Page 107 of Daddies on Ice
“What the hell?” Jake moves toward it, but Ash is faster, scooping it up before anyone else can touch it.
“Don’t,” I say, a chill running down my spine. “Don’t open it.”
But it’s too late. Ash has already torn it open, and his face goes pale as he looks at whatever’s inside. Carl and Jake crowd around him, and I hear Jake curse under his breath.
“What is it?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know.
Ash looks up at me, his expression grim. “It’s a picture. From last night.”
My blood turns to ice. “Let me see it.”
“Tish…”
“Let me see it,” I repeat, my voice stronger this time.
Reluctantly, Ash hands me the photograph.
It’s blurry, taken from outside the window, but you can make out figures.
My dark hair is visible, as is Carl’s distinctive silver hair.
The image is grainy and indistinct, but anyone who knows us would be able to identify us.
My hands shake as I stare at the photo. “Someone was watching us.”
“The same someone who’s been sending you those other pictures,” Carl says, his voice tight with anger.
“The same someone who’s been sabotaging the team,” Jake adds.
I think about all the incidents over the past few weeks—the broken-down bus, the missing equipment, the anonymous photos that have been arriving with increasing frequency. At first, we all assumed it was someone with a grudge against the Thunderwolves, but now it’s undeniable that it’s not.
“Ash is right,” I whisper, the acceptance hitting me like a physical blow. “This isn’t about the team at all.”
Ash nods grimly, his brown eyes hard as steel. “The sabotage isn’t against the Thunderwolves. It’s about you, Tish.”
37
CARL
The blurry photograph burns in my mind as I watch Trisha pace her small cabin like a caged animal.
Her dark hair catches the lamplight with each agitated turn, and I can see the fear she’s trying so hard to hide behind that stubborn facade of hers.
The image wasn’t clear enough to identify faces, but anyone who knows us would recognize my silver hair and her distinctive dark waves.
Someone was watching us last night. Someone was close enough to capture our most intimate moment.
“This is insane,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around herself. “Who would do this? And why?”
Ash sits forward on the small couch, his jaw tight with barely contained anger. “Someone must have a helluva grudge.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Trisha protests, finally stopping her pacing to face us. “I don’t have enemies. I’m nobody special. I just do PR work.”
The vulnerability in her voice makes my chest tighten.
She has no idea how special she is, how she’s turned our entire world upside down in the best possible way.
But right now, that specialness has made her a target, and every protective instinct I have is screaming.
