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couple of other common areas.
    He’d called his foster parents last night to warn them about the documentary. They didn’t know the extent of his connections to the motorcycle club back in Finland—ties that hadn’t been easily severed. He’d never hidden from the old crew, exactly. He’d known an NHL career gave him a certain amount of visibility, so he’d always been accessible to his enemies. But there’d been a tacit peace these past nine years, with everyone moving on.
    Axel wasn’t all that sure the peace would hold if this documentary series found a global audience. What would the old gang think of his high-end lifestyle if they saw pictures up close and personal? Would they be able to forgive what they considered the debt of letting him leave if they could see the evidence of his success from the comfort of their living rooms overseas? He didn’t want to push his luck.
    So he’d told the Murphys to be on their toes if anyone called looking for more information on him. The wealthy Murphy family had resources to increase security at their Cape Cod compound and he’d advised them to do so, claiming a rise in public interest could bring out the occasional nut job. Better to be safe.
    As Axel found his shooting rhythm on a tarp, he tried to ignore the hum of the Panasonic recording his every move and wondered if Jennifer had stood him up.
    With how gung ho she’d been to quiz him about the Phantoms the day before, he’d figured she would bombard him with questions the second he left the ice. But an hour and a half after practice, he still hadn’t seen a sign of her.
    Except, of course, in his mind’s eye. She’d set up residence there after yesterday’s close encounter, insinuating herself in his thoughts and making him edgy for more.
    “Have you seen Jennifer around?” Axel asked the young guy shouldering the video equipment, breaking protocol by addressing him directly.
    But hey, the less usable footage they had of him, the better.
    Shutting off the camera, the tall, skinny dude shifted it aside. “She might be in the parking lot, setting things up for one of the crew to ride with some fans to Montreal.”
    “Fans?” Surprised and encouraged that she would devote so much film to people who weren’t on the team, Axel decided he’d have to give her a rundown on everyone on the Phantoms support staff.
    That alone could occupy a camera for a couple of days.
    “Groupies, man.” The kid—twenty at the oldest—grinned. “Four girls that came to the morning skate. You’re living the dream.”
    Before he could reply, Jennifer strode into the practice room, her cheeks flushed and her hair windblown.
    “Yes, congratulations on that, Mr. Rankin.” She thumbed through a stack of notes on her clipboard, her hands a flurry of shuffling. “You’re a very fortunate man to be so widely admired.”
    He’d never been in it for the fame. If anything, that made his life more difficult given the enemies he’d made back home.
    “Actually, I think I’m fortunate because I get paid to do a job I love.” He handed his stick to an attendant, eager to shake off old ghosts and talk to Jennifer away from the whir of rolling film. “Are you ready to go?”
    “Very.” Pivoting on her heel, she walked out of the practice room.
    She wore a blue-and-white Phantoms T-shirt today, a thoughtful endorsement. A floor-length black skirt with big blue flowers billowed around her legs, a skinny silver chain belt dangling from her waist.
    She looked great. He liked her colorful, offbeat style. Her energetic walk and enthusiastic hands when she touched him. He liked everything about her a little too well. But sticking close to her throughout the filming might help him avoid being a central figure in any of the footage.
    As for the heat between them? He’d have to gamble they’d be able to handle it.
    He had to admit Jen seemed to be keeping a professional distance today.
    Hell, he wasn’t even keeping up with her, now