“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.
5
“WE’LL WIN TONIGHT. Yes. By two.”
The words still echoed in Holly’s brain, hours after the final buzzer had sounded.
The Storm had handled their opponents with relative ease tonight, up 3–0 after two periods. Then at the start of the third, Sillinger had taken a bone-headed roughing penalty, Luke had fumbled the puck and failed to clear the zone, and seconds later, LaCroix had lost his chance for a shutout.
For a while, things settled down a bit, until Colorado scored to make it 3–2 with seven minutes left in the game. Things were looking grim for the list’s prediction, and then Jacobs came out of nowhere, stripping one of his opponent’s defensemen of the puck. He deked out the goaltender and put a wrister top-shelf to make the final score 4–2.
And the Storm won by two with eight seconds left in the game.
“You’ll get your money’s worth.”
The eavesdropped whisper haunted her.
It could just be coincidence, she reminded herself. It wasn’t like 4–2 was an outlandish hockey score. And this was the first prediction on the list that had come true. She had nothing but suspicion at this point. Still, the words were on her mind as she conducted post-game interviews with the guys.
“Hi, everyone. This is Holly Evans of the Women’s Hockey Network, reporting live from the Storm’s dressing room after a big 4–2 win over Colorado tonight. I’m with Portland defenseman Doug Kowalchuk.” She turned and held her mic in his direction.
“Doug, what do you think of the new jersey colors?”
On the ice, the burly D-man was a force to be reckoned with, but off ice, he reminded her of a big cartoon bear—imposing but nonthreatening. His grin was goofy and genuine. “They’re great. Red and black is a really classic combination, you know?”
Holly couldn’t quite mask the withering look on her face at his answer. She hoped Jay had zoomed in on the navy and teal jersey behind Doug instead of her face. Seriously, this was her life now?
“No, Doug. Not New Jersey’s colors—I meant the Storm’s redesigned jerseys.”
“Oh right. Yeah. They’re awesome. Go Storm!”
Holly forced a smile as she turned back to the camera. She could see Jay’s shoulders shaking with laughter. “You heard it here, folks. Go Storm!”
When she was sure the camera was off, she let out a frustrated sigh.
“You’re doing great,” Jay assured her. “Who’s next?”
Holly glanced around the scrum in the dressing room. She’d been hoping to sneak in an interview with anyone who’d made a direct contribution—be it positive or negative—to the final score tonight. She wanted to get an idea of their demeanors, a sense of their moods. But unfortunately, all four players that had risen to the top of her list—Eric, J.C., Luke and the rookie—were all big draws for reporters and had press queued up and waiting for them.
“I think we’ve got enough. Kowalchuk’s was interview number five, and I’ll do some highlight voice-overs later to cut with it. They only wanted a three-minute piece about the game, right?”
Jay nodded as he removed the camera from the tripod. “Yeah, that should be plenty.”
“Okay. I’ll catch you in about half an hour.”
“Sure thing, Holly.”
Now that she was off duty, she angled her way through the bustling dressing room toward the crowd around Eric Jacobs. He was known to be a little shy and incredibly humble considering the breadth of his talent, but he was always exceedingly polite to reporters and smiled easily. Holly hadn’t seen him smile once tonight.
She listened in as Corey Baniuk asked Eric about his spectacular goal, but the handsome centerman seemed disinterested in the recap, a little tired maybe.
And though he made the Storm’s PR department proud by saying all the right things—“Colorado played a great game and were worthy opponents,” “I saw an opportunity and fortunately I was able to capitalize on it,” “I couldn’t have done it without my teammates”—there was none of the quiet intensity that he usually brought to an interview and his gaze wandered, like he was preoccupied.
Then the “Charge” anthem played, and panic flashed across Eric’s handsome face. He turned away from the cameras and microphones being shoved in his direction and dug his phone out of the pocket of his jacket.
What the...? Eric and Luke have the same ringtone?
Eric’s expression darkened when he glanced at the caller ID, as if he was expecting bad news from whomever was on the line. “Excuse me, please, I have to take this,” he said to the group of reporters.
After Eric left, the reporters dissipated quickly, rushing off to grab quotes from other players before their allotted time in the dressing room was up.
Holly pulled out her phone and typed her observations into the memo she�
�d titled SUSPECTS. This investigation was the key to parlaying this farcical job into something she could be proud of, and every clue counted. To prove it, she added a note about the dark circles under Eric’s eyes and the fact that his last-minute goal corresponded to the +2 win predicted by the list. And the ringtone, obviously.
“Texting or ‘Candy Crush’?”
Holly started, almost dropping her phone at the sound of a voice so close behind her. “Oh, geez. Luke, you scared me!”
He jutted his chin in the direction of her phone. “Your thumbs were really burning up the keyboard.”
She tucked the phone back in her bra, trying not to notice that his eyes tracked her hand, making the move feel far more suggestive than she’d meant it. “Oh, you know. Reporter notes,” she said vaguely, hoping she was pulling off nonchalance. “So what’s the story with the matching ringtones? You and Eric have some kind of ‘linemates for life’ pact or something?”
“Team building. Everyone on the team is using it, kind of a ‘keep hockey your top priority during the play-offs’ type of thing.”
“Your idea.” It wasn’t really a question so much as a statement. That was exactly the type of hands-on captaincy she expected from the man standing beside her. And also a huge hit to finding her guilty party, since it put everyone on the team back on the suspect list.
“Yes.”
“That’s great! Do you mind if I talk about that in the piece we’re putting together? People love fun little details like that.”
“Sure. I know you’re all about the fun little details,” he said pointedly.
Man, he was tenacious. Even after the sexually charged moment in the bathroom stall earlier, he wasn’t about to let her off the hook. Holly had to admit, she liked that about him. And she really liked that this battle of wills they had going on made her feel as if he was talking to the real Holly Evans, not the persona she’d agreed to play. It restored her faith in men to see that Luke Maguire wasn’t about to be derailed by some off-the-charts sexual tension. For the first time all evening, her smile was completely genuine.
“Well, I should probably go help Jay pack up. Good game tonight.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
His candor stopped her.
It really hadn’t been, but while she admired his honesty, she wasn’t going to get tricked into revealing her cover. He might be a worthy opponent—his entire life was predicated on it—but when she put her mind to something, she wasn’t to be underestimated.
Except in this case, she reminded herself, since her entire goal was to convince him to underestimate her. To that end, she scrunched her face in a way she hoped might convey bewilderment. “What? But you guys won. Aren’t you happy?”
“It’ll do,” he said simply.
“Well, I thought you guys were awesome.” She couldn’t tell if he was buying her enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, his big sweaty body and mussed-up helmet hair were making her remember those stolen moments in the bathroom earlier.
Focus, Holly! She made a point to slow her steps to a reasonable pace as she walked away, even though her thoughts continued to race.
Luke cared about his team. That was obvious. The question was, did he care enough about them to cheat? For some reason, Holly hoped that her investigation turned up nothing incriminating. At least, not on Luke Maguire.
* * *
LUKE WATCHED HOLLY walk away.
Normally, he would have been glad for the team’s win, but since it had come at the price of the list being correct, he wasn’t able to let himself enjoy it.
And Holly had sidled right up to Eric, the one who’d fulfilled the list’s prophecy.
Luke had planned on talking to the centerman, too. Eric had seemed really down lately—quiet as ever, but in a different way. Like something was wrong. Like his heart wasn’t in the game.
What were the odds that Holly “I’m not that into hockey” Evans had randomly chosen Eric to target... Luke didn’t like the way their instincts were lining up. And her whole demeanor had changed when she thought no one was watching—the set of her shoulders, the look in her eye. It was as though she’d flipped the switch from bubbly to...almost predatory.
He recognized that look. It was the one reporters always gave him before they sank their teeth into him. The way they’d looked after Ethan got hurt. The way they’d come at the team after Chris Powell had been traded. Luke had learned many times over that you couldn’t trust anyone whose livelihood depended on uncovering secrets.
So he’d circled up behind Holly, trying to see what she’d been typing so furiously. But she’d bobbled her phone when he’d spoken, and he hadn’t managed a good look at the screen.
And then she’d turned to him, a little bit breathless, slightly flushed, and his hormones had surged like they had back in that bathroom stall. His objectivity had been effectively drowned in a tidal wave of good old-fashioned lust.
“What’s up, Mags?”
Luke looked over at goaltender Jean-Claude LaCroix. Despite a long history together in the minor leagues, it wasn’t until Luke had been traded to the Portland Storm after Ethan’s accident that the two of them had really cultivated a friendship.
“Hey, J.C. Nothing. Just trying to get the inside scoop on what stupid interview questions we’ll be enduring tomorrow. Because distraction is just what a team in play-offs needs,” he added. The bitterness that laced his voice was genuine.
“Ha. Yeah, she’s pretty hot, huh? If you’re gonna be distracted, she’s the way to do it.”
Luke’s head whipped toward his friend. He didn’t like the way that comment bothered him. It felt almost like...jealousy? “Do you trust her?”
J.C. seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “What’s to trust, man?”
“You don’t think she’s up to something? As if she’s putting on an act so she can snoop around?”
“Luke, be serious. Her latest question was, ‘name the last show you binge watched.’ I really doubt there’s much to worry about here,” J.C. told him. “Management hired her to be comic relief. Ask us softball questions to make us look charming and funny so we can sell more jerseys. It’s not as if she’s a real reporter.”
“I guess. But doesn’t it seem odd to you that someone with no apparent hockey knowledge would even bother to apply for this position?”
His friend chuckled. “Dude, she’s a YouTube phenomenon looking to cash in on her fifteen minutes. And management is taking advantage of it. Don’t overthink it.”
“You’re probably right.” Luke frowned. “I just can’t shake this feeling that she’s more of a reporter than anyone gives her credit for.”
“We all have enough trouble without searching for more. So keep your focus on the game and forget about this inconsequential stuff. We tanked the first game. Tonight we were out for redemption. There’s a lot of series left. Keep your eye on the prize.”
Luke nodded. J.C. was right. But for some reason, he couldn’t get Holly out of his mind.
He wanted to see her again. He wasn’t quite sure when it had happened, but he realized in that moment that sparring with her had become the best part of his day.
6
“CAN I TALK to you for a sec?”
Holly looked up from her notes about her latest piece—she was headed to the parking lot so the Storm players could answer silly questions and show off their sweet rides—to find J.C., hands shoved in his pockets, looking sheepish.
“Is this car tour optional? Because I’d rather not do it.”
“Oh. You mean, ever? Or did you just want me to reschedule?”
“I mean ever. I just...there’s some family stuff going on right now. I know you usually don’t get through the whole roster when you’re doing interviews, so I was hoping you could skip me for the car t
our today. I’m happy to do the other part—the teammate question stuff.”
“Okay, that’s fine. I can pick someone else.”
The relief on his face was almost comical, except that it was a little too extreme for someone who’d just dodged the fluffiest interview of all time.
“LaCroix! Quit flirting and go do your tour so the rest of us can get on with ours.”
The rest of her interviewees were milling about the dressing room, waiting to head outside with her.
“Bite me, Kowalchuk. I’m not doing the car stuff.”
“Ha! Of course you’re wussing out!” Sillinger laughed. “Have you seen the piece of crap he’s driving lately? Some low-end, old-man SUV. It’s almost as bad as Luke’s truck!”
“You got rid of the Porsche?” Luke sounded genuinely surprised to hear. Weird, considering he and J.C. seemed quite close. Holly made a mental note to add J.C.’s vehicle downgrade to his suspect file.
“Back off, guys. You do your interviews and let me do mine.”
There was a bite to the usually affable goaltender’s voice, and judging by the looks on his teammates’ faces, Holly knew she wasn’t the only one who found it odd.
Sillinger wasn’t cowed. “Hey, don’t take it out on us just because you’re cruising around town in an old guy’s ride.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes you gotta make sacrifices. Dads have to think about safety, not flash.”
There was a long moment of silence as the not-quite-an-announcement sank in. Luke was the first to wade into the breach.
“Tania’s pregnant? Congratulations, man! That’s great!” Luke and J.C. shook before Luke pulled him in for a laudatory slap on the back.
“Yeah. Not quite the plan, but what are you gonna do?”
Holly watched as the Storm gathered around their goalie, congratulating him on the big news. A new baby on the way. That was a pretty good reason to sell your sports car, she supposed. Guess she didn’t need to update the suspect file after all. Maybe she could score an exclusive on potential baby names, though...
Playing to Win Page 5
