Читать книгу Undercover Holiday Fiancée - Maggie K. Black - Страница 13

THREE

Trent raised both hands above his head.

“I’m Coach Travis Henri,” he said, giving his undercover name. “I’m the Trillium College hockey coach. Who are you?”

“Constable Nicole Docker.” She didn’t even blink. “Hands behind your head.”

Trent held his tongue and complied, letting her cuff his hands behind his back and then lead him into the main foyer. With each step he fought the urge to remind her that she hadn’t told him what he was being charged with or informed him of his rights. It was his job to figure out where the drugs were coming from. Incompetent cops weren’t his problem. Not unless they were making or selling payara.

“Constable, let him go!” an authoritative voice barked to their right, accompanied by the sharp sound of footsteps. Trent looked up. A tall, uniformed man in his late sixties was striding down the hallway. It was Staff Sergeant Frank Butler. “And get those ridiculous handcuffs off him!”

Trent watched the staff sergeant approach as the female officer removed his cuffs. Butler was an elder by cop standards, with short-cropped white hair, a healthy outdoor tan and the kind of athletic build that looked like he could easily take on men a third of his age and win. But he was jittery, too, with a slight but telltale shake to his limbs that Trent usually associated with people who had something to hide. “It’s Coach Henri, from Trillium, right?” he said.

Trent nodded. “That’s me.”

“I’m Frank Butler, Brandon’s grandfather,” the staff sergeant said. He stretched out his hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced.”

The handshake was a little too firm and Trent couldn’t help but notice that Constable Nicole Docker had seemingly evaporated.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Trent said. Despite nodding to each other at hockey games, Trent and the staff sergeant had never actually had much of a conversation. That was on purpose. Trent had learned long ago that when he was trying to maintain a cover, the less time he spent talking to local cops the better.

“I apologize for all that.” Butler frowned. “I imagine that was your first time in handcuffs. Must’ve been quite the shock to the system.”

Trent laughed. It was a safe, noncommittal response. He’d been handcuffed and arrested more times than he could count. It had usually been as part of his undercover work. But the first couple of times he’d been an out-of-control teen, just on the edge of the Wolfspiders gang’s grasp and dealing with the fact that his twelve-year-old sister had been killed when he’d failed to show up to walk her home from school.

“They were under orders to be on the lookout for someone matching your description,” Butler continued. “We saw someone in a mask and mistakenly thought it was a threat. But Detective Brant explained that it was all just a silly misunderstanding and that you’d been trying to help. Next time, keep your head down, stay out of trouble and leave matters to the professionals, all right?”

“Understood,” Trent said. He wondered if there was a reason Butler was pushing him away from the case, beside the fact that he presumed he was a civilian. “Brandon and the other third-line players got out okay?”

“They did, thankfully,” Butler said. “Thank you for telling them to hide.”

“You must’ve been worried sick,” Trent said.

“To be honest, I had no idea he was even in there until he came running out the front door. The young men are saying you stayed behind to fight the gang members?”

“Well, they jumped me, so I fought them off the best I could.” Trent chuckled self-consciously. “Guess my inner hockey brawler came out. I was a bit of a fighter in my youth. Not the kind of stuff I’d ever tolerate from my players, but handy in a situation like that. My dad always said I was all instinct and no common sense. Told me I’d get myself killed one day.”

That was more truth than he liked admitting, but he’d always believed truth made the best cover. His dad was a farmer who hadn’t quite known how to handle his second eldest son. What he’d actually told him, more times than Trent could count, was that if he didn’t learn to take a breath instead of flying off the handle, he’d get himself or somebody else killed. Then, a teenaged Trent would come within an inch of shouting back, “You mean like I killed my sister?” before running off and doing something stupid like punching a hole in the barn wall.

He shook off the ugly memory.

“One of the masked men asked me if I knew where he could score some drugs,” Trent added. “The name sounded a bit like ‘pariah’ or ‘piranha.’ But, like I told him, I honestly have no idea what that stuff is made of, let alone where to get it.”

“Just remember to leave things like that to the police in the future,” Butler said again. “The last thing we need is civilians running around the place trying to be heroes. Now, if you can please head outside, somebody will take your statement.”

Dismissed, Trent walked outside. Cold, wet air hit him like a wave. The sun would be rising soon, but snow was now pelting down in sheets. Emergency vehicles and camera crews filled the parking lot. People huddled together in pockets around a tall fir tree decked in Christmas lights. They were so shrouded by winter gear and emergency blankets he could barely tell who was who. More specifically, he couldn’t see Chloe anywhere.

A slender hand came out of nowhere, grabbing him firmly by the arm and pulling him under an overhang. He blinked. Chloe had pulled the furry hood of a jacket up over her head. It framed her face perfectly and made her look years younger. Wisps of red hair flew around her face. The overall effect was kind of adorable.

“You infuriate me, Henry,” Chloe said. “You really do. You’ve been calling me for days and you didn’t once think to mention what you were calling me about? Why were you even calling me if you didn’t want me involved with this investigation?”

He was beginning to think it might actually have been because he’d missed her.

“I told you,” he said. “I’m undercover at your old college. Bobcaygeon is your hometown. You worked with Butler and you live half an hour from here.”

“Trillium is not my college.” She frowned. “It’s just a community college I happened to go to, before getting into the police academy. Bobcaygeon is not my hometown and owning a house somewhere I crash at between cases isn’t the same as living there.”

Well, obviously that bothered her. But he had no idea why. “So, you’re not from here, then?”

“I thought you knew me better than that, Cop Boy. I’m not from anywhere.”

“Cop Boy? I can’t call you Lady Cop, but you can call me Cop Boy?” Despite himself, she’d just made him laugh. Yeah, he had missed her. He’d missed this. The light teasing. The verbal sparring. The sense that he always had to be on his toes around her. “How can you possibly be from nowhere? Everyone’s from somewhere.”

“Not me. My little sister, Olivia, and I grew up in the back of a station wagon, squished between suitcases. I don’t know if our dad’s intentionally a con artist, or just the kind of man who’s really good at temporarily hiding the fact that he’s a jerk and convincing people he’s good at things he’s not. But he has the kind of attitude problem that makes him think that nobody is ever treating him well enough. His charm makes him great at landing jobs. But his sense of entitlement makes him terrible at keeping them.

“So we’d land somewhere new, get settled in, live there for a few months, and then he’d get into an argument with someone and back into the station wagon we’d go. Bobcaygeon happened to be where I was for the last three months of high school and I entered Trillium because moving twice in grade twelve had killed my ability to get a student loan for university. That doesn’t mean I belonged here.”

That had been a defensive monologue he hadn’t expected. What had gotten under her skin? “Then why do you own a house half an hour from here?”

“When my mother finally decided she’d had enough of my father, she had no bank account of her own and a divorce lawyer wasn’t much help in taking half of my father’s nothing. She begged me to cosign on a mortgage for her. So I did. I was twenty-two.” She crossed her arms. “A few years ago, she decided she wanted to move into a retirement building in Southern Ontario, so I took over the mortgage. I tend to rent a place wherever I’m working, so I just use it as a place to crash and leave my stuff. I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about and expect you’re in the same boat.”

The huge warm Henry family farmhouse where he’d be celebrating Christmas dinner swept into his mind unbidden. He could almost feel the warmth of the fire in the living room, smell the hay in the barn and hear the rattle of cutlery and the babble of voices in the dining room as his parents and three brothers passed dishes around. No, he knew exactly what it was like to be from somewhere. He also knew what it was like to feel like he didn’t really belong there. He blinked and the thought was gone, replaced with the pale light, snow and Chloe’s eyes on his face.

“I hear you,” he said, waiting for his mind to catch up with his words. “But, like I told you, I’m on borrowed time. My cover was never supposed to drag out this long and is now nearing its expiration date. I have to figure out who’s making the stuff. That means finding who’s selling it, and I’ve spent three months completely failing to make the kind of inroads I need to with these students.”

“Hey, Officer Brant!” a female voice shouted. They turned. It was Poppy, an outspoken and dark-haired student he vaguely knew from one of his classes. She was running across the parking lot, dragging Hodge, one of his third-line players, after her.

“Poppy!” A smile filled Chloe’s face. “Glad to see you got out okay.”

“Yeah. Johnny and I piled some weights up against the door, and we stayed low until the police came for us.” She propelled Hodge forward.

Trent couldn’t help but notice that the young man wasn’t exactly smiling. Jeremy Hodgekins, better known as “Hodge,” was a giant, with a sturdy six-foot-three frame and a bright future, if he could figure out how to stay out of trouble long enough to make it through college. As far as Trent knew, he was the only member of Third Line to ever find himself in the back of a police cruiser, but only for throwing punches and nothing that had earned him more than a warning. “This is Hodge.”

“Hey,” the young man said. “Thanks for your help.”

“No problem,” Chloe said. “It was a team effort. Your coach really saved our lives and had our backs.”

Hodge didn’t look convinced.

See, this was Trent’s problem. He could walk into any dangerous and dingy bar in the country and demand immediate respect because people knew in a glance what he was capable of. But these students? He’d never give them a reason to fear him and they’d never have a reason to trust him. Poppy whispered something in Hodge’s ear. He ran his eyes over Chloe.

“Yeah, maybe,” Hodge said. He nodded to Trent. “That’s your fiancée, right? The one whose picture you showed us. Aidan thinks so, anyway. Why didn’t you tell us you were marrying a cop?”

Heat rose to the back of Trent’s neck. He forced a grin on his face and didn’t meet Chloe’s eye.

“Well, like I told you guys, she works in northern Ontario,” Trent said. “But she came through when I needed her.”

Hodge nodded like that was enough of an explanation. The students wandered back into the crowd. Trent turned to Chloe. “I can explain—”

“You don’t need to,” Chloe said quickly. “You’re undercover. You used an old picture of me as a prop for your cover identity. It makes perfect sense.”

Did it? There was something he couldn’t quite place in her tone. Then again, something about being this close to Chloe threw his radar off.

“I just hope the fact that they now know I’m a cop won’t hurt your cover,” she added.

So did he. He took a deep breath and prayed. Lord, You’ve been the one consistent presence through everyone I’ve ever been or pretended to be. I asked You for help. Is Chloe showing up Your answer?

“We can work with it,” he said. “I need that cell phone, and I could honestly use a second brain on this case. I used that old fake-engagement picture of us taken on the gondola at Blue Mountain to bolster my cover. It was an impulse more than a grand plan, but now that you’re here, we can use it to our advantage.

“You’ll go undercover for one day as my fiancée. Tomorrow’s the twenty-third and the last day of school before the holidays. It’s the last hockey game before Christmas, too. I’ll take you to the college with me, then we can do the team dinner and you can come to the game. Maybe you’ll spot something I’ve missed. Coach Henri is a big softy, so you’ll probably want to play your cover as sweet, cute and kind of gushing. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only option I can think of and I’m not up for complications right now. So, how about it, Detective? You willing to pretend to be crazily into me in exchange for an official assist on this case?”

Her lips parted. A look floated in her eyes that was so raw the only word he could think to describe it was personal. She looked at him like they weren’t just two cops—one provincial and one federal—who sometimes worked together on joint assignments. No, she was looking at him like they were close friends or even former sweethearts, and like he’d once done something to hurt her. Then she blinked. The look was gone. “Thanks, but no. I appreciate why you used my picture for your cover. But I’m not looking to go undercover with you like that again.”

What? He thought she’d wanted in on this case. All she had to do was to pretend to be in a relationship with him for a day.

“I know it’s not ideal. But my cover is already set and there’s only so much I can change at this point. Plus, we’ve pretended to be a couple before. We play those roles well.”

Maybe even a little too well. There’d been a moment at the end of the last case where he’d almost wished he’d had an excuse to drag it out a little longer, which is what had led to him asking her out for coffee. “It will only be for a day. Just one day. After that, you’ll take the ring off your finger again and we’ll go our separate ways.”

But Chloe was still shaking her head. Then she reached into her pocket, pulled out the cell phone and pressed it into his hand. “Here. Take it. I’m off duty and you identified yourself as the lead officer on the scene. If you need me to write a report about what happened tonight, get someone to contact my superior officer.”

This was unbelievable. The Chloe he knew was tenacious. But here she was just handing him her only leverage and leaving. “But I thought you wanted to be in on this case!”

“So did I.” Her hand brushed his shoulder, sending odd and unexpected shivers up his spine. “But I think I was wrong. Take care of yourself, Trent. I really hope this works out well for you.”

His mouth opened but he couldn’t think of any words to fill it. Chloe was walking away and he didn’t know what to say or how to stop her. The phone was in his possession. He’d just won the argument. So why did it feel like he’d just lost something much more important than that?

* * *

Chloe’s cell rang. Headlights shone against her living room window, filling it with a brief flash of light. Then the glass went dark again. She sat up and looked out. Snow beat against the pane. Wind shook the glass. The clock read a quarter to seven in the morning. She picked up her cell and glanced at it to see a missed a call from a blocked number. It had to be Trent. But he was the last person she wanted to talk to right now. It was bad enough she’d just turned down the opportunity to work on the payara case and mitigate the damage an investigation into Butler could do to her career, the last thing she wanted was to try to explain to him why.

He’d asked her to pretend she had feelings for him.

Chloe sighed and lay back on the couch. She’d been wired after leaving the sports center. She hadn’t spotted Butler at all after walking away from Trent, so she hadn’t had the opportunity to really talk to him except for the few rushed words they’d exchanged in the moments after she’d first run out the sports center. The brief conversation she’d had at the scene with a rookie female officer named Nicole Docker hadn’t told her much of anything. So she’d gone for a drive, then shopping and finally a long walk through the woods surrounding her rural, country house.

All the while she’d felt the problem of Trent and the payara investigation moving through her mind like the tumblers of a lock she couldn’t quite open. When she’d told him she wanted in on the investigation, she’d envisioned something strictly professional—something that wouldn’t involve staring longingly into his eyes while he pretended he had feelings for her.

But something about standing there with him in the early morning light as he’d asked her to act like she was crazy about him had sent her heart pounding like she was cresting the top of a roller coaster without knowing how big the drop was on the other side. She was done with chaos and the men who caused it. Working undercover with Trent was like eating a six-scoop ice-cream sundae with whipped cream, bananas, caramel and chocolate drizzle. It was an incredible thrill, which made her feel like she was working at the very top of her game. That was, until he’d left her sitting alone in a coffee shop wondering how she’d fooled herself into thinking he actually cared.

Her fake engagement ring from their last undercover mission lay on the coffee table. She’d dug it out of her jewelry box when she’d gotten home and wasn’t quite sure why she’d bothered keeping it, considering it was probably only worth a few dollars and she’d never be able to wear it without thinking of Trent. She picked it up and twirled it around in her fingers. It was a heavy, solid ring inlaid with intricate strands of imitation diamonds and emeralds. It felt expensive. Not that she believed for a moment it was anything more than a good piece of costume jewelry. When Trent had given it to her at the start of their last assignment, he told her he’d fished it out of a mud puddle at a truck stop.

Headlights moved past her window for a second time. She looked out. It was a dark pickup. Was it the same driver passing twice or just a coincidence? Her cell phone buzzed again, and this time her sister’s contact picture flashed on the screen. She dropped the ring and answered it. “Olivia! Hi!”

“Chloe!” Her sister’s voice was breathless, almost flustered. “Hi! I hope this isn’t too early. Abby’s been teething. Molars, I think. So time has lost all meaning.”

“No problem. Now is perfect.” Besides, she was thankful to have something to replace the dangerously attractive picture of Trent that still floated at the edges of her mind. Instead she thought about Olivia. Five years younger and almost a foot shorter, both Olivia and her one-year-old Abigail had the same startling green eyes and red hair that Chloe had. A journalist, Olivia lived with her bodyguard husband, Daniel, two hours away. “Everything okay?”

“You asked me to let you know if I heard anything about Staff Sergeant Butler’s OPP division in Bobcaygeon. There was a major gang shooting there yesterday—”

“I know.” Chloe cut her off. “I was there. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

Olivia’s voice froze midstream as it switched tone between journalist and sister. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Chloe said. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier. Can we talk off the record?”

“Okay. But just so you know, the newspaper will be launching a major investigation into rumors that Butler botched a drug investigation. We’ll be starting it the first week of January. We’ve been hearing it from several sources and this gang violence has given us a pretty strong hook.”

“Got it.” Chloe blew out a long breath. Torchlight News would be thorough and fair. And Chloe could no more ask Olivia not to run a news story than Olivia could ask her not to investigate a crime. “I saw Trent Henry.”

“Wow,” Olivia said. “And?”

“He asked me to help him out on an undercover case.”

“You said yes, didn’t you?” Olivia sighed. “Clo, you’ve got a rescue complex.”

“No, I don’t.” True, there’d been a time when a simple phone call from her sister would be enough to make her drop everything and rush to help her, because her sister wasn’t as strong and steady as she was. But Olivia had Daniel now, plus a whole team of bodyguards who worked for him.

“So says the woman trying to save her former training officer’s career,” Olivia countered.

“That’s different. Butler trained me. I owe him some loyalty for that. Not to mention it won’t exactly be great for my career if he’s thrown under the bus.”

Although seeing how little faith Trent apparently had in Butler was worrying.

“I told Trent no. I don’t need the headache of Trent Henry right now. I mean, I’d like in on the specific investigation. I can’t go into any details on what it’s about, obviously. It would be great for helping me land that promotion. But Trent said it would mean posing as his fiancée and when he said that something inside me just balked. Something about pretending to be dating Trent wrecks me emotionally every time. Plus, I don’t want him thinking he can just sweep into my life, disrupting everything, whenever he thinks he needs me and then just disappear again.” She liked order. Trent was chaos. And, if she did have a rescue complex, it was clear Trent didn’t want to be rescued.

“But you like him,” Olivia said. “And he likes you.”

“So? We’re not teenagers. I’m not picking a buddy to do a book report with. And even if I was, Trent’s the kind of guy who’d ditch class the day the report was due because he suddenly had something else come up.”

“You could bring him for Christmas dinner,” Olivia said. “It’s going to be a big shindig. We’re inviting all of Daniel’s Ash Security colleagues and their partners. Both Josh and Alex are newlyweds. Zoe’s fiancé has two amazing daughters. Abby adores them.”

Was her sister even listening to what she was saying? It was like she was having a completely different conversation.

“Trent Henry is the last person I can imagine sitting around a table at Christmas dinner,” Chloe said. “He doesn’t want a relationship with me. He wants to pretend to have a relationship with me when it suits him, and then walk out of my life without saying goodbye.”

She couldn’t begin to get her head around why that was so much trouble for her heart. She just knew that it was.

“What do you want?” Olivia pressed.

“A cast-iron heart that he can’t even dent,” she said. Headlights flickered past her window for a third time. She tossed the blanket off and stood. It was the same truck. “I’ve got to go. Just pray for me, okay? And I’ll see you at Christmas.”

“Will do.”

The call ended. Chloe shoved her feet into boots and yanked her arms through the sleeves of her jacket. It was probably nothing. But she’d slip through the woods by the road and watch for the truck to drive by again, just in case, and then search the plates.

She opened the door. It flew back instantly, knocking her hard in the chest and throwing her off balance. A large man—huge, bald and shrouded in winter clothes—shoved his way into her living room, kicking the door closed behind him. Her hands rose to protect herself. But it was too late.

He pushed her down onto the couch, tossing her like a rag doll. One hand clenched her throat. The other held a handgun to her cheek.

“I don’t know what your game is,” the man hissed. “But you took a cell phone off a Gulo yesterday, and you’re going to give it to me.”