Chapter Twenty-Three

Win over the Kings, 4-2. Check.

Celebrate with the guys on the ice and bench. Check.

Now if he could exit the ice without a reporter waylaying him. Ah, good. Glaz, Thor, and Swifty already had microphones in their faces. Emile slipped on by without any problem. Small wonder. They were the stars tonight.

Now for the next matter on the list.

It had never crossed his mind that Snow would fail to show up, and there he was—standing behind a security guard in a Staples Center uniform. Baise-moi. The bâtard was wearing a Sound sweater.

Emile shed a glove, took his helmet off, and put it under his arm. He was careful to address the guard first.

“Many, many thanks for all you do. But it is all right. He’s here to see me.”

Emile gave him his best smile and extended his hand for Snow to shake. He would have resented the gesture if not for the stench of his hands. A hockey player’s gloves stunk like no other part of his equipment, and that was saying a lot. Snow would have a souvenir of this meeting for days.

Just then, something happened that Emile had not anticipated but should have—Packi stopped in front of him. He frowned and barely shook his head, as if in disbelief. Emile caught his breath and waited for Packi to speak, but when he did, he only said, “Here you go,” and handed Emile a water bottle and towel, took his helmet, gloves, and stick, and headed toward the locker room.

Emile drank deeply from the bottle and slung the towel around his neck. “Great game! Brilliant saves!” Emile hated Snow all the more for saying that. His performance had been solid tonight, but not great and certainly not brilliant. No crazy, reason-defying saves. As for the Kings’s goals—the best parts of Dominik Hesek and Patrick Roy combined could have done nothing about one of the pucks that got past him. The other, he should have stopped. He’d work on that.

“Let’s step to the side.” Emile moved against the wall, but though he was exhausted, he was careful not lean on it. Snow had a leather messenger bag over his shoulder, no doubt containing a contract with a big red X where he was supposed to sign. There would be a pen, too. At least he had better sense than to wave the contract around first thing.

But Snow did want to get down to business. “I know you need to cool down and hydrate. Do you have any questions for me?”

Determined to look relaxed and happy, Emile smiled and nodded. “Oui. Do you still have Amy’s personal possessions?”

Emile had never seen a face go from giddy-smug to utter shock so quickly. When Snow’s head whipped around, Emile noted that his hair was getting thin on top. Emile brushed his own full locks off his forehead.

“Wh-What? What did you say?”

Emile leaned in and said very carefully, “Do you still have Amy’s material belongings? For your sake, I hope you have not disposed of them, because you are going to send them back to her.” He was no longer smiling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know any Amy. I certainly don’t have her things.”

Emile laughed. “I was right. I thought that was the tack you would take. Had Amy gone public, I’m sure that’s what you intended to tell Reynolds Fallon and all his family, including your new wife. It might have worked on them, but don’t waste my time. As you say, I must cool down, hydrate, and get on a plane. I have no interest in ruining your marriage or your life. I have no interest in you at all. But you will send Amy’s personal possessions back to her, or I will call your brother-in-law and tell all. He may not believe me at first, but he will look into it, and you will not survive the scrutiny.”

Snow’s face was now white and red blotched. “This . . . this is what you interrupted my honeymoon for? You said you were interested in signing with me.”

“Non. I did not. I never said what I wanted. I just called you here, and you came like a stray, mangy dog hoping for kibble. There is no kibble, unless you count my willingness to keep your secret.”

Snow took a deep breath, no doubt assessing how to proceed. “How do you know Amy?”

When Emile shook his head side to side the sweat from his hair landed on Snow’s face. He gave another vigorous little shake. “Doesn’t matter. You will crate her things up and ship them back.” If Emile were guessing, they’d never been uncrated but were sitting in a storage unit. When enough time had passed, Snow would cease to pay the rent, and the contents would be sold. But he’d phrased it that way because he wanted to make it seem as if he didn’t know about the money.

Indeed, Snow did look the barest bit relieved. “But you have to understand. Things had not been right with Amy and me for a while. I tried—”

Emile put up a hand. “Arrêtez. Stop before you lie. I have no interest in you or your motives. I have interest only in seeing Amy’s clothing, books, and all the rest of it returned to her. Do it. And make sure you don’t leave anything out—not a little bullet book, ribbon, rubber stamp, or pair of panties. Leave something out, and the deal is off.”

“All right. Okay.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. He looked like a man who had lost something that cost him nothing. “I’m flying back to Milan tonight. I’ll do it when I get back.”

Emile had not anticipated that. No matter. “Non. You will do it now. Her things will arrive tomorrow by end of business. She will wait not one second longer than that.” Emile would be home in the wee hours after the San Jose game. He was determined this be done before then.

Snow’s eyes widened. They were bloodshot. “That’s impossible! I don’t think you realize how much there is. There’s a storage unit half full! And my wife is expecting me back.”

Emile studied a blooming bruise on his forearm. “That’s a personal problem and not mine. You are a resourceful man who has proven he has the talent to act quickly. Utilize that talent. Send them to her attention to Star View Towers. Fourteenth floor. I’m sure you know the address.”

Just when Emile was certain a man couldn’t look more dumbfounded, Snow turned a lovely shade of purple and his eyes bulged. “She didn’t go back to Georgia? She’s living with you?”

Emile pivoted on his skates and walked away.

Snow must have thought he was out of earshot when he sneered, “That didn’t take her long.”

If Emile had allowed that to sink in, he would have turned into the savage he’d sworn he would never be.

He just waved over his shoulder without looking back. “Just do what I said.”

• • •

Later on the plane, Emile had expected Packi to quiz him, but he hadn’t. He’d delivered Emile’s chicken parmesan, asked if he needed anything, and made some small talk about the game, but he hadn’t mentioned Snow. Emile didn’t even wonder why. He was just relieved. It was done, and he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

However, he did have to think about it again—at least briefly. After the meal, most of the team had put on headphones and settled back to chill out or sleep. Emile was about to do the same when Jan Voleck stopped in the aisle beside Emile.

“Yes?” Emile was always very careful to never speak French to the young Swede. He had enough trouble with English.

“Hello, Emile.”

“Hello.”

“I saw you, I think, in the tunnel. You were speaking with my agent? With Cameron Snow?”

Oh, great. The kid was about to ask him if they were going to be agent-sharing buddies.

“Yes,” Emile said hesitantly.

Jan looked perplexed. “Hmm. I thought it, but then I wondered and thought, can’t be. Sometimes people can look similar.”

“What? He didn’t talk to you?”

“No,” Jan said. “He did not.”

Odd that the guy’s agent had been at his game and not so much as said hello. Miles would never do that. Of course, Snow had been rattled—that, and he had to arrange to ship some boxes.

“I don’t know, Jan.”

Jan set his mouth and nodded. “Thank you.” And he walked to the back of the plane.