Page 107 of Break the Ice

My Corvette gives a lurch forward, kicking into high gear. I push it, speeding far above the maximum, swerving around any car that tries to get in my way. Besides being a damn good hockey player, I’m a decent street racer too.

I’ve already called Mitch and let him know my latest discovery. He’s more than an hour away from Dad’s estate. With the head start Dad’s had, he’ll likely beat us both.

No wonder he was so reprimanding the other night when he had Colt bring me by for dinner. He was executing his plot to cover up Hawk and Blackman’s murders. In his mind, it was required if he were to protect the Golding legacy. Just about the only fucking thing he’s ever cared about.

I wondered if Marisse would flee the country, but even if she had tried, Dad must’ve somehow intercepted her first. My instinct guides me, telling me she’s been brought to his estate for who knows what reason. Puzzle pieces to this situation are still missing.

It’s still unclear where this could be headed.

My thoughts comb over everything I know about the last few weeks. Moments like the night of Hawk’s death where I’d walked in and found him with blood spilling out an open gash on his head. Marisse had been so disoriented among the shards of the broken whiskey bottle.

Would Dad really be deranged enough to kill Hawk himself and then be so elaborate to act like he’s covering up for me? All as he uses Marisse as some scapegoat?

At the ominous thought, I slam down on the gas pedal twice as hard. I cut across several lanes to make the next exit at the last possible opportunity. Another couple blocks, I’m pulling up outside his estate.

The house is quiet and dark except for a few select windows that glow with light. I circle around the back in an effort to avoid the security cameras I know about. I’m not sure what I’m about to encounter on the inside, and from what I can tell, Mitch hasn’t arrived yet either.

No surprise considering he was so far out.

If my father’s got Marisse and he’s in any way hurting her, he’s done for. He’s about to learn the same lesson that Blackman did.

You don’t fuck with me. You don’t fuck with things that are mine. That includes Sugar.

I enter through the huge, often unused kitchen. The lights are off and the shadows stretch wide, allowing me to slip through the room and hall outside. Voices trail from the other end, where a door hangs half ajar. I recognize the slight Spanish accent that speaks first.

Detective Gomez?

Dad’s gruffer voice comes a second later.

What the fuck am I about to walk in on?

“You might be my best employer yet,” Gomez laughs. “You sure as hell pay more than the Seattle PD does.”

“So I hear from other employees. Though your job might be a little grislier than most of the people who work for me.”

“We do what we gotta do to survive. That’s all I see here. A man trying to protect what he’s worked hard for.”

The appreciation’s evident in Dad’s inflection. “I’m glad someone understands why I have to do this.”

“You’re not going to get away with it!” Marisse says.

My hands instantly ball up into tight fists. A compulsion awakens inside me that’s instinctual and violent. It’s the onset of protection mode, of do whatever the fuck I need to do to make sure Marisse is alright—and that whoever’s bringing her harm is eliminated.

I’ve never acted out of this compulsion before her. Any violence has always been self-motivated. It’s been for my own self interests.

I’ve never cared about helping anybody else.

Yet, as I edge up on the door that leads into the den, I’m prepared to rip a man’s throat out if I have to.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop talking?” Dad snaps. “Gomez, don’t you have some kind of duct tape or a bandana or something we can use to shut her up with?”

“I’m afraid it’s not a good look for when I haul her into the station.”

“Fine, then take her up to one of my rooms. I’m tired of hearing her whine.”

Neither man notices me as I come to stand in the doorway. Marisse spots me first. Her dark eyes light up, rounding at the sight of me. They’ve got her handcuffed on the sofa… right next to the dead body that’s on the floor.

Jerry, Hawk’s personal assistant.