Page 95 of Daddies on Ice

Scared of losing his sister, scared of not understanding what’s happening in her life.

And Tish isn’t just furious, she’s wounded by his lack of trust in her judgment.

But there’s something else bothering me, something that’s been nagging at the back of my mind since this whole mess started.

“Wait,” I say, stepping between them. “Trent, how did you even know to come here? What set this off?”

Trent’s jaw tightens, and he glances away. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it matters,” I say. “Because someone had to tell you something to get you this worked up.”

The silence that follows is heavy and uncomfortable. Tish wraps her arms around herself as if she can hold in her anger or hurt.

“Someone sent photographs,” Trent finally admits, his voice tight with controlled anger. “To my office. Pictures of my sister with…” He gestures vaguely at Ash, then at me.

My blood runs cold. “What kind of pictures?”

“The kind that make it clear she’s been playing games with both of you,” Trent snaps. “Kissing you, kissing him. Making fools of you both while she?—”

“That’s enough,” Tish interrupts, her voice deadly quiet. “You don’t get to talk about me like I’m not standing right here, and you sure as hell don’t get to judge my choices.”

I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched.

Pictures of Tish kissing Ash and me?

When did that happen?

My mind races, trying to process this information while simultaneously dealing with the surge of jealousy that hits me like a freight train.

Wait, that can’t be right. I’m not the jealous kind. Well, I’ve never been at least. Until now.

“Who sent them?” I ask. “Did you recognize the handwriting? Was there a return address?”

Trent shakes his head. “Anonymous. Just a manila envelope with my business address on it.”

Tish has gone very still, her face pale. “Someone’s been watching me,” she whispers. “Taking pictures,intimatepictures, of me. Now they’re sending the pictures to Trent too.”

The protective instinct that kicks in is so strong it nearly knocks me over. The thought of someone stalking her, violating her privacy like that, makes me want to hunt them down and make them pay.

“We need to call the police,” I say immediately.

“No,” Tish says quickly. “No police. Not yet. We don’t even know who’s doing this or why.”

“That’s exactly why we need the police,” Ash argues, moving closer to her. The casual way he does it, like he has every right to be her protector, sends another spike of jealousy through me.

“Think about it,” Tish continues, ignoring the tension crackling between Ash and me. “Someone wanted Trent to see those pictures. They wanted to cause problems. If we go to the police now, it becomes public record. The media will have a field day.”

She’s right, and I hate that she’s right. The Thunderwolves already have enough negative press without adding a stalking scandal to the mix.

“So what do you suggest?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.

“We figure out who’s doing this ourselves,” she says, her chin lifting with determination. “And we don’t let them win by tearing each other apart.”

Trent snorts. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who had to see pictures of his sister?—”

“Stop,” Tish cuts him off. “Just stop. You came here ready for a fight, and you got one. But the real problem, what we should really be focusing on, is who delivered those pictures to you and why.”

Before anyone can respond, there’s a sharp knock on the door.