Chapter One
Patch Donnelly ignored the stranger in the grey suit slouching behind the player bench. He had more important things to focus on, like the disc of frozen rubber racing toward his head. Inhaling the scent of freshly resurfaced ice, he blocked the backhand, and bent his lips into a faint grin.
Damn—it was good to be back.
The NHL season had been delayed for four months after breakdowns with collective bargaining negotiations. To celebrate the end of the lockout, Coach had agreed to make the first practice back a public event, and Hellions fans came flocking, bursting the stadium at the seams.
Patch dropped into a crouch, swaying from side to side. Out here on the line there was a palpable sense of being up against the world, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He knew he was a different breed. It took someone with a few screws loose to face down a puck travelling at a hundred miles an hour and love every second. But as he worked through the drills, his gaze returned to the bench. The suit’s dead-eyed stare prickled his sixth sense, and if there was one thing he trusted in this shitty world, it was his intuition.
When something didn’t feel right, it probably wasn’t.
That inbuilt radar had helped him survive childhood, and left him with more than his fair share of paranoia.
The guy could be another NHL exec making the rounds. But tell that to the vise grip in Patch’s gut.
At the end of practice, the suit made a beeline in his direction.
“Patrick Donnelly?” he said coolly as Patch stepped off the ice.
“Who’s asking?”
Time dropped into slow motion as the suit smacked a manila envelope against the front of his jersey.
“You’ve been served.” And with that he turned and stalked away.
The ever-vigilant media went nuts. Cameras flashed as journalists’ questions hit him with rapid-fire intensity.
“What’s up with getting served your first day back?”
“Is this going to affect the rest of your season?”
“Patch! Who’s suing you?”
He strode to the locker room, head down, jaw rigid. No point opening the summons. He knew who was after him. He’d been expecting it.
The bad guys always come for you in the end.
Chapter Two
Margot Kowalski hunched in the corner of The Cozy Clove Chai Shoppefrowning at her workbook. Her butt was numb. She’d been sitting here since midafternoon andHow to Write a Kick-Ass Business Plan in Under Two Hourshadn’t delivered on its ambitious promise. Although, in fairness to the authors, Margot’s attention span mimicked a caffeinated squirrel inside a nut factory.
It didn’t help matters that the college-aged girls at the closest table had forgotten how to use their indoor voices. And had a talent for ignoring Margot’s pointed looks.
“Make sure to be honest.” The one with the blunt-cut bangs had a laugh that could put screech owls in heat. “It says here that failure to do so will render the results inaccurate.”
“Aye, aye, Sergeant!” Her friend in the Nordic knit poncho gave a mock salute, nearly upending her teacup.
Cue more screeching.
Margot gritted her teeth, eyes narrowing. She was a nice enough person—that is, until someone pressed her bitch button.
These two were inching toward the danger zone.
“Okay, okay. Question one.” Bangs smirked at her iPhone. “Have you ever gotten a hickey?”
Margot rolled her eyes so hard that they threatened to pop out of her head.
The hand-calligraphed sign by the register read:This is a Screen-Free Space: No Laptops, Cell Phones or iPads. Conversation, reading and daydreaming are encouraged.
