Body Check

by Lisa B. Kamps

  BODY CHECK

  Lisa B. Kamps

  BODY CHECK

  Copyright © 2015 by Elizabeth Belbot Kamps

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.

  The Baltimore Banners© is a fictional professional ice hockey team, created for the sole use of the author and covered under protection of copyright.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names, living or dead. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any individual, place, business, or event is purely coincidental.

  Artwork by Jay Aheer of Simply Defined Art

  http://www.jayscoversbydesign.com/

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other titles by this author

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Other titles by this author

  About the Author

  For Joanna and Eric Flanigan

  You two absolutely define romance!

  Here's to many, many years of true happiness for both of you.

  Other titles by this author:

  Emeralds and Gold: A Treasury of Irish Short Stories (anthology)

  Finding Dr. Right

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Crossing the Line

  (The Baltimore Banners, Book 1)

  Game Over

  (The Baltimore Banners, Book 2)

  Blue Ribbon Summer

  (The Baltimore Banners, Book 3)

  Time To Heal

  Prologue

  Randy Michaels looked down at the clenched fists by his side and willed them to uncurl. One deep breath, then another. One more before his hands finally got the message and his fingers straightened. He pressed both hands flat against his leg, not worrying if he wrinkled the fine linen of his dark dress slacks or not.

  He was more concerned about not hitting his agent.

  J. Taylor Montgomery sat behind the expansive glass desk, his mouth tilted in an ever-present partial smile as he watched Randy's struggle. Damn the man for seeing too much.

  "How long have I been your agent, son?"

  Too damn long, Randy thought. But he didn't say the words out loud, not when he damn well knew the old man sitting across from him could read his mind. Randy took a deep breath, pressed his hands flatter against his legs. "Eleven years."

  "And have I ever steered you wrong in those eleven years? Ever did anything that wasn't in your best interest?"

  Randy met the cool blue eyes that watched him, refusing to look away from that penetrating stare. J. Taylor Montgomery might look like a friendly grandfather type, but those blue eyes and the shock of full white hair were nothing more than camouflage, hiding the soul of a shark.

  Randy shook his head. "No. You haven't." And a damn good thing, too, considering how much Randy paid the man.

  "That's right, I haven't." The man in question leaned back in the oversized leather chair and folded his neatly manicured hands in front of him. The partial smile finally left his mouth and his eyes were serious as he continued to study Randy. "How many more years do you think you have playing, son?"

  The question caught him off-guard and he sat back, feeling like he had just taken a puck to the throat. He shouldn't have been surprised, not when he found himself wondering the same thing more and more often. He pressed his hands flatter against his legs and forced the answer from between clenched teeth. "I've got a few more good years left."

  Montgomery didn't say anything, just kept watching him with those unnerving eyes. He finally exhaled and leaned forward. "Maybe. Maybe not. The fact is, Randy, you're thirty-four years old. You've been playing for fourteen years already. There are other players coming up, younger, faster. Cheaper."

  Randy winced at the words, knowing they were the truth. That didn't mean he had to like them. It sure as hell didn't mean he had to accept them. He opened his mouth to say as much but Montgomery cut him off.

  "Yeah, you're still a hell of a good defenseman. Your contract with the Banners is up at the end of next season. What makes you think they're going to renew it?"

  "That's more than a year away. My playing is still strong, I'm as healthy as ever. Why wouldn't they renew it?" He knew he sounded defensive, cocky. He didn't care, because it was the truth. But he ignored the sliver of anxiety that crawled up his back. There was no reason for his contract not to be renewed.

  "Because you're becoming a liability, son."

  There it was again, that feeling like he just took another puck to the throat. And the gut. His fists clenched again, as well as his jaw, but Randy didn't care. He wanted to lash out, to jump from the expensive leather chair and ram his fist through a wall. But he didn't. He couldn't, not with Montgomery looking at him like that, his eyebrows raised in amusement as he glanced down at Randy's clenched fists.

  "You've had two multi-game suspensions this year. Then there was that bar fight mid-season out in LA."

  "That wasn't my fault."

  "Maybe not, but you were still involved. Not to mention the scuffle outside that nightclub in New York a few weeks ago."

  "What was I supposed to do? Let the asshole beat up his girlfriend?" Randy and Jean-Pierre Larocque had decided to go clubbing after one of their games up in New York, nothing wild or crazy, just a few drinks, maybe meet some girls. But some asshole had taken offense and decided to manhandle his girlfriend when she had asked for their autographs. No way was he going to stand by and let something like that happen. How was he supposed to know there had been paparazzi right there, clicking away with their annoying cameras?

  "Be that as it may, the incidents are adding up, happening more frequently. It's one thing to have a reputation on the ice, son. Another thing completely when you're off the ice. The team doesn't want negative publicity, and right now, that's all they're getting from you."

  Randy swallowed, his throat nearly closed from the fleeting sense of panic threatening to close over him. He took a deep breath, unclenched his fists once more, and met Montgomery's stare. "So I'll start behaving."

  The man's rich laughter was unexpected, and unwelcome. Once more Randy wanted to clench his fists, but he willed his hands to stay flat. It wouldn't look good if he suddenly gave in to the urge to hit something, not after telling his agent he'd behave.

  Like he was some little kid who couldn't control himself. Dammit, he was a grown man, he shouldn't have to be making promises like this.

  "Randy, I like you. I really do. But I don't think it's going to be that easy for you. Look at you, son. Even rig
ht now, you're doing your best not to fly out of that chair and hit something." Montgomery leaned back and watched him for a moment longer, then shook his head. Seriousness fell over him, erasing all traces of humor from the weathered face. "You've got eighteen months before your contract ends. If you stay healthy and if you keep playing strong, I can probably get them to renew for another year or two with no problems. But I'll be honest and let you know right now, I'm not worried about that. What I am worried about is your image and your reputation. You keep going the way you are, and I don't care how well you're playing, I'm not sure I can convince them you're worth the risk."

  "So what do I have to do?" Randy hated that he even had to ask, hated feeling so vulnerable. But he'd been around long enough, he knew the drill. He'd seen it happen to other players, better players. And he heard, loud and clear, what Montgomery wasn't saying: if the Banners didn't renew his contract in eighteen months, he could go out as an unrestricted free agent.

  And if he did that, he might as well just hang up his skates. He'd be thirty-five, almost thirty-six, too damn old to be a worthwhile prospect. Yeah, he was sure some team would pick him up. But he didn't want some team—he wanted the Banners. This was home. Yeah, he was still good. But as much as he didn't want to admit Montgomery was right, he couldn't ignore what he'd said earlier. There were younger players, better players, out there who wouldn't cost a team as much.

  He kept his gaze on the older man, refusing to look away from those cool eyes, needing to let him know he was serious.

  "You need to stay strong. Stay healthy. And above all else, stay out of trouble." Montgomery leaned forward and rested his elbows against the smooth uncluttered surface of the desk. "You need to become respectable, turn your image around."

  Randy opened his mouth, ready to argue that he didn't go around deliberately causing trouble, that none of the fights had been started by him. Mostly. But his agent cut him off with a short wave of one hand.

  "Stay away from the bars and nightclubs. Stay away from the fights. Get your name behind something respectable. You need to change your image, starting now."

  Randy heard the words, felt an inward cringe at the suggestions. Stay away from bars and nightclubs? What was he supposed to do, become a monk? Then his mind latched onto the other thing Montgomery had said, and he sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Get behind something respectable? You mean like a business or something?"

  "I was thinking more like a charity, but a business might work. A respectable business. The other option is an image consultant—"

  "No. No consultant." Not if he could help it. Randy looked down at the hands pressed flat against his legs, his mind whirling at the speed of light before latching onto something half-baked and not yet completely formed in his mind. A snippet of conversation surfaced in his memory, something he remembered overhearing his sister Valerie say. He looked up at Montgomery and took a deep breath. "How about a restaurant? Is that respectable enough?"

  "You want to open a restaurant now?" The older man didn't do a very good job of keeping the surprise from his face.

  "No. Invest in one. Maybe get my name behind it or something, and have donation nights or fundraisers or something like that. I don't know, I'm tossing out ideas here. Would anything like that work?"

  "That's not what I had in mind but I can see where you're going. Why don't you let me get a name of a consultant instead?"

  "I said no consultant." Randy leaned forward, feeling the first faint tingling of excitement at the half-baked idea. "So no bars, no nightclubs, and I become a respectable businessman. Then everything should be fine, right?"

  "Son, I think it's going to take more than—"

  "No, this will work."

  "I still think you should let me get a consultant for you."

  Randy shook his head. No way, not with some of the horror stories he had heard. But Montgomery was looking at him like he had just lost his mind, so Randy decided to compromise, just enough to keep his agent happy. "Six months. Let's see how this works, and if you think I still need one in six months, then I'll do it."

  Randy didn't wait for the man's reply, just pushed himself out of the chair and reached across the desk to shake his hand. He didn't pay any attention to the man's speculative look, or the flash of disbelief in those cool blue eyes. Maybe Montgomery didn't think he could do it, but Randy knew better.

  No bars, no nightclubs, no fights. And become a respectable businessman.

  Okay, maybe the first three wouldn't be easy, but he was determined. And once he put his mind to something, he was like a dog with a bone. Worse, even.

  As for that last item on the list. Well, he knew exactly how to handle that one. In fact, the solution was so easy, he'd be able to solve it with one phone call.

  Randy ignored his agent's sputtering and hurried out of the office, then stabbed the elevator button. He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and quickly tapped the screen. His sister answered on the third ring, sounding out of breath and impatient.

  "Hey Val. You still need money for that restaurant you were talking about opening?"

  **

  Alyssa Harris tried to pretend she couldn't overhear the conversation, tried her best to ignore her best friend's voice and focus instead on the paperwork stacked in front of her.

  There was so much paperwork. Too much. And she didn't even know why she was bothering, not when it was looking more and more like their dream was about to be strangled to death.

  Especially if the choking sounds Val was making could be taken as a sign.

  Alyssa tossed the pen to the table and looked at her friend, all pretense of not eavesdropping gone. And she was glad she did, because Val's face had gone papery white and her dark eyes were bulging in her face. Her friend's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out, nothing except a wheeze. Truly worried now, Alyssa jumped from the chair and hurried over to her friend, wondering if she was having some kind of attack or spell or something. What should she do? Was she choking? Alyssa knew how to help with that, and stepped even closer.

  But no, she wasn't choking. Air escaped Val's lips, even if it was a high-pitched wheeze. So Val was breathing. That was good. Wasn't it?

  Alyssa stood next to her friend, torn between pulling the phone from her hand and using it to dial 9-1-1, or forcing Val to sit down and breathe from a paper bag. No, that wasn't right, Val wasn't hyperventilating.

  But she was upset about something.

  Alyssa didn't move, just waited for her friend to either hang up the phone or fall down. She looked upset. Maybe. Alyssa couldn't really tell, because Val just kept wheezing and nodding her head, not even bothering to look over at her to give her some clue as to what was going on.

  Not that she really needed a clue. It was probably the bank, their last shot at their own slice of the American dream, calling to say no. Why wouldn't it be? The last four had already said the same thing.

  No. No, no, and no.

  Why was it so hard to find someone to approve them? Yes, new businesses went under all the time. Yes, running a restaurant wasn't going to be easy. But theirs wasn't going to be just another plain old restaurant. They had a great plan, a unique idea that would tap into an untouched and overlooked market. Their business plan and financials were sound.

  They had everything they needed to get started and become successful.

  Everything, that was, except for the start-up capital.

  And none of them had thought it would be this hard. If they had, Alyssa wouldn't have sunk all her savings into it already. None of them would have.

  Alyssa felt a little lightheaded herself at the thought.

  Val finally disconnected the call and grabbed Alyssa's wrist, her grip so tight she winced. Alyssa ignored the pain in her wrist and tried to swallow back her disappointment. "The bank said no."

  Val shook her head, strands of her dark hair covering her face with the frantic move. "No."

  Alyssa closed her eyes, not wanting Val to see
the sudden tears that welled with the news. They had been so close. And they had already spent so much. Oh God, the money, her entire life savings. She was twenty-eight years old, and suddenly teetering on bankruptcy. What was she going to do now? What were any of them going to do? She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, determined not to fall apart right now.

  That could wait until she got home.

  "Well, we tried, right? Maybe another bank—"

  "No." Val took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and shook her head again. "That wasn't the bank."

  "What? Then who was it? What happened?"

  "It was Randy."

  Alyssa heard the name but drew a blank, trying to connect the name to any of the contacts they had made over the last few months. Then it clicked. Randy. Not a contact, but Val's brother. Alyssa straightened a little, her spine stiffening just the tiniest bit at the name. She had met Val's brother a few times, and had tried her best not to be impressed. Well, okay, maybe she had been impressed just a little, because the man was attractive and tall and built. Definitely attractive. But he was dark and brooding and dangerous, with a reputation even she knew about. So what if he was drool-worthy? He was also trouble. With a capital T.

  But what did Randy have to do with anything?

  Alyssa couldn't make the connection, so she came out and asked Val. And that's when she realized that all of Val's dramatics—the pale face, the wheezing, the iron grip on her wrist—weren't from bad news.

  Her friend finally smiled, her dark eyes lighting with excitement.

  "He's going to give us the money."

  "What?"

  "Randy's going to invest in the restaurant. We've got the money!"

  Val wrapped her in an excited hug and started jumping up and down, her squeals of laughter ringing in Alyssa's ears. The excitement was contagious, and once Val's words finally sunk in, Alyssa began jumping up and down, too.

  It was going to happen. Their restaurant was really going to happen!