Roughing, page 1
Roughing
A Fresh Start Hockey Romance Novel
Portland Icehawks
Book 3
Jami Davenport
Cedrona Enterprises LLC
Contents
1. Unwanted Employee
2. Forget about Hockey
3. Muddy Waters
4. Dinner Out
5. Losers
6. Need a Ride
7. Nothing More than a Friend
8. The Mask
9. The Loner
10. Daring to Consider
11. Scream in the Dark
12. More Time
13. Winners and Losers
14. Hard Bargain
15. Fool or Genius
16. Nightcap
17. Competition
18. Approach with Caution
19. Good Game
20. Forget Careful
21. Missing You
22. Next Best Thing
23. A Black Prius
24. Arrested
25. Startling Declaration
26. Clueless Bastard with Friends
27. Treasure Hunt
Epilogue
Complete Booklist
About the Author
Copyright © 2023 by Cedrona Enterprises LLC
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Jami Davenport. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
The Seattle Sockeyes®, Seattle Steelheads®, Portland Icehawks™, and Seattle Skookums™ are fictional sports teams. Game On in Seattle™ is a series of sports romance novels The names and logos are created for the sole use of the owner and covered under protection of trademark.
Jami Davenport®, Seattle Sockeyes®, and Seattle Steelheads® are registered trademarks with the United States Patent and Trademark Office.
This book is a work of fiction. While references might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-age readers.
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Blurb
I’m the star defenseman for the Portland Icehawks and the guy everyone loves to hate. Not that I don’t deserve their hatred. After all, how can you like a guy who doesn’t even like himself?
Michella is the one woman I can’t let go, yet I can’t be with her, either. We’re like drugs to each other, and addictions aren’t a good thing. I’ve messed up a relationship before and destroyed the one person I loved. I can’t do the same to Michella.
To make matters worse, Michella’s new job with a private investigative agency puts her in the crosshairs of Portland’s elusive serial killer. I have to protect her, even if staying causes more destruction than leaving.
To all who’re working hard to recover after losing a family member too soon.
The Portland Icehawks series continues with the story of the guy everyone loves to hate. He’s the perfect example of how what’s on the surface doesn’t always reflect the deep pain hiding inside.
Be kind to one another, as we never know what someone’s gone through in life and how they got to where they are.
Chapter One
Unwanted Employee
~~Michella~~
This couldn’t be the place.
The derelict building hadn’t had an inhabitant in many years. Like so many structures in this area of Portland, this one had been used primarily as a warehouse. I checked the address again. It was the right one, but this dump didn’t look anything like I’d pictured it.
Shit.
Alarm rang through me, warning of a possible trap. Was I being set up as the next victim of the serial killer allegedly hunting on Portland’s city streets?
I nervously chewed on a fingernail but caught myself. Gone Missing Detective Agency was legit. My hockey-playing brother was good friends with the co-owner, a former pro player himself. I’d gotten this interview because of him, and I’d make him proud.
Gone Missing specialized in finding missing persons, and I wanted this assistant job in the worst way. It’d be the start of a new adventure and a new career. Of course, there’d been other aborted careers I’d also considered to be my next great opportunity, but I’d been wrong. This time was the real deal.
Besides, I had some experience with the missing. I knew the pain a family went through when a loved one disappeared without a trace, and I wanted to help. I excelled at cyberstalking. If there was information to be found online about a person, I’d unearth it.
This interview meant the world to me. My future rode on this job. I loved being a barista, but there wasn’t much room for advancement, and I craved a larger challenge. Of all the careers I’d sampled over the past decade, this assistant job carried the most promise.
Glancing once more at the time, I muted my phone and stuffed it in my coat pocket. I grabbed my folder with my résumé, got out of the car, and walked to the front door, which was boarded up. A scribbled note was pinned to the outside.
Please proceed behind the building and enter through the back door in the alley.
The alley?
I frowned and squinted at the note as if it might reveal an ulterior motive.
More concerned than ever, I looked up and down the empty street. No one loitered in a dark doorway or lingered too long on a street corner. Heaving a mind-clearing sigh, I walked around the building, stepping over weeds growing in the numerous cracks in the sidewalk.
The alley was long and dark, surrounded on both sides by two- to three-story buildings. I gingerly picked my way across the gravel pockmarked with potholes. Wearing heels to this interview hadn’t been my wisest choice.
A Subaru station wagon that’d seen better days was the lone vehicle parked in front of a steel door, screaming for a coat of paint. In direct contrast to the disrepair all around me, a small sign on the brick wall gleamed with newness.
Gone Missing Detective Agency, Portland Branch
I was in the right place.
I turned the knob and pushed on the door. It resisted, not budging. I leaned into it using my weight. It flew open and slammed against the opposite wall with a resounding bang and announced my presence. I staggered a few steps before catching my balance. Standing up straight, I composed myself before glancing around. No one had witnessed my clumsy entrance, but they’d probably heard it.
Light streamed from an opening halfway across the large room. Other than that, natural light barely penetrated this gloomy place. I half expected an unkempt attacker to emerge wielding a chain saw.
My heart pounded in my chest, and my breath came in short bursts. I fought for self-control, tamping down my overactive imagination as best I could.
Refusing to allow my fears to run wild, I strode purposely toward the welcoming light.
The sight inside the doorway gave me pause. The place was a bigger disaster than my brother’s bachelor pad, and that was saying something.
A disheveled woman in her late fifties riffled through one of the piles of paper on an old metal desk, not bothering to pick up the few that fluttered to the floor. She lifted her eyes. Her shrewd gaze assessed me as if she could tell everything she needed to know in a few seconds. Her clothes had the look of someone who couldn’t care less about her appearance, down to her wrinkled flannel shirt and jagged fingernails. Gray streaked her dishwater-blonde hair, which was pulled back into a messy ponytail, not the stylish type.
“You must be Michelle.” She made no move to stand but took a long pull on her coffee cup. She grimaced as if she’d ingested a nasty-tasting pill.
“Michella,” I corrected, already skeptical regarding my chances of snagging this job. Trendy clothes and shoes were my weakness. My clothes, hair, and makeup had to be perfect. This woman didn’t care about her appearance and didn’t wear makeup. I couldn’t see her shoes, but I’d guess Birkenstocks or worn boots.
I cringed at how superficial my thoughts were. Yet, in my experience, people took care of business in the same manner in which they took care of themselves.
“Have a seat.” Her tone would freeze an outdoor hockey rink in August. So far, so bad.
The only available chair was buried under more paperwork. She waved her hand as if expecting the chair to clear itself. Realizing she wasn’t going to move the papers, I neatly stacked them and sat down.
“I’m Carla Edwards.”
“You’re the private investigator here?” I attempted to keep the disappointment out of my tone.
“I am.” Carla narrowed her gaze. She’d read me perfectly, and I’d offended her.
I bit my tongue to stop myself from asking her questions about her experience and worthiness of having an apprentice such as me. My gaze swept around the room and back.
“Filing isn’t my strong suit. Besides, something about the chaos is strangely calming.”
I nodded, not having a clue how the fuck this catastrophe could have a calming effect or if she was toying with the newbie. All the while, those pale-blue eyes of hers delved into my deepest, darkest secrets as if she saw through my defenses to what hid underneath.
“You don’t look like someone who’d enjoy being an assistant.” Her skepticism wasn’t lost on me. “More like someone who should be walking the fashion runway showing off next year’s haute couture.”
“I assure you, I’ve given this career move a lot of thought. I’m very good on a computer.”
She shuffled through the papers again and pulled out the one she’d been looking for. Picking up a pair of Dollar Store reading glasses, she perched them on her nose and studied what I recognized as my résumé. “Career move? You were a barista in your family’s business until they sold it?”
I nodded.
“You have zero experience in this line of work.” A statement, not a question.
“That’s why I’d love to work here. I want to learn all the things.”
“All the things?” She blew out a long, exasperated breath. She didn’t want me here, but I wasn’t so easily deterred. I had to have this job. I’d gotten this opportunity through my brother’s hockey connections, and I wasn’t about to walk away. I’d find a way to win her over.
“I’m eager to learn, and I’m a quick study,” I rushed to tell her. “I’ll cram on my off time and do whatever it takes.”
“You will?” Carla was as convinced as my father had been when I’d told him about my intentions. Great, this would be like working for my dad.
“Yes. I’ve been interested in doing investigations for a long while. I’ve had my fair share of missing people in my life, and I’m committed to helping others get answers. I’m also a huge true crime junkie, and I’m—” I stopped and swallowed my next words. My obsession with true crime wasn’t a plus as far as she was concerned.
“You do realize this job isn’t all glitz and glamour? In fact, none of it is. Mostly it’s hours of boredom followed by a few minutes of excitement.” She pursed her lips, and disapproval poured off her.
“I understand investigating crime isn’t like they portray on television.” Irritation crept into my voice. I couldn’t help it. “I’m a wiz at digging up information online via social media and other places. I think I would be a great asset to this agency.”
“Fine.” She snapped with an angry glare. “When would you like to start?”
“Really? I get the job?” I tamped down my enthusiasm and attempted to remain professional.
“Like I have a choice?”
“I’m sorry. A choice?”
“I was told to hire you by the boss.”
“You were?” I didn’t personally know the owners of Gone Missing, but one partner was a former hockey player my brother was good friends with going back to their junior days.
“I promise you won’t regret it. I’ll work hard to find out anything you need to know. You can trust me.” I hoped she’d be impressed with my enthusiasm, as right now, that’s all I had.
She wasn’t and had the audacity to roll her eyes. I wasn’t known for holding my tongue, and doing so took a gargantuan effort.
“I’m only hiring you as an assistant. I’d hoped to hire someone who’d be able to work their way up as the business builds, but I’m not convinced you’re that person.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m here for the long run.” I’d never stuck with anything in my life, but she didn’t know that. I was determined to prove the doubters wrong, including my family. Over the years, I’d tried fashion design, modeling, dancing, and ballet. Each time, I’d lasted a few months and gone back to working as a barista again. This time was different. Now that the coffee company was under new ownership, I didn’t have that option as a safety net.
“How long have you been a PI?” I attempted a casual conversation, even though I was very interested in what she had to say.
“I’m a retired Portland homicide detective. A divorce and a lazy ex who took half of my retirement forced me back into the workforce. Bronson offered the job running his new office in Portland, so here I am.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I chose to say nothing for once.
“I believe in justice for the victims and their families,” she continued, displaying more passion than I’d seen so far.
“So do I.” At least we had common ground.
“So when do you want to start?” The way she said it, I suspected she’d be thrilled if I chose to never start.
“When do you need me?”
“Whenever.” She waved one hand in the air as if my presence didn’t mean shit.
“I’m ready today.”
“Answer one thing. Why do you really want to do this?” I sensed her question was some kind of test.
I considered my answer carefully, not sure how much to tell her. Since she already assumed I was an idiot, I took the direct route. “I had a cousin who went missing a decade ago. They found her body in a shack outside Portland. They never found the killer.”
“What was your cousin’s name?”
“Destiny Ross, the same last name as mine.”
“I remember that case. I wasn’t the lead, but I’m aware of the circumstances.”
I waited for her to offer more information, but she didn’t.
“I also have an abusive ex who’s stalking me. I know how difficult and tragic these situations are, and I want to help women battling similar problems.”
She leaned back and took another gulp of coffee, studying me carefully. “You have a stalker?”
I didn’t want to get into any details of my suspicions regarding my ex, Gordon, and my fear he was the man currently terrorizing women in Portland. They’d found two bodies and four other women had gone missing under similar circumstances, all last seen in the same general vicinity. While the police hadn’t officially declared that Portland had a serial killer, most of the news outlets had already dubbed him the Rose City Killer in reference to Portland’s nickname.
When Gordon and I were together, he’d disappeared at odd hours of the night and refused to tell me where he’d gone. At first, I’d assumed he was cheating on me, but I started to see more red flags. He frequented the areas where these women had last been seen. He even knew some of them. Lastly and most important, I’d pinpointed him in the area for at least two of the disappearances. Regardless, all I had to go on was a hunch with no solid evidence.
I nodded in response to Carla’s question and offered no additional information. We didn’t trust each other, and I wasn’t giving away any more than she was.
“I’m about to interview a client about her missing daughter. You’re welcome to tag along.” By her tone, I wasn’t welcome, but she felt obligated.
“I’d love to.”
“When we’re done, you can start on the filing.”
“Okay,” I said with forced cheerfulness, wondering what I’d gotten myself into and knowing I had no choice but to follow through. My brother had put his reputation on the line by recommending me, and I wouldn’t let him down. Of all my family members, he’d always been there for me.
