flicker of uncertainty that was probably only visible to him. Instinctively, he moved for the entrance to the ice, eyes riveted on her.

The man took Max’s arm. “I’m writing about the American team hopefuls. Want to follow a skater from here all the way through the Winter Games.”

Max shook off the touch. “Good for you. Call again. Maybe you’ll get an appointment.”

“Maybe I’ll stay and talk to her anyway.”

With effort, Max controlled his rising temper. “Get out,” he said over his shoulder as moved.

The man shrugged. “All right, but you’re not her keeper off the ice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Max received no answer as the guy ambled in the direction of the exit. Max knew he should follow and make sure the man was truly leaving, but he could not walk away, not then, with Laney skating this critical race, her sides heaving with the effort, bits of ice exploding from under her blades as she rounded the turn with two laps to go.

Tanya was in first position but fading, he could tell. Beth was in third, looking for the gap on the inside to pass Laney. From his perspective the skaters were packed together, but he knew they would see it differently, waiting for an opening, that fraction of space to slip into that would change everything.

And then, as if in slow motion, things did change.

Something upset the dynamic of the flying pack.

Laney spiraled out of control.

* * *

She felt the blade give slightly under her right boot, but there was nothing she could do to stop her momentum. The break in the rhythm, an odd shift of her weight over her forward skate told her brain what her body already knew: a crash was coming.

At forty miles per hour the only result of skidding out was hitting the wall. Hard. Even cushioned by the thick blue pads, it was going to hurt. She prayed she could keep from taking out any of the other skaters or cutting herself open with her razor-sharp blades. In a blur of motion she went down on her right hip and slid at breakneck speed, the wall coming at her. One second more and she crashed into the pads, helmet first.

The impact knocked the wind out of her and she felt the pain of bones hitting ice; the recoil bounced her off the pads and sent her limbs spiraling in an unruly tumble. For a moment, there was only the harsh sound of her own breathing; the arena noises all faded away as she spun helplessly on her back. When her vision cleared, she was looking up at the ceiling of the oval, sparks dancing in front of her eyes. She lay still, feeling the shock of the impact shuddering through her body as she sucked in deep lungfuls of oxygen before she tried to move. Then Coach Stan was there, peering down at her, and behind him, Max’s anxious face.

“Laney?” Coach Stan asked.

She realized what he wanted to know, but she wasn’t sure herself if she was injured or not. Max squeezed her hand. “Hey, Birdie. Tell me how you feel.”

She closed her eyes. Birdie. The nickname tickled something inside her. She forced her eyelids open and managed a grin. “I guess the eagle has landed, but not very gracefully.”

The coach seemed to relax a little, and Max squeezed one more time before he let go and the team medic took his place. She was checked and helped to her feet. Looking back across the ice, she was in time to see the racers finish, Tanya first, Beth in second place. Beth glided to them, chest heaving, along with the other girls.

“Are you okay?” she puffed. “What happened?”

“Dunno,” Laney said as she made her way to the edge of the ice, put the guards over her skate blades and sat heavily on the wooden bench. Her father materialized there, and she knew that though he’d probably wanted to run right down on that ice, he would never have done so.

He clutched her around the shoulders, and she felt his heartbeat vibrating through his skinny chest. When had he lost so much weight?

“Baby girl, you know how to crash with style,” he said.

She laughed again, though it set off some pain in her rib cage.

“What hurts?” He asked it in that soft voice that always soothed her.

He’d asked when she’d come home from school in tears because the grade-school kids had found out her mother had abandoned them. He’d crooned it when years later she got a fat lip defending her younger sister from the unwanted attention of some teen thugs. He’d repeated it when she’d lain in a hospital bed crying for something she could not name. The loss of her chance at gold? The grief at knowing Max was suffering his own agonizing recovery? Or something else that would not come clear in her pain-fogged mind?

“Knee and elbow, ribs,” she said, ticking off the list. “That about covers it.” She looked to Coach Stan. “What now?”

“Now you rest up. Medic will check you out more thoroughly in a bit. Tomorrow we have a twelve-hour training day if you’re up for it.”

“I am.”

He smiled. “I thought you’d say that. We’ll do another practice race at the end of the week. Tonight you take it easy and let us know if you have any confusion.”

“More than usual, you mean,” Laney said.

Coach Stan patted her hand. “When you catch your breath, we’ll talk it through, look at your dad’s tapes.”

Her father nodded and held up the video camera that he was never without. “Got it all right here.”

Coach Stan made more notes on his clipboard and turned to talk to another trainer. “All right everybody. Change and we’ll meet up for dinner in a half hour.” And that was that. He hadn’t posed the real question. Was she strong enough to win races and compete the following week to snatch at spot at the Winter Games?

For now, she would have to be content to wait. She pulled off the hood of her skin suit and unzipped it a few inches to cool her overheated muscles. Unlacing the boots, she took off the skates and put them in her bag. Max stood a few feet away, arms folded, brows drawn together under a shock of black hair that he’d let grow too long. She kissed her father. “I’m okay. I’ll see you at dinner.”

The girls from the race had collected on the nearby benches, removing their skates and discussing their own performances, cheeks pink from exertion, coaches and trainers mingling about. Tanya whispered something to Beth. Laney made her painful way to Max and they strolled to a quiet corner, both gazing out across the ice.

He looked at her closely. “I was tracking you, Laney. The race was pitch perfect until you made the second turn. What happened?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Something felt off in my right skate.”

There was an accusatory glint in his sapphire eyes.

“What?” she demanded.

“Sure you didn’t lose your focus?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It was the skate.”

He frowned.

“All right, spill it,” she said, half-playfully. “You don’t believe me?”

“I do,” he said after a long moment. “But we’ve been having trouble with your concentration, and your skates haven’t bothered you at all recently.” He blew out a breath. “It’s all up here,” he said, tapping his head. “You’ve got to put yourself in the zone and stay there.”

A small flame licked at her stomach, and her playful mood was gone. “I was in the zone, fully focused and with my game brain on. It was the skate.”

The girls turned their faces in Laney’s direction as they got up and left the arena, headed for their quarters. Coach Jackie gave them a curious glance before she shuttled Beth along, helping tote her gear. Laney allowed Max to put his arm around her shoulder, annoyed that his touch made something happen to her breathing.

“I understand what you’ve been through better than anyone else,” Max said in low tones. “But you’ve got to push through that and deliver. The past has to remain on the benches when it’s race time.”

She saw herself reflected in the blue depths of his eyes, her outline blurred and morphed into a different shape. “Max,” she said, pulling away a step, “I’m not you, so don’t put your stuff on me.”

His mouth thinned. “I’m talking as your trainer, Laney. That’s all.”

“And you don’t think I’m focused enough because of what happened years ago?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to get inside your head.”

“The problem isn’t in my head for once, it’s in my skate, so you should focus on that.”

“I’m going to tell you what you need to hear to win, whether you want to listen or not,” he snapped. “That’s what your father pays me to do.”

She knew from the anger kindling in his voice that she’d pushed back too much. It was true, she had struggled with focus throughout the season and his assumption about her performance today was understandable. She sighed. “I know you’re trying to correct a mistake here, but I didn’t make it, not this time. It was the skate.” She hated the way that sounded like a lame excuse. Blaming the equipment was for rookies.

“All right,” he said, wide shoulders stiff. “Let’s take a look.”

She returned to the bench and found her gear bag. She fished out the left skate and handed it to him, reaching into the bag for the other. It took two seconds for her to make sense of it. “My right skate is gone.”

Max helped her hunt under the benches and in every darkened crevice. There was no sign of the missing skate.

“One of the girls must have picked mine up by accident.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “No way. Not this level of athlete.”

He was right. Speed skaters relied on their equipment like world-class musicians cherished their instruments. They didn’t take the wrong skate accidently. Practical joke by Tanya or Beth or any of the other girls? She couldn’t imagine it.

Laney felt at an utter loss. “How could it have walked away on its own?”

“It couldn’t,” Max said, blue eyes gone dark in the gloom. “Someone made it disappear.”

TWO

Max reported the missing skate, and a full complement of coaches and competitors returned to scour the arena.

Beth flipped back her sleek bob of hair. “This is ridiculous. Laney, did you go anywhere? To the bathroom or something and leave it there?”

Laney’s cheeks flushed pink. Max realized that the result of Laney’s brain injuries was more public than he had known.

“She was here talking to me the whole time,” he said.

Beth skewered him with a look. “So what you’re implying is someone stole her skate? What would be the point, exactly? To cut her out of the competition?” She laughed. “Sorry, Laney, but we’re not that scared of you. At least I’m not.”

Max would have let her have it, but Laney giggled.

“You should be. I’m ferocious, didn’t you know that?”

Beth grinned. “Yeah, that’s you. Ferocious. Still sleep with your night-light on?”

“Of course. Keeps the monsters away.”

Max marveled at Laney’s easy smile, the positive glow in all circumstances that puzzled him. She should be a gold medalist already—she had the skill, the natural gift and the work ethic to match, and yet he could not find resentment in her face, the resentment that was so alive in his own soul.

Jackie finished her examination of the top tier of seats and returned. “There is no sign of it.” Her eyes scanned the arena thoughtfully.

“What are you thinking?” Max asked.

“Nothing, I’m sure. I was just considering that there are no strangers here, the girls, the coaches, the trainers, the custodians. No strangers...”

He finished her thought. “Except the guy who wanted to talk to Laney.”

“Who?” Laney asked.

“A reporter,” Jackie said with disdain. “I told him to leave.”

“So did I,” Max said. “But I didn’t actually see him go, did you?”

Jackie shook her head solemnly. “I was down on the ice, timing Beth. But what reason would he have for taking her skate?”

“Not one that I can think of,” Max muttered.

Beth wrapped an arm around Laney. “You have spare skates?”

“She’s got other pairs,” Max said.

Beth gave him a sassy smile. “Yeah, I figured. Just thought I’d see if she needed to borrow temporarily or something.” She followed her coach through the exit.

Laney sighed. “That was nice.”

Nice? Max wondered. Or patronizing? Top-quality speed skates for skaters at this level were custom-made, the boots constructed using molds of the skater’s feet, and there was no possible way for Laney to skate any kind of a race wearing borrowed gear. Beth knew that as well as he did. She also knew they cost upward of three thousand dollars a pair.

Laney’s father, Dan, was footing the bill for her training time, equipment, coaching and Max’s services. Something skittered through Max’s stomach as he considered it might be a real hardship to find the money for another pair of skates. He resolved to talk to Dan Thompson...soon.

* * *

Laney changed and met Max outside. The air was cold, and they blinked to adjust to the darkness. Laney still simmered with annoyance. She wasn’t making excuses and she hadn’t misplaced her own skate, as the girls suggested. She wasn’t that addled by her brain injury.

To their left was a parking lot that would be jammed when the public-skating hours commenced on the weekend. Now there were only a few cars, one of which was her father’s banged-up Suburban.

“I’m...” she started when the crash of glass made her jump. Her father’s rear window fractured, pieces glittering in the moonlight.

Laney raced to the vehicle, Max a few paces behind her. She found her father crouched on the other side of the car, arm raised to his face as a squat, bushy-haired stranger readied a club to crash into her father’s skull. The stranger’s face was partially obscured by a cap.

“No!” she shouted, surprising the man with the club. He swiveled quickly, swinging the weapon in an arc toward Laney. With reflexes born of elite levels of training, she ducked under the blow.

The club fell viciously, whistling by her ear, causing her to fall back against the car while the weapon smashed into the passenger door, crumpling the metal.

With an animal roar, Max went after the guy, who whirled on his heel and ran, Max in hot pursuit. Laney sprang to her feet, not sure if she should chase after Max or stay with her father.

“Laney,” he croaked. “Keep out of it.”

“Daddy,” she breathed, eyes filling as she crouched next to him. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a knock on my thick head. Your mum always told me I had a hard skull.”

Laney’s stomach twisted in agony as she strained to catch a glimpse of Max. What would happen if he caught the guy? Squeezing her father’s hand to comfort him, she felt the heavy thud of her pulse in her throat.

Finally, Max returned, panting.

“I lost him. I’ll call the cops.”

“No,” her father barked.

Laney’s mouth dropped open. “The guy could have killed you.”

“He was a thief, wanted the iPad I left in the back probably. My own dumb fault.”

Max dropped to one knee. “Mr. Thompson, the cops really should be notified, and the security team here at the oval.”

“No cops,” he repeated again, getting to his feet with Laney’s help. “No harm done except a broken window and a dent, the price for my stupidity.”

“But, Dad...”

He waved a hand. “I’ll go inside and report it to security, but no cops. Not necessary. Now go on back to the dorms before you get a chill.”

“I don’t want you out here by yourself,” Laney said as severely as she could.

“I’ll have someone from security to walk me back. Go, go,” he said with a flap of his hands. He bent with a groan and picked up his bag.

Laney was grateful when Max put his arm around her. His touch was the only thing that seemed to push away the cold that seized her from the inside out.

She was almost sure that she’d seen a glimpse of her father’s iPad tucked safely in his bag before he left.

* * *

The distance from the oval to the athlete housing was a mile, which Laney and Max traversed in silence. Reaching the dorms, he used his pass key and held the door for her. Laney had been fortunate to be assigned her own room in the dormitory on the bottom floor where the female athletes and coaches stayed. Max was in another dorm with the male trainers, coaches and athletes. He waited while she opened her door, greeting her old cat, Cubby, whom she never traveled without, if possible.

“Thanks for walking me back.”

“Anytime.” He cleared his throat. “I feel bad about what happened to your father, that I couldn’t catch the guy.”

She shivered. “Dad could have been hurt badly.”

“And you, too,” he added, feeling again the chill that had swept his body as the man’s club had come within inches of her.

“I hope security can help.”

“Strange how he targeted your dad’s car. There were plenty of fancier models parked close by.”

“He said the man was after his iPad.” She looked away.

“But you don’t believe that?”

She shook her head. “I’m really tired. Gonna rest for a little while.”

“Good idea.” He paused. “You know, Laney, you really were skating an excellent race.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Except for that bashing into the wall thing?”

He couldn’t help it, the wry expression on her face made him laugh, and she joined in. Then he grabbed her for a quick hug, pressing her fiercely as if he could push away the edge in his earlier words. “I’m sorry if I sounded like I didn’t believe you about the skates.”

She rested her head on his chest. “It’s okay. I can take it. I’m ferocious, remember?”

He thumbed her chin up and shook his head at that easy smile, the gleeful twist of the lips that carried her through every situation. “Definitely,” he said. The urge seized him to stroke that tumble of hair and press his lips to the silk of her cheeks. Knock it off, Blanco. That life is long gone. It had ended when he’d woken up in a hospital bed, irretrievably broken and with an unquenchable anger that he did not want Laney to witness. Ever. He’d hidden himself away from her, from the world, not allowing himself to consider the feelings he’d cherished once upon a time. He stepped back. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

She nodded and closed the door.

He was halfway down the hall when she opened the door again. “Max?”

He jogged back. “Yeah?”

She held a small, white rectangle between her fingers. “I guess that reporter really does want to speak with me. He wrote a note on his card saying he hoped I hadn’t hurt myself today.” She frowned at the paper. “He was watching the race. All of it.”

* * *

Laney turned the reporter’s name around in her mind again as she walked to the dining hall an hour later. Hugh Peterson. Had she ever spoken to him before? She did not think so, but somehow the name dinged a little bell in her memory. There had been many reporters anxious to talk to her before, when she was poised to go for the gold four years ago, and some had followed her progress for a while after the accident, but their interest had eventually died away. The tragic injury of a promising athlete was newsworthy; a long, painful rehab with no guarantee of success was not.

Max was troubled by Hugh’s card more because of the fact that the man had been roaming the halls of the athletes’ quarters unattended. Somehow he’d gained entry without a pass key. Laney figured it was typical reporter nosiness, though she was uncertain as to why Peterson wanted to speak to her. Sure, it would be a great comeback story, but she was far from any kind of victory. Most media types would wait until after the trials.

You’re like a bird, tottering on the edge of the nest. You gonna fly or crash?

The image reminded her of the paper cutout Max had made her so many years ago. How she wished she still had it, to remind herself of the tenderness he’d shown, the sweet, intense man who was so out of keeping with the brilliant short-track star. She shook the thoughts away as she entered the dining hall, saying hello to the benches full of girls, coaches, trainers and the nutritionist who greeted her with anxious inquiries about her health. Furtive looks indicated they’d heard about her father’s incident in the parking lot.

Max was at the end of the table, a half-eaten chicken sandwich in front of him. Her father arrived, greeting everyone jovially, a bruise swelling his cheek as he settled in to listen intently to Max. She joined them.

“So this reporter really wants to speak to Laney. Said he’s called many times,” Max finished. “Do you remember hearing from him?”

Her father frowned. “What’s his name again?”

“Hugh Peterson,” Laney said, sliding onto the bench in time to see her father clank the glass down on the table so hard he spilled a puddle onto the wooden surface.

She blinked. “You told him no before, I take it?”

“Yeah, I did. He doesn’t listen very well.”

“Have you met him, Dad?”

“He’s no good,” her father said vehemently.

“How do you know him, Mr. Thompson?”

Her father waved a hand. “Not important. I know I don’t like him.” He turned a direct gaze on Laney. “You’re not to talk to him. He shouldn’t have come here after I told him no interview.”

The anger in his tone surprised her. “Why do you dislike him so much?”

“I already said that’s not important. Do you trust me to manage these things for you or not, Laney?” He stood, pushing back from the table.

She went to him then, circling him in a hug. “Of course I trust you, Daddy. If you don’t want me to talk to him, then I won’t. I was just curious, that’s all, and worried about that guy with the club who nearly decked you.”

“Max scared him away. He won’t be back.” Her father embraced her gently and rubbed circles on her shoulders, soothing, restoring the easy connection between them. “I’m sorry, Laney. I didn’t mean to bark at you. I just want to take care of my girls. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

She pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks. “I know that. Sit down and let’s eat. I’m going to Skype Jen soon and we can talk. She’s cramming for her biology finals now.” Laney felt the thrill of pride that her little sister, who’d once been an abandoned foster kid, was close to finishing her premed requirements. It was an achievement for anyone, but more so for a girl whose life had started out living in cars and stepping over dirty needles on bathroom floors. Laney thought Jen’s accomplishment outweighed any medal from any race.

He set her at arm’s length. “Later. I’ve got to have the car window fixed.”

“But...” She didn’t want him out on his own in case he was wrong about the violent stranger.

“I’ll be back.” He gave her shoulder a final squeeze and made his way through the throng.

“Why don’t you get something to eat?” Max said.

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

He pulled her to sit next to him. “A girl who burns five thousand calories in a day needs to eat. I’ll get you something. Stay here.”

She didn’t argue. Her thoughts swirled around her father. Dan Thompson was not a man quick to anger. If anything, he’d been blessed with an abundance of patience and an overwhelming helping of compassion. An overworked cabbie, struggling to start his own small taxi business, he’d needed them in order to take in foster kids in the first place. It was a decision he and his wife Linda had made, having no children of their own. And what well of grace had made them take on two girls—a wild six-year-old kid with dirty hair, used to finding food for her and her sister in the garbage can when their mother left on her drug binges, and a selective mute who would not speak until she was nearly ten?

He could have walked away at any point. Perhaps when she’d taken Jen and ran away after being punished for punching the neighbor kid. Maybe when the teacher had sent her home for refusing to wear shoes in class. Certainly when Linda had died of breast cancer as they were still in the process of formally adopting the girls.

He’d stayed and loved them through it all, and introduced her to the ice. Stolen hours between his cab fares, precious moments where she’d discovered a passion and let go of the hurt. God-blessed moments. Her father’s face was composed and calm as he stopped to make some comment to Jackie, and it cheered Laney to see him that way as he left. Maybe there really was nothing wrong, after all.

THREE

After dinner, Max dutifully made sure the hallway door was locked when he escorted Laney to her room. He turned to find her shifting from one foot to the other. He recognized the fidgets for what they were: Laney trying to process something: worry or fear, anxiety about her father’s attack, no doubt.

So different than his own bent. When he was stewing on something he went quiet, withdrawing to a place where he could be perfectly still, hushed as the long corridors in which he’d become invisible seventeen years prior when his brother lay dying. The softest sound, the barest squeak of a rubber-soled shoe on those yellow hospital tiles could break the fragile silence that meant his brother was okay, sleeping peacefully through another night.

God worked in those still moments, he’d been told. So he’d stayed silent, waiting for healing that God withheld. Often Max would go back to that place in his mind, and his fingers would once again reach for his pocket for the tiny pair of scissors that was no longer there. He required stillness to wrestle with tensions he could not skate away from, but not Laney.

“Let’s go walk the track.”

She started, as if she hadn’t realized he was still there. “What?”

“You aren’t going to be able to sleep.”

“How exactly do you know that?”

Because I know you almost better than you know yourself. Every sinew, every muscle, every weakness, every magnificent strength. “You’re twisting.”

She looked at her finger, wound in the string of her windbreaker. “Well...”

“And your foot is jiggling up and down, and you look like you’re about ready to break into a wind sprint.”

She flashed an exasperated grin. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t know me so well.”

“I’m your trainer. It’s my job.” My job. So why did Laney Thompson feel like so much more than just his job?

“I’m just keyed up about what happened to Dad.”

“I know.” The hallway lighting picked up glints of gold in her hair, an irrepressible twinkle in her eyes.

“All right, Mr. Blanco. To the track we go.”

Max waited at the door while Laney changed into her running shoes and fed Cubby his fish dinner. Cubby was a slow eater, and Max stood patiently as Laney watched to be sure the old animal finished every bite.

“Good job, Cubby Cat,” she said as the cat licked his paws with a delicate tongue.

The night closed around them as they started away from the athlete housing, the sky pricked by numberless stars. To the left was a small trail that led to a lake now frozen over. They’d run it many times in years past when their training and competition schedule had brought them here. A delicate veil of snow drifted through the sky as they took the other direction, on a well-paved sidewalk that led to the training facility.

He wondered if she ever fought flashbacks of the night they’d been the victims of the hit-and-run driver. Though he’d never admit it, he hated to run anywhere in the vicinity of a road, preferring now to do his workouts on the track or on quiet mountain trails when he could find them. If he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to travel back, he could hear the skidding tires and the snapping of his own femur. Worst of all, he remembered hearing Laney cry out, his own body too mangled to allow him to claw through the snow to reach her. One quiet moan that would live forever in his memory.

He forced his brain back to the present as they hiked to the oval. He marveled again at the engineering feat required to build such a venue. Five acres, roughly the size of four football fields, nestled under a clear span suspension roof, home to a four-hundred-meter speed skating oval and two international-size ice sheets. Buried under the ice sheets and track were thirty-three miles of freeze tubes that kept the concrete base at eighteen degrees Fahrenheit no matter the season. They were headed now to the four-lane 442-meter state-of-the-art running track.

He ushered her in first, darting one more look at the serenely falling snow behind them. A movement caught his attention. Off near the tree line, under the shifting shadows. A person? He looked again. Nothing at first, making him think perhaps it was a raccoon or maybe a bird. As he started to turn away, a figure detached itself from the shadows and began moving toward the lake.

Probably someone out for a walk, not unusual, except that the person appeared to have come from the direction of the athlete housing. So what? he asked himself again. An athlete or trainer out for a stroll, nothing more, winding down just as they were. Nonetheless, prickles of unease danced along the back of Max’s neck as he noticed that the person had a small bundle under one arm.

“Be right back,” he called to Laney, and for some reason he could not explain he found himself following.

“Max?” Laney called from behind him. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. Walking quickly, he closed the gap.

Whoever it was didn’t notice his approach until they were nearly to the wooden dock that served as an overlook and a cast-off point for fishermen trying their luck in the lake. The figure gave a surreptitious glance around, stealthy and unsettling.

“Hey,” Max said.

The form jerked.

Max saw he’d been right—the stranger held a bundle in his arms, which he now readied himself to throw into the water.

“What are you doing?” Max said again.

He heard the sound of running feet and Laney sprinted into view. Max knew suddenly what was in that dark bundle, and he also knew he would not let it go to the bottom of the lake. He reached out to stop the outstretched hands, trying to seize the wrists.

Something sliced through his forearm in a sizzle of pain. He heard Laney cry out as he pitched backward into the water, the weight of his body punching through the thin crust of ice at the lake’s edge.

* * *

Laney hadn’t realized she was screaming as she ran. No words, just an explosion of emotion. Events unfolded in rapid-fire, just as they did in every race. The shove. Max crashing into the water, chips of ice spiraling upward luminous in the moonlight. Movement, darkness, an endless moment of fear.

Then Max’s head popped up. The person who’d pushed him slipped, fell forward before getting up and running along the trail. She didn’t think, just moved, muscles overriding good sense as she closed the gap and hurtled onto the shoulders of the person who had just shoved Max into the pond.

“What are you, crazy?” she grunted.

He, it was a man, she concluded quickly, was sturdy and strong and her fingers lost their grip on the slippery fabric of his ski jacket. She fell to one knee and the man wriggled out of her grasp, grabbed the bundle from the ground and sprinted away. She could run him down, she knew, but she was not sure she could restrain him.

Scrambling to her feet she turned to the water. “Max,” she screamed as loud as she could.

Beth Morrison raced up, dressed in a warm jacket and jeans. “What...?” she started.

“In the pond,” Laney said by way of an answer, yanking off her shoes.

“You’re not jumping in there,” Beth said, clutching Laney’s arm.

Laney shrugged her off and made for the edge of the dock.

“No,” Max shouted from the pond. “Laney, do not jump into this water,” he hollered. “I’m okay.”

She knew it was not true. At her feet was the proof. Drops of blood dotted the snow, and she was pretty sure whom it belonged to. She pushed to the edge of the dock.

“No, Laney. He’s coming out,” Beth said, grabbing her again. “Look.”

Max was indeed making his way to the dock, swimming where he could until he reached the iced edge and then cracking his way through. “He needs help,” she said. “He’s got a bad hip.”

Jackie Brewster hurried up, her cheeks pink, breathing hard. “He’s perfectly fit, and you are not to go in that water, either one of you,” she commanded, unzipping her jacket. “I will if necessary.”

“He’s my trainer...” Laney began. Friend. Confidant. The one who knows me best, her heart filled in. She hesitated, body leaning toward Max, jaw clenched.

“Exactly why he does not want his world-class athlete diving into freezing water,” Jackie snapped.

They stared, riveted, tracking Max’s progress as he swam laboriously to within several feet of the dock.

Laney dropped to her stomach and stretched out her hands to him, her torso hanging over the wooden slats.

“You’re going to fall in,” Beth said, clutching Laney’s legs.

“And so are you,” Jackie added, grabbing Beth around the waist.

Laney snatched up Max’s wrist. She could see pain rippling across his face along with the determination.

“Don’t, Laney,” he said tightly. “Your shoulder. I’ll get out myself.”

He referred to the shoulder she’d dislocated while weight training six months before. “My shoulder is fine, and if you don’t take my hand I’ll jump in and shove you out.”

The muscles in his jaw worked overtime but he clasped her palm.

Together the three of them managed to haul Max out of the frigid water and up onto the dock where he sat, his knees shivering.

Laney put her hands on his shoulders. “Max?”

“Don’t get wet,” he said. “Either one of you. I don’t want anybody...”

“Catching pneumonia,” Laney finished. “I know, I know.” In spite of his commands, she took hold of his arm. “We’re getting you inside.”

He climbed to his feet and shook off the assistance. He gripped his forearm.

“Can you make it?” Laney asked, the darkness working against her as she tried to look him over.

“Of course,” he growled. She probably should have taken offense at his tone, but she knew she would have answered the same way. The mind overrides the body. Mental toughness. They’d steeped themselves in it. Terrible patients, both of them.

They made it back to the athlete dorms and hustled him inside to the dining room. Laney snapped on the lights and Beth began a violent sneezing fit that earned her a worried look from Jackie. Laney ran to fetch a blanket that she draped around Max’s shoulders.

“What happened?” she demanded. “I turned around and you were off chasing someone to the pond.”

Blue lipped, Max took a corner of the blanket and applied pressure to his arm.

Laney pushed closer. “Bad?”

He shook his head, sending icy droplets flying.

Jackie frowned. “Did the man have a knife?”

“No.” Max turned to Laney. “Do you have your phone? I need to call security.”

She fished it out of her pocket and handed him the phone. “What happened? You have to tell me. Was it the same man from the parking lot?”

“Didn’t see his face.”

“Why...?”

He held up a calming hand the same way he always did when she wanted to be skating hard and fast and he forced her to stop and recuperate. Think it through, Birdie, was his never-ending mantra.

She was thinking it through, and the mental energy was getting her nowhere except to a state of near panic.

He tried to dial the phone, but his fingers shook too much so she took it and punched in the numbers before handing it back to him.

“I need to report a problem,” he said before giving a cursory summary and hanging up. “They’re on the way.”

She was pacing now, short, frantic circles as she texted her father.

“Laney, sit down, please,” he said, moving another chair closer. “With me.”

She forced herself into the chair. “Why did you go after the guy in the first place? He was built like a brick wall.”

He jerked. “How do you know that?”

She sighed. “I tried to tackle him.”

His eyes widened and a tinge of color flooded his pale cheeks. “You...did what?”

Jackie gave him a weary nod. “That’s what I thought, too.”

He took her hand and squeezed it hard. “Dumb, Laney. I don’t even have to say why, do I?” he asked in clipped tones.

“No, so don’t bother. It was just as dumb as you taking on the guy and winding up in the lake.”

“I’m...” Max broke off and blew out a hissing breath.

Laney shrugged. “Anyway, he got away and that’s that. Why were you after him in the first place?”

Max heaved a deep sigh, reining in his temper she surmised.

“I saw someone down by the pond, ready to heave something into the water.”

“And you didn’t think it might be a good idea to let him chuck it in and then figure out what it was later?” Beth said, arms folded.

“I knew what it was and I didn’t want it to get wet or trapped there when the rest of the lake froze over.”

“Why?” Laney nearly shouted. “What was it?”

In the dim light his electric-blue eyes were dark and flat. He leveled a look her way that pricked her nerves.

“I think it was your missing skate.”

For a long, silent moment, they all stared at Max.

“Why,” Laney started slowly, “would anyone want to toss my skate in the lake?”

Beth folded herself in a tight hug. “To hide the fact that they tampered with your blade.”

The sound of approaching feet signaled the security team.

“It all sounds so cloak and dagger,” Jackie said. “Are you sure, Max? Very sure?”

He pulled up the ruined sleeve of his running jacket, exposing the neat slice that bisected his arm. “Look like the mark of a seventeen-inch steel blade to you?”

Something cold and ugly slithered up Laney’s spine. “That’s exactly what it looks like,” she whispered.

FOUR

The security people contacted the police, and Max went over the scenario all over again after he was allowed to pull on dry clothes. He’d refused the hospital trip, of course, knowing the wound did not require stitches, and allowed Jackie to patch him up with the first-aid kit. He’d been cut dozens of times in the course of his short-track career. It came with the territory.

The wound stung, not enough to bother him, but two details would not stop circling in his mind. First, someone had taken Laney’s skate. Though the guy had somehow managed to pick up the bundle and take it with him, there was no question that someone wanted to get rid of the evidence. Dressed in dry clothes, holding a cup of hot tea at Laney’s insistence, he felt cold through and through. Who would do something that might result in a racer getting seriously injured? Who wanted her to lose that much?

The second fact that ate at him was Laney’s reckless move down by the pond. Maybe he’d been cavalier in his actions, too, but she was not allowed to be. He interrupted her pacing and pulled her to the corner of the dining room while an officer by the name of Bill Chen interviewed Beth and Jackie.

He remembered Chen’s face from the dozens of interviews he’d done after he regained consciousness those painful years ago—the fringe of salt-and-pepper hair, the five o’clock shadow on the round chin no matter what time of day Chen showed up. The officer had been polite and patient, teasing out information as best he could in between Max’s surgical procedures and periods of sedation.

It hadn’t made any difference. No matter how many times Max had gone over the details of the accident, he could not describe what he hadn’t seen in the first place, since his back had been to the car that hit them and he’d been lost in Laney’s eyes just before his life was ruined.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Max told her. “But you’ve got to promise me you’re going to be smart and safe until we get it straightened out. Doors locked, don’t leave your equipment out in the open.”

“Don’t take candy from strangers?”

“It’s not funny,” he snapped.

She cocked her head, mouth quirked in that way that showed the one small dimple in her cheek. “It looks bad, but really, I’m sure there’s no one after me. Why would there be? I’m just not that important.”

“I don’t know, but I think someone damaged your skate and tried to cover it up.”

She laughed. “That sounds like a bad TV movie. Who would bother?”

“Laney, for every gold medalist there are plenty of losers who would have done absolutely anything to win.”

Her eyes widened. “You didn’t used to be so cynical. When you lost, it was one race, one day. You didn’t let it define you.”

He shoved his fingers into his wet pockets, fingers automatically feeling for the scissors that weren’t there, the ones he’d used to cut out little paper animals of every description, a hobby he’d acquired at seven years of age. “I didn’t even get the chance to lose, and I’m angry about that. You should nurse a little anger, too. It will fuel you to the finish line.”

“Then I don’t want to be there.” She trailed fingers along his arm. “I’m going to win because I’ve trained hard and I love the sport and I want it. But if I don’t, I won’t consider myself a loser.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I don’t consider you one, either. Never have.”

“It’s not about me anymore, as you said. It’s about you. You’re going to get your chance to win that medal.”

“And if I don’t?” He could see the troubled curve to her lips, the heavy lashes that framed her eyes. “Will you see me as a loser, too?”

“No,” he said, throat suddenly tight. “I would never think of you like that. Ever.” Laney, you could never be anything but amazing to me, said the tender part inside him, the only part left that was any good.

“Then why don’t you extend yourself the same courtesy?”

The words hung between them, and he could not think of a single proper way to put the twist of feelings in his gut into words. He reached out and took her by the shoulders. “Listen, this isn’t a joke. You have to be careful.”

“Because I’m your athlete, and you don’t want me to get knocked out of competition again?”

He could not stand that hazel gaze, the unspoiled sweetness that he had no right to enjoy anymore. Swallowing hard, he nodded. “Yes. That’s right.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Max, sometimes I think you forget that what we do isn’t all that important in the scheme of things.”

His stomach tensed. She was losing her motivation, the drive to win. Maybe he could have a buddy of his, a sports psychologist talk to her. “You’ve got...”

Now it was Laney who held up a calming hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to win that spot on the team more than anyone else in this building, and I’m going to do that. I’m chasing that medal with everything in my possession, every ounce of talent and hard work that I can bring to bear. But what I do is skate fast. I’m not changing the world. They’re just races. And, yes, I’m going to skate the fastest short-track races in history because that’s what God made me to do, but racing is just one thing, one small part of who I am.”

He could not understand why she looked happy, uncertainly poised as she was on the greatest competition threshold of her life, with someone trying to make sure she did not get there. All she did was skate fast? Just races? He blinked. “I don’t get you sometimes. It wasn’t a small part of my life when I had it. It was my whole life.” And it should be yours, too.

“That’s where you made your miscalculation, Mr. Blanco. You skated fast because that’s what God made you to do, but that was just one heat.”

He felt a flash of pain. “You can say that because you can still race.” Suddenly he wanted to cut down her joy, to diminish that incomprehensible happiness from her face. “What will you do when it’s over?”

She smiled, a big wide grin that seemed to light a candle in the depths of her pupils and ignite the shame deep down in his own gut.

“Then I’ll find out what He wants me to do next.”

He stood, agog, until she lifted on tiptoe and aimed a clumsy kiss that landed at the corner of his mouth. “I’m so relieved that you’re all right. You are more to me than the man who will help me stand on top of the podium.” Then, with the gentlest of caresses to his cheek, she moved away to greet her father.

He realized he was staring at her, so he gathered up his wits and joined Mr. Thompson, who listened to the whole story again, his face grave as the police finished their interviews and promised to check in the next day.

Laney reached a finger out and wiped at a grease stain from her father’s chin. “What did you get into, Dad? Were you working on the cabs?”

He swiped as the smudge. “Yeah. Got a loose belt that needed attention.”

“I thought Mike handled that for you.”

Mr. Thompson rolled his shoulders. “We all pitch in.”

Tanya emerged in the hallway, wrapped in a bathrobe, long brown hair neatly braided into two plaits. “What’s all the noise? I was going to get a snack from the kitchen.”

“In your track shoes?” Laney said.

Tanya looked down at her expensive trainers. “Since I stepped on a nail last season, I don’t go anywhere in bare feet.”

Beth and Jackie joined them and filled Tanya in on the events. Tanya poked a finger at Beth’s shoulder. “How’d you get involved in this? And where’d you go? Thought we were going to watch a movie.”

Max registered for the first time that Jackie and Beth were both dressed for going outside.

Beth waved a hand. “I wanted to talk to my boyfriend, Cy.” Her eyes narrowed, shifting slightly to Jackie. “There’s no privacy anywhere around here, so I went outside.”

Jackie’s lips thinned. “Arranging a meeting?”

“No,” Beth shot back. “I don’t want to get grounded again for sneaking out,” she snapped, words rich with sarcasm. “But I’m going to be twenty next week, and technically I’m a legal adult, and you’re not my mother.”

“You’re far from an adult,” Jackie said smoothly.

Beth flushed. Tanya took her by the arm. “Come back to the room and tell me what Cy said. I’ve got to live vicariously through you, you know, and the other girls are going to want to hear all about the skate-in-the-pond adventure.”

“Ten o’clock lights out,” Jackie said to their retreating backs. Neither girl turned to acknowledge the remark.

“Ten o’clock curfew,” Jackie called again.

“I know, I know,” Beth snapped.

“Then stop testing,” Jackie said, matching Beth’s volume and then some. “And don’t forget what you’re here for.”

“Doesn’t matter if I forget. You’ll remind me,” the girl said with bitterness before she allowed Tanya to lead her away.

Max could read nothing from Jackie’s expression. “Were you checking up on her?”

Jackie gave him a blank look. “What?”

“You were outside, too, during the pond incident. Were you checking up on her?”

Jackie sighed, shadows of fatigue darkening her skin. “She’s impulsive, immature. She needs a mother as much as a coach. I’m not very maternal.” Jackie spoke as if she was talking to herself. “Her mother is the CEO of the biggest mining company in the world. She gave Beth everything, but you can’t give somebody drive. You have to be hungry to have drive.”

Max knew exactly where his own hunger had come from. It was born in the antiseptic waiting room where he’d taken off his shoes and practiced his wobbly skating skills on the linoleum while his four-year-old brother Robby had endured treatments for leukemia. The disease had taken his life anyway, a few days before his fifth birthday.

Lap after lap had buried the need deeper. He would control his own body to the point where he was the best in the world, invincible. His own parents had means, but Beth’s mother had billions. And Laney’s birth mother? She’d had the need only to feed her habit, from what he’d learned. Maybe Jackie was right; they both hungered in their own way. He was not sure what to say, and he saw from the uncomfortable look on Laney and Mr. Thompson’s faces that they shared his unease.

“Beth’s going to do well,” Laney said softly. “She’ll dig down deep to get what she wants.”

“She wants a mother, not a coach,” Jackie said, still gazing down the darkened hallway. “But she’s not going to get that from me.” Jackie shook her head and seemed to rouse herself from her thoughts. “I had four brothers.”

“No kids?” Mr. Thompson asked.

She answered dreamily, “A son. He’s a trial lawyer.” She thumbed her phone to life and showed them the photo of a dark-haired, thick-browed man. “Lives with his dad. Fortunate for him, because mothers make their kids weak,” she said with a glance at Laney. “You’re better off without one.”

Max saw Laney flinch, and he frowned at the massive insensitivity, but Coach Jackie appeared not to notice.

Mr. Thompson put an arm around Laney. “She did have a mother, a good woman who loved her enough to let her be who she was meant to be.”

Jackie smiled. “And a father who didn’t let the mother get in the way.”

Dan’s face tightened and he squeezed Laney closer as Jackie said good-night and left.

“She’s harsh,” Max said, trying to gauge Laney’s reaction.

Laney broke into her customary smile. “Maybe we could learn from her.” She put on her best scowl. “It’s time for bed everyone. Especially all those who have recently jumped in freezing-cold ponds and such.”

He chuckled. “You taking over my job?”

“Of course, so go take your supplements, drink eight glasses of water and get to sleep fast so you’ll be your cheerful good self tomorrow at training.”

“Is that an order, Laney?” he teased.

“Absolutely,” she proclaimed, kissing her father, taking Max’s arm and propelling him toward the exit.

Max allowed himself to be swept along in the tide of Laney’s cheerful conversation, but he knew she must be wondering, as he was, who had taken her skate and tried so hard to get rid of it.

As they walked past the windows, he had an uncomfortable feeling that there were more problems waiting in the darkness.

* * *

The gray predawn did nothing to lighten the tiny bathroom as Laney ruefully consulted the little notes she’d taped to the bathroom mirror reminding her which of the taps in the shower was for the hot water. Many a scalding she’d endured before she’d swallowed her pride and wrote the messages to herself. Hot and cold, only two choices and it frustrated her to no end that she could not remember that simple detail, one even a child could manage.

So you need a note, Laney. So what? The needles of hot water soothed her muscles, still sore from the crash. A slight pain in her shoulder reminded her that the day had gone from a crash to a tackle, which seemed hard to believe as she greeted another morning. Whatever had happened, she was determined not to let it deflect one iota of mental energy from her training. Run the day or it will run you, Max always told her.

Somehow the image of Max disappearing under the water stubbornly refused to leave her head. At the moment he sank, she had not cared about anything else in the world but that he should resurface unharmed. He was her trainer and friend, she reminded herself. Of course she would feel that way. But something new and different circled inside her chest, a feeling that she’d not experienced in a very long time, irregular and delicate as a bird hopping from branch to branch. She pressed her hands to the wet tile and tried to refocus.

There was one thing and one thing only that could drive every thought and care from her psyche, and that was training. Long, grueling, bone-crunching training. The surge of fire in her belly urged her on as she dressed and packed her gear for the oval. Her second pair of skates, her only other pair, was packed safely in her bag, along with the EpiPen she’d fortunately never had to use.

Needles, she thought with a shudder. A person could live a very happy life without ever having a close encounter with one. She’d had plenty after the hit-and-run accident. Cubby grudgingly awakened and ate his cat food topped with a small piece of chicken she’d swiped from the kitchen. In stealth mode, she let herself out, locking the door behind her.

The other doors along the hallway were closed. At 5:00 a.m., the girls would be clinging to those last few hours of sleep. No sound of anyone stirring, even Mama Love, the team chef, who she knew liked to get a good start on the breakfast preparations. Laney took an apple and a hard-boiled egg from the snack drawer in the fridge and let herself outside into the cold.

“Good morning.”

She jumped a step backward from the security guard.

“You scared me.”

He smiled politely. “Sorry. Checking on the dorms. Going out?”

She nodded. “To the ice.”

“So early?”

“I like to start my day before everyone else.”

“Guess that’s the way champions are made.” He offered to escort her.

“No, thanks....” she started, until she considered the tongue-lashing she’d get from both Max and her father for puttering around unattended in the solitary early-morning hours. “Actually, that would be great,” she said, shouldering her gear.

They walked in silence and she slipped inside and took a deep breath, waving at the guard as he left. Though most people wouldn’t agree, she knew ice had a smell and she savored it now, sucking in a deep lungful of air and letting it tingle through her as it might have done for all the world-class athletes who had trained in this very spot.

She made her way past the bleachers toward the multilane track that circled the rink, planning an easy run to warm up, but the familiar sound of blades skimming the ice stopped her.

Max was alone on the ice, blade positioned, arm crooked in front of him, focused. His form was perfect, balanced and contained, ready to explode from the start line. Her stomach clenched as she watched. One second and the imaginary buzzer must have signaled his mind because he propelled himself forward and shot across the ice.

He went hard for several meters, then drifted into a glide. She could see what others wouldn’t, the tightness in his left leg that prevented him from cornering properly, his crouch not quite low enough, not quite there.

His head dropped along with her heart, and she knew he came here when no one else was around so they wouldn’t see Blaze, former world-class competitor, struggling to complete a turn properly. She drew back into the shadow of the bleachers to allow him his dignity.

Lord, let him see he’s meant to be more.

FIVE

Laney did not hear Hugh Peterson move next to her until he cleared his throat.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Sneaking around like you did when you left your card under my door?”

“Not sneaking, looking for you.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” She shot a look toward Max.

“Why? He’s here, and he’s not even a competitor. Not like I’m going to steal any training tips.”

Her teeth ground together. “He’s my trainer, and you don’t have a right to spy on him or anyone else.”

The reporter’s hair was graying at the temples, the skin around his eyes puckered, as if he’d spent plenty of time in the sun, but she guessed he was no more than mid-sixties. He was dark complexioned, and his mustache completely obscured his upper lip. “You folks are a little too impressed by your own importance. I’m just here to talk to you. I tried calling and leaving messages. Most normal people would respond via those avenues.”

“I didn’t get any messages.”

“Then you shouldn’t leave your father in charge. I’d have called you directly, but he wouldn’t give me your number.”

“I’m glad he didn’t,” she said, though something squeezed uncomfortably inside. “What do you want, anyway?”

“I freelance for some sports mags.” He pulled out a ragged spiral notepad from the back pocket of his baggy jeans. “I want an interview.”

“Why not wait until after the trials? You might be wasting your time on me.”

He smiled, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “You suffered a tragic accident four years ago that took away your dreams of gold.”

Not just mine. She stayed silent.

“So you’re a comeback kid.”

“We’re a long way from that.”

He shrugged. “Tell me about the accident.”

Flickers of worry flamed to life. At first she’d tried so hard to remember the faces, the driver, the make of the car, but her brain stubbornly kept the details cloaked in darkness. After many years she’d come to realize it was a blessing. She would not have to replay those horrifying moments in her mind over and over. “That’s behind me, and I want to keep it that way.” She shot a glance at the ice. Max was no longer visible from her line of sight, which gave her a queasy feeling.

“Just a couple of questions, that’s all,” he said. “I know you told the cops you didn’t remember the driver, but did you get a sense, any indication at all that it was a man or woman driving?”

“No.”

“Come on.” He stepped closer. “You had to have some idea.”

“I don’t,” she said, cold prickling her spine.

“I heard someone messed up your skate and tried to hide the evidence.”

The bleachers pressed uncomfortably into her back. “What does that have to do with the accident?”

He moved closer now, until she could smell coffee on his breath. “Could be it has everything to do with it. Name Trevor Ancho mean anything to you?”

“No. Should it?”

A bead of sweat rolled down her temple. “The things you’re saying, they don’t sound like regular interview questions, Mr. Peterson.”

He shrugged. “I’m surprised at your reluctance, here. Seems like a kid would want to attract some attention, maybe garner a new sponsor to help Daddy pay all those bills.”

“What do you know about my father?”

“I know he’s in a financial hole, and he’s made some crazy choices to continue bankrolling your dreams.”

“What choices?”

“Let me interview you. We’ll talk.”

“I get the feeling you have an agenda that has nothing to do with my speed skating.”

He stepped closer. “There’s a lot more going on here than what happens on the ice.” Something glittered hard and sharp in his eyes.

She made up her mind to get away, but Max appeared, no longer in skates, his expression rigid as he pulled her behind him. With blazing eyes riveted on Peterson, Max spoke to Laney.

“Is he bothering you?” he asked with a grunt.

Was he? She wasn’t sure, but more than anything she didn’t want Max to throw an ill-advised punch. “No. I was just telling him I don’t want to be interviewed.”

“I already told him that. What’s the matter, Mr. Peterson? Didn’t you understand me before?”

Peterson did not back up in spite of Max’s tall frame and the angry set to his wide shoulders. “You should welcome the publicity, shouldn’t you?” Peterson said mildly. “Laney’s got no rich mother to bankroll her like Beth Morrison has. Mommy Morrison was in town just last week, you know.” His gaze shifted around the arena. “What does training here cost a person, I wonder?”

Max leaned in. “None of your concern.”

“No, you’re right. No fun for Dad, though, huh? Trying to pay for all this with his cabbie business?”

He knows everything about me. Laney put her hand on Max’s lower back, feeling the tense knot of muscles there. “I want to train now. Come on,” she whispered.

“I’m not moving until Mr. Peterson here does,” Max said. He took out his phone. “Did you need security to show you to the door or should I help you with that?”

Peterson took a step back. “No problem. I’ve got some more research to do anyway. I’ll let you get back to your training.” He cast a derisive look at Max. “Seems like you need it more than she does.”

Laney put her arms around Max from behind, pressing her cheek to his back as she watched Peterson leave. The feel of his strong shoulders, the curve of his spine stemmed the flow of worry for a moment. He was her trainer, not her love, but she could not stop the impulse to touch him and draw comfort from the contact. She willed her breathing and his to return to normal, blinking against a sudden onslaught of tears.

He turned around in the circle of her arms and pulled her close, looking intently into her eyes. “He’s got an agenda.”

She nodded, chewing her lip. “I didn’t want to talk about the accident.”

“You don’t have to. I wonder what he’s after.” Max smoothed her hair with his palm. “Sure you’re okay?”

“What he said...about my dad.” Laney bit her lip. “I know it’s hard to pay for all this. The money I made in the summer waitressing hardly covered the cost of a skin suit.”

He tipped her chin upward with a finger. “Your dad wants nothing else than for you to succeed, so that’s what you need to do now, that’s where your focus needs to be.”

She pressed her face into his chest, unable to find words to tease out the worry from her gut.

“Come on, Birdie,” he said. “Time to get the job done.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, heading for the track. Still, she cast one more look around for Hugh Peterson, but she could not find him there in the shadows.

* * *

Max guided Laney through an arduous morning of dry-land training. Her focus was off, probably not so much that anyone would notice except him. His focus was not sharp, either, though he fought valiantly against the cascade of thoughts that threatened to pull his mind from the job at hand. The day had started off with him once again humiliating himself on the ice, and he prayed Laney hadn’t seen him struggling to complete one turn. Why did he persist? To push hard, then harder, expecting a different result from ruined bones that refused to heal?

You’re not a competitor anymore, whiz kid. Wise up. Blaze is dead.

But something deep down, curled inside the fibers and muscles of his will, would not let it go. A futile desire existed there, hunkered down and sheltered by the anger. Why had God let everything he wanted disappear in one moment at the hands of a single careless driver? A lifetime of striving and a ridiculous level of dedication wiped out. It burned so badly sometimes he could barely stand it.

But now, with Hugh Peterson bringing up the past and someone ready to ruin Laney’s skates, the anger began to broaden as he considered that Laney might lose her dream twice. His life was one thing, broken as it was. Hers was entirely another. Laney Thompson deserved only good, the best for someone who only saw the best in others.

Teeth grinding, he signaled her to continue her stair workout. He would not let anybody rob her the way they had him.

Sweat glistened on her face as she leaped up the steps sideways to work her ankles and the dozens of intricate muscles that could mean the difference between a great athletic performance and an average one. She darted a look at him when she passed. He did not return it.

Focus, Laney. Worry about winning. I’ll take care of the rest. He’d decided that it was time to go on the offensive. He was going to find out exactly who Hugh Peterson was and why he was so fascinated by Laney.

Jackie joined him, and together they watched Beth hop up the steps several paces behind Laney.

“Slow,” Jackie called. “Too slow.”

“You try it,” Beth huffed as she continued on.

Jackie shook her head.

Max shifted at the awkwardness between Beth and her coach. He felt as though he should offer support, but he was not sure how. Instead, he fired off a question. “How well do you know Beth’s mother?”

Jackie started. “She pays me to coach, and I do. I don’t have a close personal relationship with my employer. It’s better not to.”

He recognized the jibe. It was probably a fair one. He was too close to Mr. Thompson. At times, during those long sleepless nights when his aching hip kept him awake, he wondered if he had been given the trainer’s job out of pity. Poor Max, who could not compete. At least he could be near the sport that was in his blood. What else was he qualified to do, anyway? Shame warmed his cheeks.

“Why do you ask?” Jackie watched as the athletes jogged down the far staircase to start again, this time leaping up to every third step. “About Beth’s mother?”

“Heard she was in town a week ago, but I never saw her here. Usually parents are going to come and see how their kids are doing, you know?”

“She must have had business here. I didn’t see her, either. We spoke on the phone. Mrs. Morrison is...not like other parents,” Jackie said. “That’s probably why we have a good working relationship.”

“I’m sure she contacted Beth, anyway,” Max said. By the shift in Jackie’s shoulders, he knew she was anything but sure.

They went quiet, their conversation overtaken by the squeak of athletic shoes on the tile floor and the hard breathing of Beth, Laney and the two dozen men and women training to snag one of the coveted spots on the American team. Max noted with pride that Laney was first. She worked the hardest of any speed skater he’d ever met, except possibly for himself.

“Did your parents come to see you?” Jackie asked, breaking into his thoughts. “When you were training for Vancouver?”

He’d wished they hadn’t, sometimes. His mother was so small, so frail and he knew when she watched him skate that she saw another child there, a tiny boy who stood on wobbly skates that dwarfed his skinny legs, trying to keep up with his older brother Max for one precious season before the seeds of disease sprouted in his bones. There had always been that lingering memory of Robby skating along with Max for every race won and nearly won. But for Max, Robby wasn’t following in his memory, he was embedded in his heart, and every win was a way of carrying his brother along in this life, too.

I will win because my brother didn’t.

I will thrive because You did not save him.

I will be the best, in spite of anything You can throw in my way.

But he’d failed in that quest, failed himself, failed his brother and parents.

He realized Jackie was waiting for an answer, regarding him solemnly. “Yes, my parents came to watch me.” He made a pretense of checking his training schedule.

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