Читать книгу Playing To Win - Taryn Taylor Leigh - Страница 12

4

AW, CRAP.

The footsteps were coming closer. Honestly. What were the odds? The bathroom had been deserted all day, and now someone decided to come in? Stupid hockey superstitions.

How could a bunch of grown men be this ridiculous? She was just wondering if perhaps there was a story in the naive belief wins and losses had anything to do with who used which freaking toilet, when her line of thought was interrupted by the “Charge” fanfare echoing off the tiled walls. The sudden burst of noise made her heart jump.

There was a muttered curse, followed by a hoarse, angry whisper: “Why are you calling me? It’s game day. You know I’m not alone.”

Her reporter instincts piqued, Holly abandoned all thoughts of superstitious nonsense and redirected her attention into eavesdropping.

“I’m very aware of that! But there’s only so much I can do.”

She frowned. She couldn’t distinguish the voice, despite all the interviews she’d conducted today. All she could tell was that whoever had her trapped in a bathroom stall didn’t have an accent. There were at least fourteen guys on the team proper who fit the bill. And that wasn’t including coaching staff, cleaning staff, anyone who—

“I know we have a deal!”

Whoa. Holly flinched at the anger in his voice. She glanced down at her stilettos. Could she climb up on the toilet quietly enough to not blow her cover? Because from that height, she could peek over the top of the stall and see who the guy on the phone was. Not an ideal solution, but at least it would give her a lead.

Excitement brewed in the pit of her stomach. Now this was a story. Sure, she’d resigned herself to her fate of asking moronic questions and wearing short skirts, but maybe this was going to turn out to be a right place, right time kind of serendipity. She lifted her knee to test how high she’d need to hike up said skirt to make the big step.

“No. No! You can trust me. I’ve got it under control. You’ll get your money’s worth. We’ll win tonight. Yes. By two. I got it.”

There was another loud curse and the sound of shoes slapping tile as the man stormed out. Holly did an about-face in the stall and unlatched the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man, but she saw nothing. Damn it, I missed him.

But there, in the middle of the tile floor beside the sinks, was a folded piece of yellow legal paper. Holly rushed over and picked it up. It was a list of letters and numbers in stark black ink. L2+, W2+, W1, W1, W2 and on it went. And suddenly the cryptic conversation made a lot more sense.

Well, well, well. It looked like someone was partaking in a little over/under betting. But who was stupid enough to do that?

Not only was it illegal for someone affiliated with a professional sports team to bet on themselves, but it would get you banned for life from the sport, and that was on top of whatever criminal prosecution was handed down. And to risk all that on point-shaving? It was dicey at best, because no one player had full control over a hockey game. And yet, if you were favored to win anyway, there were subtle things you could do to make the game a little closer than it needed to be. Someone could have gotten cocky.

The Storm had already weathered a scandal earlier in the season, when the not-so-secret affair between captain Chris Powell and GM Ron Lougheed’s trophy wife had become front page fodder. Lougheed and his soon-to-be-ex were currently fighting a pretty nasty custody battle in the courts—and in the media. This was the last thing the organization needed on its résumé, tainting its inaugural play-off run. But for Holly, it was perfect.

This was the windfall she’d been waiting for. Because breaking a story like this was the key to making herself the front-runner, not just for Corey Baniuk’s position, but an on-air sports position at almost any station in the country. It was a first-class ticket to reporter legitimacy. All she had to do was figure out who the guilty party was.

She liberated her phone from her bra—she’d had to stow it there earlier because skirt suits like this one didn’t come with pockets—and snapped a photo of the questionable list so she could inspect it more closely when she got home.

The key to a good investigation, her mother had told her once, was to let the action go on around you. If you disturbed things too early, you’d never get the answers you were looking for. To that end, she refolded the paper and placed it back where she’d found it.

It was the first time during this entire sham that Holly felt she might have made her mother proud.

Her head whipped around at the sound of a door swinging closed. Getting caught now would ruin everything.

She hurried back into the bathroom stall as quietly as her heels would allow. Was it her perp returning to the scene of the crime? Had he realized he’d dropped his list? Maybe this time she could catch a glimpse of whoever was striding into the bathroom.

She’d just pulled the stall door shut and was about to navigate her way up onto the toilet—no easy feat since there was only a toilet seat and no lid—when an indecipherable noise made her stop. There was a beat of dead silence, and then, “Holly, I know you’re in there. I can see your shoes.”

Busted.

She unlatched the door and did her best to appear sheepish. “Luke. Hey. I didn’t hear you come in. You look nice. When did you get a chance to change? I thought you were filming puck tricks with Jay.”

The surge of adrenaline at getting caught morphed into a surge of something else as she took in the sight of Luke Maguire looking big and handsome and powerful in the most beautifully tailored charcoal suit she’d ever seen. His silk tie was a deep plum and his blue eyes were flashing. “We finished up a while ago. I’ve already changed and done a pregame interview. Things move fast on game day. That’s why I thought you were gone.” He put particular stress on the last word.

Geez. How long had she been staring in that mirror? No wonder Paige was always late.

“Now maybe you can explain what the hell you’re doing in here?”

She shot him a look that was all smart-ass. “It’s a bathroom, Luke. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

He frowned at the joke, and she resisted the sudden urge to smooth his brow. Why was he so serious all the time?

“You need to get out of here, right now. Only the team can use the bathroom on game day.” If she wasn’t mistaken, he looked a little embarrassed when he explained. “It’s a good luck thing.”

“It’s a stupid thing,” she countered. “I’ll never understand why elite athletes aren’t more enlightened than medieval man.”

“Well, you don’t have to understand it. You just have to respect it. And keep your voice down! Guys are in and out of the dressing room this close to game time.” He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. “Jesus. Not even the cleaners are allowed in today. We’ve got to get you out of here before someone sees you. Come on.” He reached out to cup her elbow, an old-fashioned gesture that took her by surprise. Holly was dismayed at the way her skin thrilled at the warmth of his fingers, even through the sleeve of her blazer.

She shrugged her arm from his grasp, an act of self-preservation.

Luke sighed, obviously interpreting it as an act of defiance.

“Holly, you remember all that stupid stuff you asked me earlier? I gave you the benefit of the doubt and I answered all your dumb questions because you were just doing your job. Now I’m trying to do mine, and part of me doing my job is making sure my guys are ready to play. Focused. And if maintaining a stupid superstition is what it takes to ensure we bring our A game tonight, then that’s what I have to do. So do me a solid, okay? Even though it’s silly, and inconvenient and probably makes no difference at all, please let’s get out of here before anyone sees you?”

Holly had to look up at him, despite her four-inch heels and his lack of skates. When had he gotten so close? God, he was handsome, all tall and stubbly, his ocean-blue eyes pleading.

“Fine. Let’s—”

“Shit. Someone’s coming!”

Holly wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened, but suddenly she was chest to chest with Luke inside the tiny bathroom stall, made positively miniscule by his large frame. She heard the telltale footsteps a moment later.

Luke scooped her into his arms, one hand around her back, his other forearm under her knees. He’d literally swept her off her feet, and the suddenness of it stole her breath. Her arms flew around his neck in self-preservation, and she was vividly aware of every inch of her body, especially the parts of her that were plastered against his broad chest.

She could feel his muscles beneath his suit jacket, enough to tell that they were barely straining under her weight. She shot him her best “what the hell?” glare through the onslaught of yum, and he gestured with his chin in the direction of her feet.

“Your shoes. That’s how I knew you were in here.”

He breathed the words quietly, his mouth so close that she could feel the exhalation against the sensitive skin beneath her ear. It tickled, and she turned her head to protect her neck. Suddenly there was nothing but a fraction of an inch’s worth of air separating their lips.

His muscles flexed then, pulling her tighter to his chest and her breath came fast and shallow. Heat prickled over her skin and pooled in her belly. Her fingers clenched against the soft material of his jacket.

Holly had never experienced lust at first sight before, but man, Luke Maguire made her lust. She ran her hand up his chest, and he shifted his stance, but before their lips met, he banged his elbow against the stall. The thump reverberated through the bathroom, snapping them back into the present, and they froze, eyes wide.

They both cocked their heads toward the sink side of the stall, listening intently for any sign that they’d blown their cover.

After another moment of silence, Luke set her carefully on her feet. The lust hangover made Holly a little wobbly on her heels. He stepped forward and lifted onto his toes so he could see over the edge of the stall. “He’s gone,” he said, the words tinged with relief. They hadn’t even heard him retreat.

Holly unlatched the door, and with a covert glance to assure herself they were, in fact, alone, took some tentative steps toward the sink. She paused for a moment, but the piece of paper wasn’t on the floor, nor had it been kicked under the sink.

“No time for sightseeing, Evans.” Luke’s hand at the small of her back was warm and insistent. “Let’s get out of here before you get caught.”

They snuck back out to the dressing room, Holly letting Luke precede her so he could make sure the coast was clear. She wasn’t four steps out of the bathroom before several members of the team strutted into the dressing room, bedecked in expensive suits and pregame gravitas. Luke sent her a “See? You really lucked out,” kind of look.

Ass.

Then the “Charge” anthem sounded to her right. Holly’s spine snapped straight as she watched Luke fish his iPhone out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

He glanced at the caller ID and that serious expression of his descended over his handsome face like a shutter. Holly decided she might prefer his pompous expression after all.

“I gotta take this,” he said. She watched with interest as he turned away from her, shielding the call with his broad shoulders. “Why are you calling again? Seriously? Hold on.” Was it her imagination, or did Luke glance in her direction. “Let me get somewhere I can talk.”

The “Charge” fanfare? Why are you calling again? Pieces were falling into place and she didn’t particularly like the picture they were forming.

Had it been Luke in the bathroom earlier? She’d just assumed that whoever had inadvertently held the two of them hostage had come back for his list. But now that she thought about it, Luke had definitely had enough time to pick up the wayward paper before he’d gone all foot fetishist on her and blown her hiding place. That could be the reason he’d even noticed her shoes under the stall in the first place—he was bending over to pick up the list.

Holly strained to hear more of his conversation, but he pointedly disappeared back into the bathroom. To her dismay, there were too many team members in the swanky locker room now for her to follow. Still, the reporter buzz—that’s what her mother used to call it—was zinging around her gut. She was on to something. Obviously Luke’s regular deep baritone had sounded nothing like the whispered panic she’d heard earlier, but that ringtone was an indisputable clue, and one that she had to follow up on.

* * *

LUKE WALKED OVER to stand by the sinks, hating that his gaze went immediately to the stall he and Holly had hidden out in only moments ago.

But he couldn’t afford to be distracted by sex right now. Harding Lowe was the kind of law firm that charged in the triple digits for phone calls like these, and with money as tight as it was, Luke had to pay close attention and cut to the chase. “What’s so important?”

“I was going to wait until tomorrow to tell you this, but I’m worried it might hit the papers and I didn’t want you to find out like that,” Craig Harding informed him.

Luke’s blood turned to ice. It was never good when someone started a phone call that way, but when it was your lawyer? Infinitely worse.

“What?” The word was flat, more demand than question.

“Brad Timmons is filing for bankruptcy.”

Luke’s face went numb. The asshole who’d put Ethan in a wheelchair, put his parents in debt, strained his family to the emotional breaking point time after time over the last three years, was going to screw them over again.

“Fuck.”

The word echoed hollowly in the vast expanse of shiny white tile and empty navy stalls.

Luke wanted to punch something, but it wasn’t worth the fine the Storm would levy against him if he did.

Jesus Christ, how had things come to this? He made almost two million dollars a year with his new contract and still it was all he could do to keep himself and the people he loved financially afloat.

Loans, renovations, lawyers, specialists, physio—it had all added up after the accident. His paycheck was all but spent before it got deposited. He was grateful he had the means to keep his family living a comfortably middle-class life despite their exorbitant bills, but the idea that the coward who’d put his little brother in a wheelchair wasn’t going to have to contribute a dime to Ethan’s recovery made Luke nauseous.

Timmons had already lucked out with his criminal charges. He’d been convicted of assault with a weapon for the crosscheck, but ended up with an eighteen-month conditional discharge, which meant he hadn’t served any jail time and he wouldn’t have a criminal record once his probation was complete. Now he’d found a way to punk out on financial restitution, too.

“Thanks for the heads-up, Craig. I’ll take care of telling my family.”

“Understood. I’ll be in touch.”

Luke hung up the phone. He would deal with the personal stuff later. Right now, he had to focus on his team. They were only two hours away from puck drop.

He reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit, exchanging his phone for a folded-up piece of yellow legal paper. He’d found it on the floor of the bathroom and recognized instantly what it was. That 5–0 loss had been brutal. The fact that it was predetermined made it cut even deeper. Luke shook his head against the proof clutched in his hand.

He couldn’t believe any of his guys would do this. They’d battled too hard to get to where they were.

And yet...the entire premise of point-shaving and over/under betting was predicated on having an inside man, someone out there on the ice who could impact the game.

This was the last thing they needed right now. He’d only just put this team back together after losing their last captain in a blaze of scandal and lies. It had taken months of work to get all twenty-three players over the shake-up and focused on making the play-offs.

And look at them now.

The only bright spot in this rotten situation was that he’d been the one to find the betting sheet. At least this way he could deal with it internally—protect his team.

He didn’t even want to think about how this would have played out if Holly had found it instead. She could’ve ruined their chance at winning the championship before it even began.

And he wanted that championship, not just for himself but for the team.

Each and every one of those guys deserved to hoist sports’ greatest trophy above their heads, and he’d do whatever it took to make sure that happened.

For them. For himself. For his brother.