by G. K. Brady
She cleared her throat. “Thank you, Mr. Clemente.”
He slid it back into his pocket. “Agent Clemente.”
Scrunching her brows, she gave him her fiercest glower. “As it happens, Agent Clemente, the vehicle was purchased on my behalf by the party who wrecked my other van.”
If he was surprised, his calculating brown eyes didn’t show it. “And this other party’s name?”
“What’s going on here?”
Finn. Ellie’s shoulders slumped in relief but tightened all over again as her mind leapt forward. If these guys knew about the van, they knew about Finn’s past record. Drug user. Drug dealer. Shit! Guilt by association?
She wasn’t mistrustful of law enforcement, but it dawned on her how bad things looked from a law-enforcement point of view. Beads of sweat formed along her hairline. No doubt she was broadcasting all the signs of misconduct, even though she’d done nothing wrong.
“Ms. Hendricks and I were having a friendly discussion about her new van.”
Finn leaned his arm casually against said van. Ellie wanted to tell him not to touch, that she’d have to buff that spot, then she realized how ridiculous she sounded in her own head.
“It’s a beaut, huh? Especially for a soccer mom minivan,” Finn drawled.
“Should be, for what it cost. Which leads me to wonder how she afforded it?” Agent Clemente tapped his chin thoughtfully.
“She got T-boned by a hotshot hockey player. Dave Grimson, captain of the Blizzard. Know him? Dude felt so guilty he bought her a new one. Needed to pacify his conscience.” Finn jabbed a thumb at Ellie. “She couldn’t afford it, but guys who make more in a year than the three of us will ever see in our lifetimes combined can afford it.”
Clemente blinked. Ha! You didn’t find that out in your snooping, Mr. Ice, did you? Still, why was ICE here again?
“Everything okay?” Sonoma was advancing cautiously from her back door, and Ellie turned toward her. Finn jerked at the redhead’s voice, then flashed her a goofy grin. Sonoma returned a subtle eyelash flutter, but Ellie let the mystery of their nonverbal exchange go. She needed to focus on Agent Clemente’s nonverbal cues.
“Hey,” Finn said to Sonoma. “Tell this guy about our day with Dave last week.”
Sonoma frowned in bewilderment. “You mean when he bought Ellie her new van? Why? What’s going on?”
The officer glanced at Sonoma. “And you are?”
“I’m Sonoma Hartley. I own the beauty salon a few doors down. Who are you?” She smiled sweetly, and he hauled out his badge again. Sonoma pulled her phone from her back pocket. “You don’t mind, do you?” He held the badge flat so she could take a picture. Why didn’t I think of that? Because I was too busy panicking to think straight.
Felipe stepped out of the back door, and when his eyes landed on Clemente, they went wide. “Boss lady,” he said as he kept his gaze fixed on the agent, “everything okay?”
“Yes, Felipe, we’re enjoying an impromptu coffee klatch in the back alley,” Ellie said dryly. Felipe shot her a look that said he had no idea what she was talking about.
Clemente rattled off something in Spanish, and Felipe rattled right back. Ellie had a limited grasp of the language—mostly landscaping phrases like, “Put that plant there,” along with the usual necessities such as, “Where’s the bathroom?” and a handy collection of curse words. She listened carefully, straining her vocabulary to interpret the exchange.
“What’re they saying, El?” Finn asked her.
“I think Agent Clemente is asking Felipe if he’s seen his ‘illegal friends’ lately and if he knows how I was able to afford the van.” Fire ignited in her belly. “Now he’s asking how I acquired a large pile of cash—”
Sonoma cut her off. “My cousin is David Grimson,” she announced. “He’s the captain of the Colorado Blizzard, he makes a gazillion dollars, and he bought her the van because he destroyed her last one. I’m sure if you contact him, he’ll collaborate … um …”
“Corroborate,” Ellie offered. Oh shit! Now Clemente thinks I’m looking for corroboration, like I really am guilty.
Agent Clemente gave Ellie a bemused sweep from head to toe, and the insinuation in his eyes caused the flames inside her to bloom and flare. “With all your Big Brother intel, did you not see an accident report?” Oh shit! Will you also find out that Dave told me to cash the insurance check? Wait. Is that illegal? Even if I repay him with it? She told herself to keep her mouth shut, that her rising temper would only make matters worse.
Clemente’s inscrutable expression gave nothing away.
“Mister Officer,” Felipe interjected, “Miss Ellie do nothing wrong. Maybe you wish to speak to me?”
Ellie had almost forgotten Felipe flanked her right. The four of them—Felipe, Ellie, Finn, and Sonoma—were lined up in a wall of solidarity opposite the agent. Or looking like they were ready to be cuffed.
Finally, his gaze landed squarely on Ellie. “No, I got what I came for. Have a nice day.”
Ellie’s stomach bottomed out.
“What did he mean by that?” she said to no one in particular as Agent Clemente pulled away in a black car she hadn’t noticed before … because, like all other unmarked cop cars, it was nondescript. She expelled a gust of air that about doubled her over.
Her three companions started talking at once. Felipe was apologizing, Finn was telling Ellie, “We got this,” and Sonoma was assuring her Dave would straighten everything out. But Ellie didn’t want Dave straightening anything out. It was her mess, even though she wished it would go away so she could get on with pulling her company off its “financial deathbed.”
Chapter 11
Queen of Glam
Days after Agent Clemente’s unfortunate appearance in the alleyway, Ellie received a jarring email from him, where he said something about contacting Dave Grimson, who “corroborated” her story. He’d added a winking emoji face. The message went on to say he hoped she understood he was doing his job, and asked if he could buy her a coffee so he could explain further. Not exactly an apology, though she wasn’t sure exactly what the purpose of the email was. She’d brushed him off politely. With luck, she’d never hear from or see Agent Clemente again, but somehow she doubted such a happy eventuality was in her future. Instead a sword labeled “ICE” hung over her head.
Now, nearly a week after the alleyway confrontation, Ellie tucked the incident into a back corner of her mind. Habitat day had finally arrived.
As she gathered up copies of her design, her phone chimed with a text from an unknown number. It’s Dave Grimson. The boys and I have practice, so we’ll be there about a half hour after you start, but we’re looking forward to it.
She couldn’t remember giving him her phone number. A second later, another text pinged. From Sonoma. Dave wanted me to relay a message, so I gave him your # and told him to contact you directly. Hope I didn’t overstep.
“Yes, Sonoma, you did overstep,” Ellie said aloud to her empty office. But it’s okay. Especially since Sonoma had rearranged her Saturday to help out at the Habitat site. Saturdays had to be a hairdresser’s busiest day, so she must have doubled up her workload elsewhere on her schedule.
No problem, Ellie texted her, then sent Dave a message.
Looking forward to having you guys there. Thanks for taking Agent Clemente’s call.
He texted her back with three question marks.
Ellie: Didn’t an ICE agent contact you?
Dave: Not that I know of. What for?
Ellie: Never mind. See you soon.
She gathered up the rest of her stuff, turning over Clemente’s email before she buried it again. An hour later, she parked across the street from the corner lot, her blood fizzing with excitement. Rocks in varying colors and dimensions were arranged in neat hills along one side of the street beside a pile of coffee-colored dirt and pallets of garden wall blocks. Staked Habitat signs waved in the wind beside Landscaping with Altitude signs. Cars already lined t
he street, and a group gathered on the sidewalk, though the start of the event was an hour away. Once people found out Blizzard players would be there, the response from volunteers had overwhelmed the Habitat office. Damian had had to limit their numbers, but judging by the growing buzz before her, Ellie suspected she’d have more cooks than kitchen space today. A good problem to have.
Felipe and Finn were scheduled to meet her here, but she texted them and told them not to come. They’d offered to work for free, but now that she didn’t need them, she wanted to cut them loose so they could enjoy some time off. Felipe thanked her, but Finn insisted he was still coming.
A Habitat truck pulled onto the lot, and Damian and another employee hopped out. He waved and cracked a boyish smile. Yeah, he was excited too. She trotted across the street and unshouldered her bag to help them unload shovels, wheel barrows, tables, chairs, and tents.
“This is great, Ellie. Did I tell you we’ve had a boatload of donations from people who said they couldn’t be here but wanted to help?”
“And they’re not expecting Blizzard autographs in exchange?” Ellie laughed.
“Nope. They heard about it and wanted to contribute in some way.” Dark-haired and brown-eyed, Damian was good-looking—the type she was usually attracted to. But lately he was toeing the line between professional and personal, making Ellie more uncomfortable every time she saw him. At least she’d be surrounded by lots of people today, and they would keep it all business.
Some of those people were already on-site, raring to be put to work, so she got down to handing out copies of the plan, explaining what was needed, and assigning each person to a team.
More folks drifted in, and soon Ellie was swimming in volunteers, trying to come up for air. Giddy didn’t even begin to describe her state of mind. All these people, and the players hadn’t even arrived yet!
But when they did arrive sometime later, there was no mistaking the shift among the volunteers. A woman gasped, and everyone turned their heads. So did Ellie, who stifled a gasp of her own. The buzzing crowd quieted as four broad men—and one woman—strolled across the street. Dressed in jeans and ball caps and hoodies in varying shades of the male navy-black-gray clothing spectrum, they weren’t flashy, but they had an air about them that made people notice. The way they moved—heads up, shoulders straight, self-assured, smooth—made her breath catch in her throat. And leading the athlete alpha pack? Dave Grimson, all growly bear business until his eyes landed on her. Then his whole face seemed to light up, and she felt a blush invading her cheeks. He strode straight for her while people clustered around and gaped. Wow, he had a beautiful smile!
“Hey.” He grinned down at her. “Looks like a great turnout.” His fern-green eyes—or were they gold?—swept the crowd, and he gave an approving nod. He pulled on a jersey bunched in his large fist, his last name and the number ninety-two emblazoned on the back, while the others pulled on their own jerseys.
“Hi,” he called to the crowd. “Nice to see everyone.” Someone yelled, “Grim Reaper!” in response.
He clamped a meaty hand on his teammate’s shoulder, and to Ellie he said, “This is Viktor Havelka. Make sure you work him extra hard.” Viktor rolled his eyes and chuckled. Pointing to the others, Dave said, “Wyatt Tompkins, Quinn Hadley, and his fiancée, Sarah Nelson.” Sarah wore number eighteen, Quinn’s jersey, but cut for her body. She looked adorable in it.
The men grunted greetings, and Sarah gave her a wave and a sunny smile. “Reporting for work. Where do you want us?”
“Over here.” Ellie liked her right away, and they fell into step, Dave flanking Ellie’s other side as she rattled off her plan. The other three men trailed after, and the volunteers seemed to funnel in behind them.
When they reached the spot she’d mapped out, Dave began issuing orders to his companions in spite of the swelling crowd pressing in around them. Not in a pushy way, but in a reassuring, take-charge, I-know-what-I’m-doing way. Confident. Calm. Commanding.
Quinn, dark-haired and handsome, draped his arm across Sarah’s shoulders. “Keep me with her so nobody hits on her.”
Sarah gave him a smirk. “Isn’t it the other way around, Sparky?”
An unexpected pang of envy jabbed Ellie, but she couldn’t keep from smiling. Quinn was obviously smitten with Sarah and didn’t mind if the whole world knew it. And right now the entire crew of volunteers knew it because work was at a standstill while the worker bees admired the Blizzard players. Ellie would have to remind everyone that autographs and exchanges came after the work was done. Turned out she didn’t have to.
“Hey, everyone,” Dave spoke up in that same masterful voice that was hard to ignore. “We’re really happy to be here today helping out Habitat for Humanity and Landscaping with Altitude. If you haven’t met her yet, Ellie Hendricks is the talent behind this project and the one running it, so direct questions to her.” He paused a beat while folks applauded. “Serena”—he pointed toward a pretty, dark-haired woman waving beside the check-in booth—“is in charge of anything Blizzard-related. Her crew will be taking pictures and shooting video, so be sure to get with her and sign a waiver so we can show those pictures on TV or in the team’s promotional material. Those of you who’d like to hang out with us when we’re done turning this yard into Ellie’s masterpiece, you’re welcome to bring whatever you want us to sign, or we have pucks to hand out. But that fun can’t start until we get this fun out of the way. So let’s do it!” He clapped. “Everybody got what they need? Know your assignments?”
A cheer rose up, punctuated with shouts of, “You bet, Grims!” and “Thanks, Reaper!”
Ellie chuckled.
“What?” Dave turned his grin on her.
“Nothing. You just did my job for me, only much more effectively. So thank you for that. And thank you, again, for being here and bringing your friends.” Tears unexpectedly pricked her eyes, and she had to clear her clogged throat before meeting his gaze squarely. “It really means a lot.”
Surprise flared in his eyes, and he leaned down to her, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone seemingly meant only for her, as if he were trying to soothe her sudden display of emotion. A simple masculine scent, like man shampoo or body wash mixed with skin, rippled over her. He smelled oh-so-manly and really, really good. “Hey, it’s okay. We enjoy doing stuff like this. Gets us closer to the community and our fans, you know? So thank you for making the opportunity available.”
“Of course.” If she stood beside him any longer, she’d either snuffle at him like Casper or burst into tears, so she turned and scurried away, wondering why what he said and how he said it had stirred up a maelstrom of emotions inside her.
Ellie soon recovered and got lost in the project while she went from one cadre of volunteers to the next, making sure they had what they needed, making sure the work was coming together as she’d envisioned. It was always a thrill to get a plan just right on paper, but seeing it spring to life? Positively exhilarating. She’d never been disappointed, and it gave her confidence a healthy boost. Of course, it wasn’t just her. It was all the amazing people donating their time and muscle, including the four Blizzard players working and talking among those people.
While Ellie didn’t outright gawk like some did, she did sneak peeks at Dave and his teammates. Truth be told, her glances were mostly directed at Dave, and she got a zing in her boots every time she caught him looking at her. It was silly. So silly. So middle school. What was this anyway? Attraction? No. It was probably just fangirl curiosity on her part and PR training on his part. With his rugged good looks and a heady blend of mystery and confidence oozing from every pore, he could have anyone he wanted, and that anyone wouldn’t be a worn-out landscaper in dirt-covered clothing. The queen of glam I am. Not.
Ellie had always been attracted to leaner men closer to her height. Never the big guys. Not tall guys. Not guys who could turn into mountain men by skipping a few haircuts and beard trims. But something about him intrigued he
r. Was it his quiet command? The way he just dug in—literally—and got to work? A solid, down-to-earth guy despite his celebrity.
People continually interrupted him, but he never acted bothered. Gave them polite half-smiles while he worked and finessed them back to their own jobs without them knowing he was doing it. With the children, he spent extra time. Unlike the adults, whom he gave his practiced public persona face, he flashed genuine smiles at the kids, and it made her insides flutter to glimpse the warmth beneath the gruff exterior. The kids all seemed to be hockey players, and Ellie overheard him asking them questions about their teams, what positions they played, how their seasons were going. Sometimes he’d crouch down so he was eye-level with the littler ones, and she thought about what a good dad he’d make.
If the youngsters were unabashed admirers, so were some of their moms, along with an abundance of starry-eyed young women who approached. He gave them all the same treatment, striking a certain look that straddled the line between friendly and a Wookiee glower, and it broadcast that he was all business—without offending them. Probably has lots of practice. And a girlfriend or five. No, Sonoma insists he’s single. Really single.
“Hey, thanks for coming out today,” Ellie overheard him say more than once, along with, “Glad you’re enjoying the product we’re putting on the ice.” Not “Hey, wanna hook up?” or “How about giving me a blow job in the port-o-let?” No personal information was exchanged, though she watched as one determined woman pulled out her phone and offered it to him. In all fairness, the other guys got similar treatment—less so with Quinn, who kept Sarah glued to his side—but Dave was the most popular target of the bunch. Probably because he had that whole leader thing going on. But he had to, didn’t he? He was in charge of his team after all.
And she could understand what women were attracted to. He was broad and chiseled, and she was fascinated by the way his powerful shoulders and forearms flexed as he picked up a handful of blocks or shoveled a pile of dirt. Now that he wasn’t buried beneath his Wookiee cover, his angular jaw and strong cheekbones really stood out. The shorter hairstyle highlighted the golden strands woven with the nut-brown ones, catching and reflecting sunlight. Put the whole package together, and the man was walking sex appeal.
