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How do I respond to that? The truth is, Jonah hasn’t been ready. But he’s supposedly ready to move on with me.
Mia saves me from having to respond. “I think he just needed to find someone who sparked him, you know? That’s not something you can force. I know you guys are still kind of new, but I’m so happy he found you.”
Guilt stabs me in the chest. What will Jonah’s friends think of me when they find out our relationship is nothing but a cover story? They think he’s finally emerged from the darkness of losing his wife, but it’s all pretend.
“I’ll be right back. I need to go to the bathroom and the one in here is occupied,” I say, eager for a break in this conversation.
Mia nods, intent on watching the game.
My mind switches into focus as I leave the VIP box, feeling no urge at all to use the bathroom. Instead, I’m recalling the Carson Center VIP suite map Logan West gave me, with a red arrow pointing to the box Darren Shields usually sits in.
I go into the bathroom anyway, stopping for a second in front of the mirror before leaving again. Instead of heading back toward the family VIP suite, though, I walk toward Darren Shields’s.
My heart pounds with anticipation and hope. I’ve sorted through all the intel the bureau has on Shields many times. He’s a filthy bastard, and I want to bring him down with every fiber of my being. And now, I finally get to lay eyes on my target.
If all goes as planned, that is. Shields doesn’t come to every home game. Apparently he travels a lot, both for his legitimate business and for his criminal enterprise.
It could take me a long time to build trust with Shields, and I hate that because every day that passes is another day he’s abusing children. I paste on a friendly face and walk toward his suite.
“Ma’am, do you need help?”
I turn to see an usher scanning me in search of a VIP badge. I’m wearing one on a lanyard around my neck, and his face relaxes as soon as he spots it.
“I’m good,” I tell him. “Just stepping out to call a friend.”
“Okay, no worries.” He waves and moves on.
I continue my walk to Shields’s suite, nearly there. I wish I had a gun in hand, but it’s not time for that yet.
Before anyone else has time to see me and question me, I open the door to the suite and walk inside.
It’s full of men, all rowdy with excitement from the game, most with beers in hand. I approach them, trying to see who’s who even though most of them have their backs to me.
“Well, hi there,” a man says, turning to face me.
“Hi,” I say, turning on the fake charm. “I think I must be lost.”
I laugh as another man looks me over from head to toe and says, “No, darlin’, you’re in exactly the right spot. Come on over here and sit down.”
The guy next to him turns to face me and my heart rate kicks up. Darren Shields.
“I was sitting in another box and I left to use the bathroom,” I explain, sounding gushy and dumb enough to be convincing. “I thought this was the right one. I’m so sorry.”
“No worries,” Shields says, grinning. “Hey, aren’t you Jonah West’s new girlfriend?”
I smile, making sure to look pleased. “I am, yes. I’m Renee.” I hold out my hand.
“Hi Renee, I’m Darren Shields.”
His handshake is firm and he maintains eye contact. His gray suit and salt and pepper hair make him look like a nice middle-aged man. He doesn’t look like the devil I know he is.
“Are you the team owner?” I ask him.
He and the others in the suite laugh heartily. I can see from the gleam in Shields’s eye that I flattered him.
“No, just a big fan,” he says. “The owner’s in the box next door if you’d like to meet him. I can take you over.”
“Oh no! No no no!” another guy in the suite yells and gestures wildly with his arms. “Get it, Jonah!”
Everyone’s attention is on the ice, the men all focused on what’s happening at Jonah’s goal.
“Yeah! That was clutch!” somebody yells as they all high-five and yell in celebration.
“Your boyfriend just made a damn fine stop,” Shields says to me, grinning.
I smile back and clap my hands together, saying, “Gosh, I need to come watch a game with you guys. I’m still learning about hockey.”
“You’re welcome to stay,” Shields says, gesturing to an open seat beside him.
“I really wish I could, but Mia Petrov is expecting me back.”
Shields sets his drink down and says, “I’ll walk you back to the family box.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I wave dismissively. “I don’t want you to miss the game.”
