Jonah: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance

by Brenda Rothert

  Jonah

  A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance

  Brenda Rothert

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Also by Brenda Rothert

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Reyna

  My heart races but my hands remain steady on my weapon. A Phoenix Police Department officer pounds a steel front door with a hand-held battering ram and the hinges rattle, nearly breaking free. Another strike with the ram and the door bursts open.

  “Hands in the air!” my colleague Adrian shouts, entering the rundown three-bedroom ranch-style house. “Police! Hands in the air!”

  I enter the house, overcome by the smell of pepperoni pizza and pot smoke. The sound of gunfire heightens my senses as I move behind a wall for cover.

  My bulletproof vest isn’t enough protection for a mad dash through this room while bullets are flying. My job isn’t to fire on these guys—my colleagues have that covered. I’m here to find the victim.

  “Get back in here, you piece of shit,” another Phoenix officer shouts, hauling back a man trying to flee through a window by pulling on the belt fastened around the waist of his jeans.

  I poke my head around a corner and it’s clear enough that I’m able to crawl to the hallway. There are four doors in the hallway, all closed. With a deep breath, I stand up and call out my arrival before opening the first one.

  It’s a dimly lit bathroom, all but one bulb in the light fixture above the sink burned out. The smell of rubber draws my gaze to a trash can in the corner of the room, and my stomach turns at the sight of used condoms, some hanging over the edge of the can, others dropped on the dirty linoleum floor.

  I repeat the process at the next door, which is a tiny bedroom with dirty clothes scattered over the stained carpet and the giant bed that nearly fills the room. Keeping my weapon aimed in front of me, I approach the double closet doors and lower one hand to the handle, opening it.

  There are several guns, including a semi-automatic rifle, on a shelf. I also see a pile of cash, a bong and more dirty clothes. There’s no one in this room, so I move on.

  At the next door, I announce myself and open the door. When I flip the light switch on the wall, I see that this room is a lot like the last one. Smelly, with dirty clothes piled in a corner. There’s an empty pizza box on the floor and empty alcohol bottles crowding a small table. The big bed has no sheets and a stained, sagging mattress. The one window has plywood nailed into its frame.

  Gun leveled, I make my way around to the side of the bed. There’s only about a foot between the bed and the wall, and a girl is huddled in the corner there, hugging her knees to her chest and shaking.

  I exhale hard, relieved she’s alive. Then I lower my weapon.

  “My name is Reyna Diaz,” I say gently. “I’m a federal agent, and I’m here to help you.”

  She lifts her head from her knees to peek up at me, her dark eyes filled with terror. I stay where I am, knowing from my training that any sudden movement or getting too close could scare her even more right now.

  “We’re clear,” Adrian says over the radio. “Two suspects deceased, one in custody.”

  Knowing it’s safe to holster my gun after getting the all clear, I do so. I make sure the girl can see my empty hands in front of me, and I repeat, “I’m here to help you. I’m a federal agent. Okay?”

  She lifts her head higher and I get a better look at her face. I scroll through my mental rolodex of missing children cases, but I don’t recognize her. We got a lead on the dirtbags in this house from an undercover agent monitoring the internet. What they call “sex with young girls” I call rape and kidnapping.

  “Are there any other children here?” I ask her.

  She shrugs, and I radio Adrian to check the final door for me.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask the girl, who looks maybe thirteen. “I have food if you’re hungry.”

  I take a Snickers bar out of my pocket and her face lights up. I always bring a candy bar and some crackers to raids, because I learned the hard way that when I’m looking at a traumatized, hungry kid, it helps to have something to offer them.

  “Do you have water?” she asks, her voice hoarse.

  “I do.”

  I push a button on my radio and speak into it. “I need a bottle of water left outside the second door on the left side of the hallway.”

  “Want this, too?” I hold out the candy bar.

  She nods, but doesn’t move.

  “Is it okay if I come closer to give it to you?” I ask.

  She eyes me skeptically. I reach for the badge hanging around my neck inside my vest, pull it out and show it to her, saying, “I’m a police officer. Agent Diaz. You can call me Reyna, though.”

  Her shoulders sink slightly as she relaxes.

  “I won’t do anything unless you say it’s okay,” I say. “If you don’t want me to come any closer to you, I won’t.”

  “I want to go home,” she says, her throat so raw I can’t even hear the last word she says; I only get it by reading her lips.

  Fury builds hard and fast inside me, my blood pressure rising with it. Those fucking bastards. This poor girl likely lost her voice while screaming from what they did to her. I know they’ll probably get theirs when they get to prison. No one with a shred of decency stands by and lets child rapists breathe easy.

  “I know, baby,” I say softly. “Where is your home?”

  She recites an address in Marysville, Ohio.

  “Diaz,” Adrian says from the doorway. “Last room is clear.”

  He sets the bottle of water down and meets my gaze.

  “Marysville, Ohio,” I tell him.

  He nods and leaves, knowing better than to walk into the room. When I rescue kids, no one but me goes into the room, and I don’t walk out with them until they’re ready to go.

  I go get the bottle of water and ask the girl again if I can give it to her. She nods and I approach, twisting the cap off before handing it to her.

  “I’d like to take you to the hospital to get checked out,” I say as I hand it to her. “Would that be okay with you?”

  She’s drinking the water in huge gulps, a trickle running down to her neck. Poor thing is probably dehydrated, from the looks of her. If I had two minutes alone in a room with the one asshole who didn’t just get shot, I’d probably do things to him that would get me fired.

  No, I definitely would. My only consolation is that what happens to him in prison will be worse than anything I could do.

  “Can you just take me home?” she asks pleadingly.

  “I will, but first I need to find out who you are and make sure you’re okay.”

  In a matter of two seconds, tears flood her eyes and spill onto her cheeks. She covers her face with her hands and sobs, and I have to squeeze my own burning eyes closed to keep from crying myself.

  Of course she’s not okay. She was abducted and sexually assaulted. But I have to use words she can understand, a
nd take this one small step at a time. If I told this poor, terrorized child what rape kits are, I’d never get her into a hospital. And unfortunately, the evidence they’ll get from her body is essential to building a case.

  I decide to unleash just a tiny bit of the real Reyna Diaz for her, hoping it’s the right approach.

  “Hey,” I say softly. “I want to tell you a little about me. I became an FBI agent when I was twenty-six. I’m thirty now, and I’ve been rescuing kids like you for three years now. I do this every day, and I’m really good at it. I’ve gotten 131 kids back to a safe place after this happened to them, and you’ll be the 132nd. I won’t leave your side until you want me to, I promise. I have this gun,” I pat my holstered weapon, “and I will use it against anyone who tries to hurt you. What happened to you was terrible, and I’m so sorry. I wish I could’ve gotten here sooner. But it’s over. It’s over, and you’re safe with me. I can be a badass bitch when I need to be, okay?”

  She lowers her hands and nods.

  “What’s your name, baby?” I ask gently.

  “Carly,” she says, sniffling.

  “Carly, do you want to walk out of this place with me and never see it again?”

  She looks over at the wall. “Are they out there?”

  I shake my head. “No. A lot of police officers came here with me, and they killed two of those men and took the other one to the police station. He’s going to jail. I just need you to walk out to my vehicle with me. My friend Adrian will drive it, and you and I will sit in the back seat together. We’ll go to the hospital, and you can call home on my phone on the way there if you want to.”

  Tears spill down her cheeks again and she nods. “I want to.”

  She stands, and the blood stains on her clothes gut me. As she walks closer to me, I back away.

  “I’m going to stay a few feet away unless you want me to be closer,” I say.

  Nodding, she wraps her arms around herself and walks out from around the bed.

  “You’re very brave,” I tell her. “I’m proud of you.”

  “I wanted to run away,” she croaks as we walk toward the door. “But I was too scared.”

  The shame in her tone is all too familiar to me. Kids are often left feeling like what happened was their fault somehow. This girl is going to need lots of therapy after what she’s been through.

  “You did everything right, Carly,” I say firmly. “You kept yourself alive, and that took guts.”

  She looks down at the worn green carpet in the hallway and then scans the heavily damaged walls, her breathing ragged. Once we get to the living room, her gaze lands on the blood-splattered couch and she bursts into tears again.

  “Take my hand if you want to,” I say softly. “You’re not alone anymore. I’m right here with you.”

  Her small hand slides around mine and I squeeze lightly. Adrian is at the front door, holding it open, and Carly slides a little closer to me when she sees him.

  “This is my friend Adrian,” I say. “He’s a police officer, too. He’s going to drive us to the hospital, okay?”

  Carly nods and swallows hard.

  We get to the dark SUV I drove here and I wrap a blanket around Carly’s shoulders and tuck her into the back seat.

  “I’ll be right there,” I tell her. “I just need to talk to Adrian real quick. I’ll just be a few feet away, where you can see me.”

  Adrian and I step aside and I give him an expectant look.

  “Found her,” he says in a low tone. “Carly Matthews, kidnapped from a church camp near Cincinnati almost two weeks ago. She’s fourteen.”

  I nod and exhale hard. “See if the parents want to come meet us at the hospital. I know it’ll take a while, but it would be better for her if they came here.”

  “You got it. I told a Marysville PD detective we’ve got her, and he’s on the way to her house now to tell her folks.”

  “I hope those two cocksuckers didn’t die easy,” I say bitterly.

  “One of ‘em got shot in the dick.”

  “Perfect.” I meet Adrian’s eyes. “I want in on the interrogation of the other one.”

  He furrows his brow. “Rey, you can’t beat out a confession; it won’t hold up in court.”

  “I know how it works,” I snap. “And I want in, so get me in.”

  “Fine, I’ll get you in,” he mutters. “But don’t make me regret it.”

  “Stop acting like you’re my boss, dickhead. We’re lateral.”

  Adrian scoffs at that. “Yeah, but when I vouch for you, I look bad when you lose your shit.”

  “When is the last time I lost my shit in an interrogation?”

  His eyes bulge. “Tampa?”

  “Fuck you, that was all planned. The detective I was working the interrogation with asked me to do all that.”

  “The suspect pissed his pants, Rey.”

  “Yeah, and? He also told us everything, so how about if I work the interrogation while you play that dumbass crossword game on your phone and drink coffee?”

  He shrugs and says, “Fine with me.”

  “First I need to go to the hospital with Carly, though, and stay until her parents get there. Tell the Phoenix guys no one starts without me.”

  We head back to the SUV, and Adrian mumbles something about me needing a vacation.

  “Yeah, right,” I scoff, pulling my hair out of its ponytail and running a hand through it. “Can you see me laying on a beach drinking mai tais?”

  Adrian laughs and says, “Not even a little bit.”

  “I’ll leave the vacationing to pussies like you.”

  “Sweetest partner I’ve ever had,” Adrian says with a wry smile.

  “You’ll have to get by without me for a while,” I remind him. “I’m doing a solo assignment after this.”

  “Who’s gonna remind me what a pussy I am every day?” he muses. “I might start to have some self-confidence again.”

  “Nah,” I tease as I wrap my hand around the door handle. “I can always text.”

  Chapter Two

  Jonah

  “He looks like the fuckin’ Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.” Luca shakes his head and laughs as Victor makes his way onto the ice.

  He does, and I bust out laughing, too.

  “What the fuck, man?” I ask my teammate. “If you fall on your ass, you’re not gonna be able to get back up.”

  Vic glares at the group of us standing near the goal on the ice. Practice ended a few minutes ago, and since he lost a bet about whether the first or second line would score more goals during a drill, he has to goaltend while every player shoots three pucks at him.

  “Yeah, well I know you fuckers are going to try to knock my dick off so I had to put on extra padding,” he says, sulking.

  Knox gives him an incredulous look. “You’ve got a dick? I’ve never seen it in the shower. I thought you were the first female NHL player.”

  “Laugh it up, assholes,” Vic says, skating over to his spot in front of the goal.

  Anton’s first in line to shoot, and he says, “Don’t bitch, man. That bet was your idea.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d shoot like my fucking grandma when I made it. You’re supposed to be on the first line for a reason.”

  Anton grins. “I’m not saying I deliberately missed shots so I could see you get knocked on your ass, but…I’m not saying I didn’t, either.”

  He fires a puck, and as Victor slides down to block it, he loses his footing and goes down. I feel a twinge of satisfaction. As goalie, I take shit from the guys often about how it’s not as difficult or as exerting as what they do.

  Bullshit. I started out playing offense as a center as a kid. In high school, my coach asked me to learn to play goalie as a backup, and I ended up loving it. Hockey is a team sport, and I’ve always liked being part of a team. But as a goalie, I have more control. I don’t have to rely on getting good passes or deal with puck hogs. I get into my own mental zone and escape everyone else during ga
mes.

  I feel a lot more pressure playing as a goaltender than I did as a center. If I play well, it’s all on me, but if I don’t…that’s all on me, too.

  My teammates fire at Vic, pucks hitting his padded chest or getting past him into the goal. He’s scowling, because while he’s a happy-go-lucky guy, he doesn’t like being the butt of anyone’s joke. He totally brought this on himself, though. Vic runs his mouth too much.

  “You suck!” a defender named Pike yells as a puck slides through an opening between Vic’s legs.

  “You get over here and try, motherfucker,” Vic calls back, waving his stick in the air.

  I see movement up in the owner’s box, and I look up to see our team owner, Olivier Durand, sitting there watching us. He’s wearing a dark suit and a huge grin. I raise a hand in a wave and he waves back.

  Durand’s a good guy. He bought the Chicago Blaze because he loves hockey, and he’s been willing to invest in the team and trust his coaching staff. Other teams have micromanaging owners or worse, cheap ones.

  When it’s my turn, everyone turns to watch me shoot.

  “He couldn’t score in a whorehouse with a hundred bucks in his hand,” Knox cracks.

  I ignore him, skating from side to side with the puck. The other guys just fired from a stationary spot, but I need to handle it from an offensive standpoint a little bit before I shoot it.

  As I skate closer to Vic, he crouches down and starts grumbling. “No, dude, no close range.”

  He’s so focused on staying upright and protecting his junk that it’s easy to slide one in on his left side. The guys all cheer and razz Vic even harder.

  In the second round, the guys start firing at Vic three and four players at a time. He’s got pucks bouncing off him all over the place. Then everyone lines up together and we all shoot at the same time. He gets hammered and ends up falling on his back, laughing.