Page 11 of In Dangerous Water

He nodded. “And may I ask why your relationship ended?”

It was everything I had not to squirm with embarrassment. Instead, I stroked the labradorite and let some of its soothing vibrations keep me calm. “If you’ve looked into my past, Detective Miller, I’m sure that you probably found plenty of gossipy stories about my breakup with Chance.”

“The media certainly played up your romance during the Olympics,” Miller commented.

I blew out a long breath. “Yes, they did.”

“Were you engaged to Mr. Montoya?”

“No.” I made sure my voice was calm as I spoke. “Despite what was written, Chase and I were never engaged.”

“He went on to make quite the career for himself as an analyst and announcer for the networks, didn’t he?”

I nodded. “For a time.”

Detective Miller flipped back a few pages in his notebook. I felt the disingenuousness of the act the second he did it. He didn’t need to refer to his notes—he already had everything memorized.

“Ah…” He flipped a few more pages. “I have it here that Mr. Montoya was let go from the network after a series of complaints about his behavior with other female employees—just last year.”

“As I said earlier, Detective Miller, I have not kept in touch with Mr. Montoya. I’m no longer a competitor or a part of the elite swimming world.”

The older detective pointed to a grouping of framed photos on my office wall. “Yet you still display photos of yourself on the podium at the Olympics receiving your medals. A silver in the team relay and an individual bronze for the 200-meter freestyle. Isn’t that right?”

I inclined my head. “Correct.”

Detective Williams leaned farther out of his chair to look at the third photo. “And there you are winning gold at the World Championships, the year after the Olympics.” He glanced around the office again. “I’m surprised that you don’t publically display your medals here too.”

The detective was starting to piss me off. “Thephotosare there to inspire my swimmers, and to help influence our donors and sponsors. Folks love the idea that an Olympian is a part of their sports program. More donations to the team and the center means a better swimming program for the girls.”

Tim stood up straight and addressed the detective. “The parentsalsolove the fact that an Olympic and World Championship medalist is coaching their kid. Detective Williams, do you have any idea how much prestige Ms. Golden lends to the swim program here at the aquatic center?”

Finally,I thought.Tim is speaking up for me.

“The local high school is thrilled to have her as their girls’ swim coach,” Tim continued. “Last year, two of Cordelia’s swimmers received scholarships to major universities.”

“Oh?” The detective perked up at that.

Setting the paperweight back on my desktop, I reached in one of my desk drawers and pulled out a small scrapbook. After opening the album, I slid it across the desk to the detective. On the pages were newspaper articles and photos of my swimmers signing national letters of intent to their universities. There were also photos of me with my swim teams over the past three years, and a few newspaper clippings and online articles that I had printed out and saved.

Austin was looking at the scrapbook over the shoulder of his colleague. “Is it possible that this harassment is from a disgruntled former swimmer of yours or a parent?”

“I sincerely hope not,” I said. “But I can tell you that I haveneverhad a serious problem or disagreement with a parent, or even another coach.”

Detective Williams perused more photos in the album. “No frustrated parent demanding to know why their baby isn’t winning races or getting college offers like the other teammates?”

I smirked. “Every coach deals with unhappy parents from time to time. But to date I’ve had no severe issues.”

The detective flipped more pages, examining the photos and articles. Then he sat back in his chair and returned his attentionto his own notebook. “Did you have any backlash or unwanted male attention when you modeled swimwear for that national campaign?”

I barely managed to bite back a rude reply. Taking a calming breath I said, “The whole purpose of the ad was to promote the Olympic women’s swim team and our sponsor—the swimwear maker. A racerback style suit shows much less skin than most traditional one-piece swimsuits.”

“I see.” He didn’t bother to look up at me now, instead he scribbled in his notebook.

“I’ll remind you that the ad you are inquiring about is from five years ago.”

Now he glanced up at me. “I only asked since it was featured in one of the letters you received. If I have offended you Ms. Golden, it was not my intention.”

Austin stood up. “I think we’re done here, Williams.”

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