Thin Ice

  Thin Ice

  By April Cronin

  Copyright 2016 April Cronin

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords Edition, License notes;

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are 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.

  A word from the Author;

  Due to the delicate nature of this novel I wanted to take a moment and share my thoughts and feelings on the matter. Rape and Sexual assault are a horrific part of our culture. For anyone who has ever been a victim of sexual abuse, you have my deepest sympathies, and my heart goes out to you.

  I am myself a victim of sexual abuse, I have seen both sides of the law. I have been both protected and abandoned by the justice system, and no matter the outcome, you still lose a little piece of yourself.

  Ten years ago, a false claim of rape or assault was unheard of, those kinds of things just didn't happen. But with our society changing so dramatically, becoming perhaps, a little desensitized even, people are constantly looking for the next “get rich quick” scheme.

  That is NOT to say that every woman who says she was assaulted is lying. In fact, I'd wager that most are still telling the truth. However, it only takes one liar to cast doubt upon the many others telling the truth, and who better than the rich and famous to prey on?

  Please remember that this is a FICTIONAL story. Though celebrities and athletes have been facing such accusations over the years, this novel is in no way my opinion or beliefs on such cases. Every case is unique and only those involved know the truth. I wrote Thin Ice inspired by the things going on in society today, but again, NOT based on any actual event, and any similarities or parallels are purely coincidence. I wanted to give my readers a villain they could truly despise, and as such, there is no gray area where she and her intent are concerned.

  On a side note, as you read Thin Ice please remember that Petrovsky “Peter” Petrovic is Russian and is still learning the English language, so at times, when it seems his speech is stunted or broken, it was written that way on purpose!

  I hope you enjoy Thin Ice, happy reading!

  -April

  For Artemi Panarin of the Chicago Blackhawks;

  Peter simply wouldn't exist without you!

  And for my dear friend Jessica;

  You ARE Harmony in so many ways!

  Chapter 1

  The Man on the Motorcycle

  Looking over the books, for the second time today, Harmony sighed. She was by no means an accountant, and probably should have left such menial tasks in the hands of her aunt Mary, who did in fact specialize in that department, but seeing as she hadn't much else to do for the day, here she was, pouring over company financials.

  It wasn't that they weren't turning a profit, they'd been in the black more often than not, but some months they were so close to the red that Harmony feared her father might consider selling the place again. With that new Walmart going in down the street, things were only going to get worse, and her father, Bill, had recently had more than one such offer to sell out to Whole Foods or some other retail conglomerate.

  They were all extremely interested in the large piece of real estate, and the clientele that came with it, so sure of themselves that they could compete with the corporate giant that would be opening their doors sometime within the next year, as construction was already ongoing at this point. Of course, some of them hadn't even offered market value! The nerve!

  But Harmony didn't want to sell. She loved the place, and one day, she hoped to run it herself. Her father had taken that into account, and since she had already been promoted to assistant manager, he told her that if she could turn things around, if she could compete with Walmart, and keep turning a profit for at least a year after they had opened, he would refrain from selling and she could take over the business completely, he was more than ready to retire as it was.

  With that in mind, Harmony went through every ledger and document she could get her hands on. There had to be some way to make improvements. Things weren't exactly broken, but if she could cut costs and save the customers more money on the back end, then they might just make it. But where did she find the extra money?

  They weren't an overly large grocery store, probably no bigger than the average Winn Dixie in the area, but they were a standalone. And that mattered. Her grandfather had bought the four acres with his own inheritance, and though he had originally dreamed of opening a hardware store, his lovely wife had convinced them they would do better in the grocery business.

  And so it was. Being a general contractor himself, he drew up his own plans, hired a crew and set about building the Hometown Grocery Mart. More than fifty years later and they were still going strong. Well, sort of. Their overhead wasn't too bad, and since they owned the land they operated on, there was no rent to pay, just utilities. They worked with the local and nationwide farmers as much as possible, which kept costs down as far as importing went, not to mention giving the local community of farmers a boost and kept food on their tables as well.

  And as far as the items they did have to import, well, Bill was a wiz when it came to negotiations, so they usually got the best deals, sometimes even better than the corporate ventures. They carried a staff of about fifty, mostly part-timers, but the few that were full time had decent benefits, and everyone was paid above minimum wage and according to their level of work ethic.

  They could definitely cut costs there, do away with bonuses, less raises, or require more out of pocket for the 401k and health benefits, but Harmony didn't want to go there. These people were like family to her, and honestly, she'd rather take a pay cut herself than mess with somebody else's livelihood. No, there had to be another way, and she'd find it.

  Sighing again, she set down her pencil and pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing her eyes and leaning back in her chair. Harmony was exhausted. She'd closed last night, and today, her one day off, had so far been spent in the office at her father’s house going over paperwork. She just had to keep reminding herself how much the store meant to her, it was all worth it in the end.

  The phone rang then, pulling her from further concentrating on the task at hand.

  “Hello?” she said wearily.

  “Harm? Is that you?” Her father asked on the other end of the line.

  “Yes Daddy, it's me. What's up?”

  “Oh, I'm so glad I caught you, I thought you might have gone home already. I uh, I need you to come in.”

  Today was the one day of the week her father worked. Even though she was just the assistant manager, she pretty much had free rein and ran the day to day of things. They had two shift supervisors as well, and between the three of them they rotated who opened and who closed each day, but on Wednesday's, Bill worked the entire day.

  “Ugh.” She grumbled, “somebody called out I take it?”

  “Yes, Shelia says the kids are sick, can't find a babysitter. I'm sorry to do this on your day off...” He said, sounding sincerely distraught, “but darling, I'm afraid I need you.”

  Stretching, Harmony yawned before standing and leaning over the desk, the phone cord extended to the max, though why her father still had the ancient style phone was beyond her. “I'
ll be right there.” She assured him, hanging up and heading out the door.

  Harmony knew once her father retired, she'd have even more days like this one, better to get used to it now.

  Peter revved the Ducati's engine, the sound akin to a lion’s roar. The powerful machine quivered beneath him like a thoroughbred racehorse prepared to bolt from the starting gate. He liked how it felt, the raw energy coursing through him as he sat at the red light on Main street, in the middle of nowhere to be exact. Pooler Georgia, aka bum fucked Egypt.

  He'd only had the bike for a couple of weeks now, so it was still a rush every time he started that engine. Peter had gotten a driver’s license upon moving to the US from Russia the year prior, but waited until this offseason to get his motorcycles endorsement, then he shopped around.

  Since he lived with an American family for the better part of the first year of his residency, he was granted access to an old beat up Toyota they'd owned, but once the money from his contract started coming in, he looked at something of his own. After adopting Sadie, a dog he'd done a calendar shoot with just before the holidays, he picked up a second hand Honda from one of the used car dealerships in town, but he wanted something more.

  Most of the guys on the team drove SUV's or pickup trucks, all of them expensive and decked out, and a couple of his teammates had sports cars, but it was Andre who had turned him on to the idea of a motorcycle. He had continuously bragged about the BMW he was going to buy himself one day, but Peter didn't see the sense in owning one of those.

  He figured you either went one of two ways; you got a Harley or a Ducati. So he started going over his options. In the end, while he drove around town in the second hand Honda he'd picked up to cart his dog around in, he decided against a Harley. Maybe when he was older, had a woman to tote around, and wanted to just 'cruise' around town.

  Not now though. By his way of thinking, before he had purchased the bike, he had been on top of the world, a candidate for the Norris Trophy this past season, and his team had been on track to win the Stanley Cup as well. So he had decided once the season was over, he'd make the purchase, no matter how expensive it was.

  Peter didn't get out much, he was still trying to get used to the language and the customs, so he had a sizable chunk of change in his bank account. Though he was no longer living with the Langsley's, his rent was reasonable. He shared a townhouse near downtown Savannah with his teammate and fellow countrymen Viktor Bortnik. So expenses were pretty manageable. Andre Lepowski had lived with them too, up until a couple of weeks ago, when Donovan, another of their teammates had offered him his Condo on Jones St.

  Donovan Pierce, alternate captain of the team, and recent Conn Smythe winner, as the Savannah Slashers had, in fact, won the Stanley Cup, beating the Anaheim Ducks 4-2 in the series, had met his match in a feisty nurse, the two of them meeting when Donovan was involved in a car accident, and though they didn't hit it off at first, Donovan had clearly won her over, as they had just bought a house together.

  So Andre, wanting his own place, had agreed to rent Donovan's place for a year, he'd decide after that if he wanted to buy it or not. His contract was up for renewal this offseason, so he didn't want to make any big purchases until a deal with the Slashers was inked. Ending up on the trade block was always a possibility.

  Peter himself had just signed his own deal recently, as the two-year entry level contract he had, came to an end. While he didn't have any notions of his own to get into the real estate market just yet, he could if he wanted to. He'd just inked an eight-year deal for six million a year after all.

  No, one thing at a time. He had a car, a reliable one, but he wanted something more. Something fast and flashy. A toy. A Ducati. And now he had one. Bought it on the fourth of July, and how cool had it been to ride down the highway, stopping from time to time to watch the colorful fireworks exploding in the midnight sky like paint splattering on a canvas?

  And the bike itself? God, he was in love! It was a sleek black animal, of carbon fiber and titanium, nearly 200 horsepower, illegal in some countries. He'd bought a stripped down version and sent it off to NCR Corse, in Italy, later importing it to America. It had cost him a small fortune, he probably could have bought a pretty nice house for what he'd paid for the motorcycle, and surely his mother would flip once she found out, but it was his. The NCR Millona 16, one of the worlds rarest sports bikes, and it was all his.

  He was glad he'd waited until after the season was over though, at least this way he hadn't had to hear coach gripe about being careful. After Donovan's accident, which luckily hadn't been season ending, Coach Turski had been on a tirade about driving safely. Not that he could afford to be injured in a crash even now, but practices were limited as of now, and pre-season training was still a couple of months away, so he wasn't around coach for him to know about the bike just yet. Best keep it that way for a little while longer.

  Peter intended to go home to Russia in a few weeks, once he got his time alone with the Stanley Cup, so he was spending his free time now getting used to the bike, and doing some sightseeing along the way. Which was why he was here, in the middle of Nowhereville Georgia. He was a good half hour west of Savannah. It was a pleasant enough town called Pooler, population 21,000.

  The traffic light seemed to take forever, hence why Peter had decided to give the bike a little rev. He liked the sound, a deep masculine roar. He was pretty shy by nature, but there was still his deep Russian ancestry to contend with. Many of his ancestors had likely been large domineering individuals, his own father was a pretty big guy. So there were times when he perhaps lost control so to speak, this was one of those times.

  A couple of teenagers walking along the sidewalk stopped and stared. The girls giggling as they pointed to him, the guys with them slapping high fives once they recognized the type of motorcycle he was riding. It made him feel good, as though he were showing off to an audience.

  He was used to such performances, after all, it was part of his profession. He enjoyed hockey, the feel of the frozen ice as he glided across it, slapping the puck past a confused goalie, it was all a lot of fun for him, and very competitive. Without the fans though, it would just be a bunch of guys skating around and smacking a piece of rubber down the ice. So he was a bit of an actor as well.

  A thirsty actor.

  Peter spied a grocery store just down the way, figuring that was as good a place as any to grab something to drink. Maybe he'd pick up a sandwich or something too, he thought as his stomach began to protest. Breakfast had been a little while ago, and though he'd been through a few towns already, he hadn't considered stopping for any reason until now.

  Pulling into the parking lot of the HomeTown Grocery Mart, Peter gave the building a once over. Unlike most grocery stores he'd seen since coming to America, this one wasn't attached to a strip mall, or surrounded by any other buildings for that matter. It was a good sized building in a large lot that was meticulously landscaped.

  The owners of this establishment took obvious pride in their store, as the red brick exterior was vibrant, the tin roof gleaming in the sun, and the white trim blinding when he looked right at it. There were a couple of cart returns in the lot, but they were devoid of carts, though the parking lot was relatively full of cars for the time of day.

  Adding it all up, he decided the owners ran a tight ship, and he admired that. Too many times he'd gone to places in or around Savannah that could have learned a thing or two by studying this place. Appearances were everything.

  And the outside was just the tip of the iceberg.

  The store was sectioned off into the traditional different parts, the bakery to the right, which boasted goods that were all made in store, nothing bought and shipped, a produce section to the left that had pictures above it of various local growers, and all of the produce seemed to be in good shape at that, not a dark spot or speck of rot to be seen, and it was split into two subsections, organic and non. The back of the store made up the deli, meat departme
nt and dairy, all in one section. And like most stores, the dried goods were in the center.

  What was uniquely different, however, was the frozen section. In the back left corner of the store, where the meat and dairy section ended, after spanning almost the entire back wall, was a large walk in. Curiosity overcoming him, Peter walked into it and noticed row upon row of frozen goods. Certainly seemed like an easier way to do things instead of having to open door after door to see what was inside!

  It was quite a store indeed. There was even a section built onto the side that opened from the produce area to an outdoor add-on that housed plants, gardening supplies, a limited amount of hardware and sporting goods as well as a couple of aisles dedicated to animals and farming supplies. If they'd only sold clothing too it would have been a real one stop shop. It was simply amazing to see such an eclectic mix of stuff under one roof.

  Strolling along the pet food and supplies, Peter noticed the brand of dog treats his dog loved, and unable to help himself, pulled a couple of packs off the shelf. Normally he would have had to go to a specialty store to find these, and the cost was significantly more than it was here. He had a small storage space under the seat of his bike, so he figured, what the hell? Why not?

  Peter went to the deli next and ordered a sandwich, grabbing a pickle and a bottle of water to go along with it before heading for the registers up front to pay for his purchases. The lines, though long when he had first come in seemed to have slacked off a little, so he picked the one closest to the door and got behind a woman with a fussy toddler. She was doing her best to console the little red headed tyrant, but as he kept reaching out for the candy bars and she had to push his hands away, it didn't seem like she was gaining any ground with him. Frustrating herself in the process.