Teresa Carpenter - Baby Under The Christmas Tree

Elle bent over the pad, quickly taking down all the ideas she heard. Soon she had lots of notes and her stomach didn’t hurt anymore. No longer curled into the corner, she sat on the edge of the bed directing the action as a plan began to emerge.

Elle liked plans.

Amanda smiled and Elle grinned back, happy to have order restored.

CHAPTER ONE

THE RING OF THE PHONE made Elle sit straight up in bed. Blinking, she glanced at the clock. Twenty till two in the morning. Family or work? At this hour neither was good.

Still she prayed for work as she flipped on the light and reached for her cell phone. Usually that only meant a trip downtown to a bail bondsman, not large-scale injuries, which were the only reason family would be calling.

She scanned for caller ID but it was an unknown number. No clue there.

“Hello,” she said briskly, cringing when her voice came out sleep-husky instead.

“Ellie,” a deep voice drawled, relieving her of worry over family, and swinging all that anxiety over to annoyance at the caller. “I hope I woke you and didn’t catch you in the middle of something more interesting.”

“Maxwell.” Of course. Max “The Beast” Beasley, enforcer for the San Diego Thunder hockey team and her personal nemesis. And a man who had no right to question her nighttime activities. “I suppose this means you’re in jail?”

“Me and a few of the guys. We went out for drinks to celebrate Jaden’s twenty-first birthday. It got a little out of hand.”

“Is anyone hurt?”

“Babe, define hurt. We take a bigger beating on the ice.”

“Don’t call me babe. Or Ellie. My name is Elle. Or Ms. Austin to you.”

“So harsh,” he idly rebuked her. “Maybe you need something interesting going at two in the morning to loosen you up a little.”

That stung.

“Careful, Maxwell, or the only thing you’ll be cozying up to tonight is your cell mate.”

“Ellie, you tease. We both know that won’t happen.”

She gritted her teeth as the line went dead. He was right of course. This was part of her job, the annoying part. Being Deputy Public Relations Director meant she got the late-night calls when the players played hard in public and needed bailing out of trouble.

She might wish Max Beasley would be traded to some Siberian league, but if she wanted her boss’s job when he retired next year, she needed to keep The Beast happy.

She threw on jeans, a purple sweater and flat-heeled boots. After sweeping her dark red hair into a sleek ponytail, she put on a dusting of makeup. And then glared into her light brown eyes, disgusted with herself for primping.

There was no one to impress tonight, certainly not a six-foot-two blond with midnight-blue eyes, a dashing dimple in his right cheek and a sexy scar on his chin.

It took fifteen minutes to get from Elle’s Lake Murray condo to the jail in downtown San Diego. This time of the morning she could probably do it in half that time, but preferring not to join the players behind bars, she held to the speed limit.

A complete rule breaker, Max would no doubt sneer at her judicious driving habits. Let him. After all, she was the one bailing him out of jail.

She believed in rules, lists and goals. They’d gotten her where she was. When she’d returned from Princess Camp with a new love of creating order out of chaos, she’d put her new skill to work helping her dad with his sports teams.

It came in handy at San Diego State University where, as well as being a student, she worked as assistant to the athletic director. Part of the job included being the public-relations liaison for all the different sports. She was responsible for coordinating efforts and maximizing promotional opportunities.

She made great contacts at State and at twenty-six she was the deputy director of public relations for a national hockey team. Well on her way to having her own PR firm by the time she turned thirty-five.

She parked on the street across from Smart Bail Bonds and Harry Smart stepped out to meet her.

“Ms. Austin.” He greeted her with a gap-toothed smile. Shorter than average with a round belly covered by a Hawaiian shirt, he had thinning brown hair and a pleasant disposition. He always insisted on walking her to the jail adjacent to the San Diego County Courthouse. “It’s been a while since the boys caused a ruckus. They must be missing their captain. I heard Ian is going to be out for eight weeks.”

“That’s right, but they started out strong, so we have momentum on our side.” Elle forced a smile when she wanted to shake her head. She knew the rules of hockey. Thanks to her brothers she knew the rules to most sports. And it was that knowledge that had earned her a rookie position with the Thunder organization eighteen months ago. And she loved her job, even if she didn’t understand the sport, the sheer violence of it.

She did know the more fights on the ice, the more fans in the stands. The games were battles, the players modern-day gladiators: fierce, competitive, combative, and the harder they fought the more the crowd cheered.

And Maxwell “The Beast” Beasley led the pack.

He was a public-relations dream and nightmare. The public loved his bad-boy persona as long as the team was winning, but when the team took a few losses, the public had little patience for player antics.

Elle avoided the lone-wolf player as much as possible.

Through the window of the bond office she saw a few of the wives and girlfriends of the players he’d led astray tonight.

When The Beast chose to party, everyone wanted to party with him.

But it was a subdued, somewhat sheepish crew turned over to her an hour later. Usually they were still full of themselves, boasting over their deeds and conquests of the night. But there was little chatter as they walked the few blocks to the bond office.

“That’s a pretty nasty cut, Hank.” She eyed the goalie, who sported a crude butterfly bandage over a slash on his cheek. “You should stop at an emergency room on the way home.”

“Nah.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Hmm.” Though his was the worst, all six of the burly men showed battle scars. Her gaze skipped over Max to land on the youngest of the group. At six-six and two-twenty, Jaden was hardly a child, but his downcast eyes and hunched shoulders gave him the look of a sulky teenager. “Happy birthday, Jaden.”

He shrugged. “Thanks.”

“Be nice, Grier.” Max cut the younger man with a cold glare. “She just bailed your butt out of jail.”

“I said thanks,” Jaden snarled back. A slight slur revealed that a couple of hours and a visit to the slammer hadn’t cleared all the alcohol from his system. He sent Elle a sideways look. “I got your card.”

She nodded. Her mother had taught her the power of the greeting card, and Elle plied it zealously. Her goal was to build up a personal connection with the players, because it made it harder for them to turn her down when she needed them for special events. Since she’d joined the team, she’d given every player a card on his birthday. Except Max.

Cringing slightly she justified the inaction by reminding herself she hadn’t thought of the cards until after his birthday the first year, and last year the team had been out of town. She’d meant to give him his card; she’d just never got around to it.

And then he hadn’t deserved a card.

Still, her mother would call shame on her.

“This night had bad news written all over it from the moment we arrived at the bar and saw junior here had started to party without us.” A voice grumbled from the back. “Kid, you need to learn to pace yourself.”

“I’m not a kid.” Jaden whirled to confront the other man, momentum and unsteadiness putting him right in the defenseman’s face. “I’m an adult.”