cameras in the center might be so bad they were practically nonexistent, but that didn’t mean he wanted a phalanx of officers—let alone Butler—seeing the local hockey coach yanking a provincial detective away for a private chat.
“Hey, it’s okay.” He let go of her body and reached up to pull his mask off. He didn’t get the opportunity. Chloe’s strikes came hard and fast, beating him around the head and sending the mask spinning until he could barely see through the eyeholes. “Chloe! Stop! It’s me—”
A strong, precise and determined kick caught him in the gut and sent him flying back against the wall. She’d knocked the air right out of his lungs. He could barely make himself heard in this stupid mask. Or she was so determined to fight she wasn’t even listening.
Her fists flew toward him again. Enough! He could hardly get this stupid mask off if she kept attacking him. He ducked her blow, swung her around and pressed her back up against the wall. He braced his forearm across her chest, pinning her, and yanked the mask off his face. “Chloe! Stop! It’s me!”
“Trent?” The fear and the fight fell from her face. Her eyes went wide.
They were standing so close his arm was the only thing keeping her chest from touching his, and he could feel her heartbeat radiating through it. For a moment he couldn’t tell if she was tempted to slap him or to hug him. He stepped back and raised both hands in front of him before either could happen. “I can’t believe you didn’t know it was me! Don’t you remember when we first worked together undercover, I called you a ‘pretty little thing’ and then you pretended to be mad at me.”
“That wasn’t pretend.” She blew out a long breath. “Not that I expect you to understand that.”
He didn’t know what she meant by that, but now was hardly the time for arguments. “Are there any casualties?”
“Not that I know of,” she said. “There are two college students in the upstairs exercise room—a young woman named Poppy and a hockey player from Haliburton named Johnny. They’re on the phone with 9-1-1 and barricaded themselves in. I also helped Brandon’s sister, Lucy, escape. She told me the security guard had gotten out, too.”
“And hostiles?” he asked. “I disarmed three.”
“I only saw three, too.” She touched her right sweatshirt pocket with the back of her hand, like she was checking to make sure something was still there. “Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at, Henry, but you have exactly sixty seconds to explain what’s going on. Because now, thanks to you, there’s probably a whole parking lot full of cops thinking that one of their own is being held hostage by a goof in a goalie mask.”
A goof?
“What are you even doing here?” he asked. Trust Chloe to barge into the middle of his undercover investigation and start demanding answers. “You just happened to be hanging out in a random, small-town sports center when gang violence broke out?”
“I’ve been popping by here to work out,” she said, without meeting his eyes. “I have the week off work, and I own a house in the country about half an hour from here. This is the closest gym that has a pool and equipment room.”
He didn’t doubt she was telling the truth. The Chloe he knew would never lie to him, and it wasn’t unheard of for people in rural parts of Ontario to drive even farther for a grocery store or bank. Other college athletes and teams came from all over the area to use the facilities and rink. But, he also knew her well enough to know that there was more to it than just that. Fine, if she wanted to keep things to herself, so could he. His eyes traced down her slender throat to the lanyard she wore with her detective’s badge.
“You identified yourself as a cop,” he said.
“Of course I did. I had to rescue multiple people, report a crime in progress to the authorities and fight for my life against a Gulo gang member. So, yeah, I was going to pull on everything I could to get through.” Her arms crossed over her badge. “And your minute is down to thirty seconds.”
He let out a long breath and ran one hand through his hair. It was a lot shaggier than he liked, not to mention a bit of white had started to creep in at the temples right before he’d turned thirty-six. Then he ran his hand over his beard. That had taken some getting used to, too.
“I’m undercover—”
“I got that. You’re Coach Henri.”
“And a teacher at Trillium College,” he said. “And you’re here because of the payara investigation, aren’t you?”
“Not officially,” she said. “But I won’t deny I’ve been very curious. Gossip’s running pretty thick that Butler’s botched the investigation so badly so far that some people think he’s corrupt.” Her tone implied she wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t sure what Butler had done to earn such loyalty from her.
“And you’ve been hanging out here because you thought he could use your help?”
Something flashed in the depths of her eyes. “Well, I’m guessing you think you could, too, considering you kept calling me.”
“Maybe,” he said. He crossed his arms, too. “I’m undercover, trying to find who’s been making payara. Yes, I wanted your input. But, no, that doesn’t mean I wanted you to barge in and snoop around. All I wanted was to go out for a simple coffee—”
“Because you’re so good at showing up for coffee.”
Yikes! She was still upset about that? Yes, he knew last time they’d spoken, months ago, he’d made plans to meet up with her at a diner. But then he’d gotten a new, immediate assignment and it had seemed easier just to leave than to go through the messiness of explaining he didn’t know when he’d be able to talk to her again. Looks like he’d made the wrong decision.
“I apologize for that. Standing you up was a mistake.” Asking her out in the first place had been an even bigger one. What had he been thinking? A woman like her was way out of his league, and the nature of his work made it all but impossible to form real relationships. “I could give you a long explanation, but it would all come down to the fact that I had a new case to start and had to disappear. If you want a longer explanation it will have to wait for another time. You’re a cop. I’m a cop. All that matters now is dealing with the mess we’re in.”
She didn’t answer, but she also didn’t argue. He took that as a signal to keep going.
“Yes, a baggie of payara was found in the hockey team locker room garbage can a few months ago,” he went on, talking as quickly as he could. “It contained thousands of dollars’ worth of pills. It’s like nothing our drug guys have ever seen before. And, as you know, a drug can’t be properly banned until its exact chemical compounds are analyzed and made illegal, which means anyone arrested for dealing it is at risk of bouncing. I’m told it feels like a superhigh burst of adrenaline and endorphins without a crash afterward, which makes it popular with students and athletes. Also makes people aggressive, highly suggestible and wrecks their impulse control.”
“So, it’s your job to figure out how the drugs ended up in a small little town like Bobcaygeon?” she asked.
“The opposite. Bobcaygeon is the source. We’ve never busted anyone with more than a few pills on them. So a great, big baggie-full turning up in a sports center locker room is the biggest break we’ve had
