Undercover Holiday Fiancée. Maggie K. Black
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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 here looking for payara!” The Gulo holding Trent hostage raised his voice. “Tell us where the lab is and who’s been making it. Or I’m gonna shoot your coach between the eyes.”
Trent gritted his teeth and prayed. Chloe’s feet kicked futilely in the air as her attacker lifted her higher over the railing. If only he’d solved this case earlier, none of this would’ve ever happened and Chloe wouldn’t be in this position.
God, please, don’t let Chloe die because of my failure.
Then a scream, bordering on a warrior yell, filled the air above him as Chloe flew backward over the railing.
Chloe’s body tumbled through the air. She tucked her head into her knees, braced herself for impact and aimed for the huge mountain of stuffed toys. The second she’d felt herself about to go over the railing she’d kicked the gang member in the chest with both feet and launched herself out of his hands. If that criminal had been so determined to force her backward, she was going to take charge of the moment. Life had taught her that much. She couldn’t always control whether or not she was going to fall. But she could control how she landed.
Her body hit the mound of fluffy stuffed animals, just like a kid cannonballing into a ball pit, sending toys flying. She gasped a prayer. Then she reached for her pocket and breathed a sigh of relief. She still had the Gulo’s cell phone.
She pushed her way up through the mound and looked at Trent. He was still down on his knees, with the barrel of a gun against his skin, and his face pale as he scanned for her. Her gaze met his and a visible wave of relief swept over him.
But still she could read the question floating in his blue eyes.
She nodded, feeling the sliver of a smile brush her lips.
He grinned and turned back to the Gulo, who was staring at Chloe in shock. Trent struck. With one quick motion, Trent snapped the gun out of his hand so quickly the gang member gasped in shock.
Chloe grinned. Yeah, there was nothing quite like seeing Trent in fighter mode. Too bad she couldn’t afford the time to stick around and watch. She tumbled from the stuffed animals. Toys cascaded across the floor. She allowed herself just one more glimpse of Trent’s strong form now fighting for all their lives against not one but two Gulos. Her fighting style was precise and tactical, based on an understanding of anatomy and physics. But Trent was a blistering force, all power and instinct.
She rolled to the platform and peered under. Four pairs of stunned