only by the frustration burning at the back of his throat. What was she doing here? First she ignored his calls and then she stumbled into his investigation? He’d called her to get some advice on his undercover assignment over a quick cup of coffee. Getting threatened by weapon-wielding Gulos had never been part of the plan.
Help me, God. This whole drug investigation has been a mess from the start and now it’s falling apart around my ears. Help me figure out how to get everyone out of here alive.
If Chloe got killed, or even hurt, he’d never forgive himself. The gun currently pointed between his eyes didn’t help matters much. He’d taken out quite a few Gulo operations over the years and the memories were especially vicious. He shuddered to think what it meant that they were staging something so blatant.
Seconds earlier he’d been praying for a diversion. Something simple and straightforward that would enable him to take out two gang members at once in a way that didn’t blow either his cover or risk the lives of his hockey players. Now, here the strongest, toughest and most infuriating cop he’d ever known had somehow materialized on the floor above him, making his job that much harder.
Her eyes were now locked on his face. She’d recognized him. He watched as shouts and footsteps suddenly sounded from above, giving Chloe barely moments to leap to her feet before a third Gulo pelted down the hall toward her. Chloe threw her shoulder into the Christmas tree and tossed it at the gang member like a football tackle. The Gulo grunted and fell under the force of pine needles and branches. Trent nearly whistled.
It was a gutsy move and impressive—not that he didn’t wish she’d run instead. But he could tell she’d also seen his players in their hiding place. Had he been right to tell them to hide instead of fight? Hard to know. The four young men weren’t the best athletes or experienced fighters. Hodge had gotten a text from his girlfriend, Poppy, saying there were heavily armed criminals swarming the building.
When Trent had heard the chaos and destruction moving through the halls toward them, he’d ordered his players to hide and not a single one had argued. Instead they’d all dived for the narrow crawl space below the platform. Later, he could worry about whether that meant anything to his case. He’d gotten used to thinking of the four of them as his suspects. So it was pretty ironic that a Gulo was now pointing a gun at his face and threatening to kill him if he didn’t spill the exact same information he’d spent the last three months completely failing to figure out for himself.
The Gulos wanted to know who was manufacturing the new designer drug and the location of their lab. So did Trent.
After three months of painstaking undercover work as the interim Trillium College hockey coach and sports education teacher, he was absolutely positive that the only people who could’ve possibly hidden that baggie stuffed with payara pills in the garbage can was one of the four third-line players now hiding under the platform behind him.
He had little doubt that the other three players might very well have coordinated their stories to protect whoever it was. Breaking through their wall of silence and finding out who was his core mission and would be the key to finding the manufacturer and unraveling the entire drug operation. He also knew, without a doubt, that none of the players—whatever their crimes—deserved the vicious evil the Gulos would mete out.
And as of right now, the only two things standing in the way of that was him and the magnificent, glorious, red-haired cop now fighting an armed criminal on the floor above. He watched, with his knees pressed into the floor and his hands raised, as Chloe spun toward the masked Gulo. The thug yanked a knife from his boot and lunged. Her leg shot out hard with a flying roundhouse to kick the weapon from his hand. It slid across the floor and wedged in the railing. The Gulo threw himself at her and then it was a battle of limbs as Chloe and the gang member struggled for dominance.
The masked man standing in front of Trent jabbed the barrel of his weapon into Trent’s forehead. “Who’s she?”
Now that was a complicated question and a pretty long story. Chloe was a stunning, difficult and complicated woman. The kind that would drive a man crazy if he let her, until he found himself lying awake at night, staring at the cracks in his hotel room ceiling, counting all the ways he wasn’t good enough for her.
The gun dug even deeper. “Is she with you?”
“She’s not with me,” Trent said. “I honestly don’t know what she’s doing here.”
Yes, he’d called her several times, including earlier that very morning. When he’d first taken this case, he hadn’t expected it to take more than a few weeks. He’d get the young men to confide in him, find out where the payara had come from, determine if it had a link to the local police division and then an official task force would be formed to take over and investigate further.
In fact, he was supposed to launch into prep for another much larger and longer investigation way up in the Arctic after Christmas. The substitute teacher cover story had seemed ideal. After all, he’d gotten violent gang members and criminals to spill their deepest secrets. How hard could gaining the trust of four college students be? But the real Trillium sports professor and hockey coach was supposed to return from paternity leave after Christmas. Trent’s excuse for being in Bobcaygeon and in these players’ lives was rapidly ending, and he was no closer to finding the source of the payara.
He’d needed help. He’d needed advice. School had never been his scene. But Chloe had lived in Bobcaygeon. She’d gone to Trillium College. She was book smart. Plus, she’d trained under the very same local staff sergeant who’d either bungled the case or was corrupt enough to be bribed. Trent wasn’t sure which it was, all he knew was that there was something off about Frank Butler. The staff sergeant had an agitation that rubbed him the wrong way. Not to mention that one of the third-line players was Butler’s grandson, Brandon. Chloe could help, if they all made it out of there alive.
He watched as Chloe tossed the Gulo off and rolled away, out of sight. Her attacker lunged after her. He stared at the empty space above, willing for some kind of sign that Chloe was okay. Sweat formed at his hairline. Lord God, please don’t let her get hurt! Help me get this gun out of my face so I can rescue her and the players!
A flash of brilliant red filled his view as he watched the Gulo grab Chloe and throw her against the railing. Her hair tumbled free from its bun in long loose waves that trailed down her back. Visceral pain pierced his chest as Chloe’s head snapped back. The Gulo lifted her by the throat and tried to force her backward over the railing. Every muscle in Trent’s limbs tensed to fight even as he felt the barrel of a gun holding him in place. If he got shot in the head, he was no use to her. But he couldn’t just kneel there and watch as she got hurt. He’d learned when he was thirteen what could happen if he let somebody down. The death of his only sister had been a very high price to pay.
That was it. He’d risk the bullet. He pushed to his feet.
“Get back down!” the Gulo in front of him ordered.
Trent stared into the bland, lifeless eyes behind the mask.
“You think I won’t kill you? You think you’re gonna save your own skin by not telling me where your players are? You know one of them is dealing payara?”
Well, Trent knew one of them had tossed the pills in the trash. But he wasn’t convinced that meant they were an actual drug dealer. Sure the third-line players each had their problems but none had struck him as gang potential. He’d know. He’d been fourteen and still angrily grieving the murder of his sister when the Wolfspiders had tried to tangle him into their web. And that was a secret about himself he’d keep to his grave.
“We’re
