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Chapter 48: Katrina
"The children didn’t see it, did they?" Katrina asked Patrick as she pressed her palms into his rock-hard, knotted upper back.
There was a low groan from him, and she lightened up a bit. She didn’t usually massage Patrick, or the other goalie. Often being the most stressed out members of a hockey club, goalies were tricky to work with. Applying too much pressure too early in a massage on them, especially after they’ve faced some shots or been in a game time atmosphere was often too overwhelming for them. Katrina rolled her eyes at the sudden memory of the first time she had worked on a goalie, leaving the kid in tears and muttering within minutes. The last thing she wanted was to do the same to this guy, and then have the head therapist on her back about traumatizing his players.
"No." Patrick said in slow broken English. "They...they were...not there.... But I don’t know. What if... They...were?"
Katrina closed her eyes, she could tell that his shoulders were so tight that they were crooked, but she couldn’t see it clearly. When she closed her eyes, it was often easier for her to pinpoint muscle groups and problems. Her first instructor used to tell her that she had a map of the human body in her fingertips. There it was. She leaned her weight into her hands and slowly pressed down on the spot, listening to him empty his lungs and then moan as the muscle relaxed and fell into its proper place. Katrina sighed.
"You’re a tough one," she said with a tired laugh.
She smoothed her fingers between his shoulder blades, gnawing a bit on her lip, she couldn’t stay light here.
"You...you can go... deeper." Patrick said slowly, quietly. His accent seemed overly thick to Katrina. She knew that he could speak more fluently than that.
"Are you sure?" Katrina asked, switching to French.
"Yes," Patrick answered brightly in French. "Don’t be afraid, my dear. I am not fragile."
A deeper, more appreciative groan slipped out of Patrick as Katrina pressed harder into him. She decided that it would be better if she stayed speaking French to him.
"I’m sure the police will catch this man, will they not?" Katrina asked.
"Who knows!" Patrick said. "They haven’t done very much so far except accuse my wife of lying and me of harassing and harming her."
"That’s part of their job, darling," Katrina said. "They have to investigate the ones closest to the victim, especially if they feel there’s a prior history of..."
"Basterds!" Patrick snapped.
Katrina shook her head and dug her hands in, loosening up the knots.
"I work on Mimi, Patrick," Katrina said. "I see how bruised up she is all the time. I’ve never seen her without bruises."
Patrick was silent for a moment but it was amazing to Katrina how she could feel the sudden flush of angry heat emanating from his skin. She slid her palms lightly over his skin. "I am sure you are to account for half of them you little brute," Patrick grumbled.
Katrina smiled. "And the other half?"
"It is me," Patrick said simply. "But not in the way you think."
"I see," Katrina said.
Kinky sluts, she thought.
Jutting her chin, she sighed and gave one last, deep push onto his shoulders. It was a push that usually had most of the guys whimpering and yelping. There was merely a long, deep, exhale from Patrick.
"Well," Katrina said, digging her fingers into his mid-back, it was tighter there, as it usually was in goalies. "He will be caught. He isn’t smart, you see. Attacking in broad daylight, not even bothering to know the schedules of the house even though his target is the occupants. They will catch him easily."
Not getting an immediate response from Patrick, she wrinkled her brow and leaned her palms into the small of his back. Immediately, Patrick’s back flinched and he yelped. Katrina tried to jump back, surprised by his reaction, but Patrick had sat halfway up and he snatched her around the waist, pulling her close to him. Katrina scowled and stumbled a little bit, leaning forward and placing a hand on the edge of the table and the other on his slick shoulder. A shot of adrenaline darted through her body, but not too much. She saw the playful sparkle in his eyes. There was no danger from him. He was just a flirt. She could handle flirts.
"I’m ticklish there," he said with a menacing growl and a ghost of a grin.
Great, Katrina thought, another friggin goalies trigger point to remember. And this one was French to boot. She could handle the others players, especially Peter very easily, but the French ones. She had found out the hard way that struggling with them didn’t get her very far... She lowered her chin a little bit, batting her eyes and holding a small grin.
"Just ticklish?" she said, avoiding a full-blown pout.
Patrick grinned, looking almost boyish. Katrina couldn’t stop a genuine smile this time. Pierre had always told her what a gorgeous, spoiled brat he was. And she could see that pretty clearly now. There were ways to handle them.
She allowed him to nudge her closer to his body and she leaned close to his ear, whispering, "Peter would have been melting in tears by now, crying for his mommy."
There was almost a deadly little thrill in her chest as his hand tightened momentarily on her waist and slid a little up her back. Katrina leaned back a little and blew his shaggy bangs out off his forehead.
"You need a hair-cut, badly," she said.
Bomb defused. Patrick frowned and let her go, crossing his arms over his chest and flopping down on his back. Now he would probably pout for the next hour, which didn’t bother Katrina in the slightest.
"You’re a little evil, I think," Katrina said in English as she started work on his legs. "Flirting when your family has had such a scare."
Patrick was silent for a moment and then he answered her in French. "If anyone harms my family, they will not live through the night."
Katrina yawned as she pulled her keys out of her purse, unlocking the door to her apartment. She would be moving into a better one next month, into a better neighborhood
thanks to her liaison with Mr. Lacroix. So what if Robbie Hartley thought she was a whore, maybe she was one. She liked having nice things and she didn’t like commitment and she wasn’t particularly finicky about the physical attractiveness of whom she chose to sleep with. It was a free world and she did what she pleased.
She swung her door open and tossed her purse onto the couch and flipped on the light switch. Before she could close her door however she was pushed further into her apartment and she fell forward onto her hands. Angrier than scared, Katrina flipped onto her back to see a man slamming her door shut. When he turned around, she rolled her eyes and picked herself up.
The man glared at her with his brown eyes. "They’re going to change the locks by now. I’m going to need a new key."
Katrina crossed her arms over her chest. "You dumb shit!" she snapped. "You never said that you wanted to hurt the family. I never would have given you a key if I knew that. What the hell do you want with them?"
"That’s my business!" the man snarled. "I paid you didn’t I?"
Katrina shook her head. "If you harm those children, I’ll get the cops on your ass so fast..."
The man stepped forward and squeezed her arm. Flashes of pain exploded in her line of vision, but Katrina refused to react. "You’re going to say nothing," he said. "Nothing! And you’re going to get me a new key."
"I’m going to get you shit!" Katrina said. "Threaten me all you want, you’re not gonna hurt me now, you’re not ready to get arrested now, are you?"
The man frowned and let her go, stepping back and then kicking the air. "What about your family?" the man said. "How much do you care about them?"
Katrina sighed. "I don’t have family, numb-nuts," she said. "And if I do, I don’t give a shit about them, I don’t know them. Now get the hell out of my apartment before I really scream ‘fire.’ Forget about asking me for anything else, I don’t need money anymore and I don’t need you."
"You call the cops I tell them where I got a key to begin with," the man pointed out.
Katrina shrugged. "It’s not like I’ve never worked a cop over before. I’m not scared of them. Now stay the hell away from that house, you had your chance to take whatever you wanted from there I’m through with you."
"I want my money back," the man said, there was almost a whine in his voice.
Katrina stared at him, recrossing her arms. Inside she was getting a bit scared, but there really wasn’t much else she could do. Finally, the man cursed and stomped out of her apartment. She sighed and collapsed on her couch, hugging herself.
If anyone harms my family, they will not live through the night.
Dammit! She thought. Why hadn’t she hooked up with Pierre sooner? She wouldn’t have needed money so badly then. It was just a stupid housekey.
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