Mimi turned out to be a younger, more curvaceous version of Naomi. She hugged both Keelie and me and chattered pretty much nonstop about nothing. But she was sweet and thoughtful, happy to ask and answer her own questions.
“I’m Nicole,” a sleek brunette said. “I’m Quentin’s wife. He’s one of the D-men.” She walked in from the open-concept living area toward the kitchen, where the rest of us stood. The spaces were large and ornate. The wood floors were polished and covered in thick rugs, while the farmhouse-style kitchen boasted soft blue walls and dark wood farm doors. A huge TV took up most of one wall in the living area, a gas fireplace another, and windows occupied the last one. Three large white leather couches were situated to ensure an optimal TV-watching experience.
Once Nicole shook both our hands, she pulled her hair up into a messy bun and dug through the bag Keelie had brought with her and set on the end table in the living room. “Ooh, Keelie’s my new favorite person,” she said. “She went to Sephora.”
“Was I supposed to bring something?” I asked, my stomach dipping.
“You did,” Mimi chirped. “Yourself. Next time, you’ll probably get booze duty.” She waved her hand. “It all works out in the wash.”
“Lemme see.” Naomi dove into the bag headfirst.
I inched closer to Keelie and Mimi. “Do they do this for every away game?”
“No,” Nicole said. “But we like to when we can. Quentin and I have three kids, and I like to be there at bedtime because he can’t. But he’s about to retire—or be forced to, thanks to his shoulder.” She grimaced. “And he’s not happy about it. He’s going to want to stay in the industry, and we both like the club here. We’re hoping Coach Whittaker and Gunnar Evaldson—that’s the Wildcatters’ owner—will ask him to stay on as a defensive coach, but we haven’t gotten there yet.”
“The thing you have to know about hockey is that the roster changes pretty much every year,” Naomi said. She opened one of the exfoliating creams and sniffed. “You didn’t need to go this all-out, but we’re going to appreciate how great our skin looks.” She smiled at Keelie who let out a long, nearly-silent sigh of relief.
“Did you see this eye cream?” Nicole asked. “Girls, our men are going to lose their minds when they see us on Thursday.”
“Let’s get you girls some drinks and dive into one of those facial masques. “I have dibs on the Green Tea and Honey,” Naomi said.
Chapter9
Maxim
Idrove to Ida Jane’s office on Thursday afternoon, annoyed she’d shifted her plans and stayed with Keelie the last couple of nights. We’d returned in the early hours of the morning after another away game, and I was glad to be back home. Today, I planned to talk to Ida Jane’s boss and whoever else I needed to about security. I wasn’t willing to take any more chances. Dillon had proven he was dangerous.
Ida Jane’s offices were in Houston’s second downtown area near the Galleria. Unlike the buildings downtown that required parking garages, this area had large parking lots next to each structure with delivery lanes. I pulled my Mercedes EQS coupe into the delivery lane, unwilling to wait another minute to see my girl.
I talked to the security guard at the front kiosk and received a pass for clearance up to Ida Jane’s floor. The world blossomed with more color when I stepped into her office, my gaze homing in on her immediately. Horror overpowered my anger. Half of her beautiful face was swollen, black and purple.
I didn’t even notice the small child at one of the easels until I almost tripped over the kid.
“Sorry,” I said. “Mind if I talk to my girl…er, Ida…er, Miss…” What did the kids call her?
“You’re Miss Ida’s boyfriend?” she asked. She had a lisp and two missing front teeth.
“I am.”
“You’re big.”
“I am.”
“She said you didn’t hit her.”
“I would never,everhurt Ida Jane.”
“Do you hurt other people?”
I considered that. “Sometimes. When they deserve it. Almost always that other person—a man—does something first. Like hurts my friend.”
“Okay.” The child turned back to her painting; her small, dark hands splattered in paint. I stared at the kid for a minute, wondering what the hell just happened, before refocusing on Ida Jane.
I reached for her with shaking hands. “What did he do to you?” I breathed. My fingers barely skimmed the surface of her skin, which ran hot and seemed too tight.
“Ah, krasivaya.” I dropped my hand and then my head, letting my cheek rest against the crown of her warm, silky curls as I embraced her. Even as a fierce battle raged within me, I kept my touch gentle. I wanted to destroy Dillon.
Hitting a woman, someone who weighed barely more than a child, was disgusting. All that it proved was that he wasn’t worthy of the title of man and wasn’t capable of humanity or decency. I detested him with as much passion as I hated my sister’s murderer, his belief that he could just take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
