“Aidan’s the center. He’s a good guy and a natural leader. The rest of the guys would follow him anywhere. He’s at Trillium on a full scholarship and when his grades started slipping he couldn’t keep up Eli’s demands to stay in the first line. He lives with his mother and I get the impression that money’s a big problem for them.”
“A big enough problem that he’d sell payara to keep a roof over his mom’s head?” Chloe asked. She was typing notes on her phone. He was amazed her thumbs could move that fast.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But he’s a genuinely good guy, so he’d have to be pretty desperate.”
“Any female friend or girlfriend who could be Trilly?”
“Not that I know of. Not that I claim to know everything about the players’ social lives. Brandon is the only Third Line player with a sister.”
“You mean Lucy.” Chloe’s smile tightened. “You think she’s Trilly and the man she’s protecting is her brother, Brandon, or Frank himself? Because she didn’t sound like she was talking about a grandfather.”
“No, she didn’t,” he admitted. Not that it wouldn’t tie things in a neat and tidy package if Trilly had been calling about the uncomfortably anxious staff sergeant. “To be honest, Brandon is a good guy, too. He tries very hard. I can’t imagine him selling drugs. How did Frank seem when you talked to him yesterday?”
“Uncomfortable and distracted.” Chloe frowned. “I don’t get it. He was always so stern and focused when I worked with him. Not warm, but professional.” Her jaw set. “Then again, he’s still mourning the loss of his wife. That has to be hard on anyone.”
There was something impressive about her trust and loyalty, even if he thought it was misplaced.
“Now, Hodge is dating Poppy, and she was there yesterday,” she added. “She could be Trilly. What can you tell me about him?”
“Hodge is your typical potentially strong guy who just needs to brush up his skills. He was suspended already for fighting—”
“He seemed shy,” Chloe interjected.
“He is. He’s a sweet kid, actually, with impulse-control problems. He gets frustrated too easily, especially when people taunt him. Contact sports are great for a person like that because it gives them a healthy outlet. If a gang had ever gotten their claws into him, he’d have made a great enforcer. Get him worked up enough and point him at someone, and he’ll charge like a bull. But I can’t imagine him masterminding a drug-dealing operation.”
He looked straight ahead through the windshield. Royd of the Wolfspiders was an enforcer, too.
“I could see Poppy being Trilly,” Chloe said. “Hodge would be the logical person for her to want to protect. I didn’t get the impression she liked that blowhard from the Haliburton team, Johnny, enough to want to protect him. It was more like he was relentlessly trying to impress her. He tried to flirt with both of us.”
“If Johnny’s involved, it wouldn’t explain why the payara only appeared after Third Line was in the locker room,” Trent said. “He’s a braggart who hits on a lot of women and thinks a lot of himself. I can definitely imagine him dealing drugs. But we’d still need some connection to Trillium College and Third Line.”
He eased the truck to a stop at an intersection.
“Can’t tell you much about Milo,” he added, “except that he’s studying electrical engineering and is really into fixing and building things. He’s very quiet and keeps to himself.”
“Do, you think Nicole could be Trilly?” she asked.
“Honestly, I think the idea of a fellow cop calling you to report that she knows of a secret drug cover-up is too good to be true,” he admitted. Snow crunched beneath the tires. “But it’s very possible. Maybe another cop is working with the drug dealers, or being bribed to look the other way, or is somehow compromised by the payara investigation. She could be afraid of the damage it will do to her career if she reports a superior officer. I know you’re afraid that if Butler is found to be corrupt they’re going to reopen and reexamine all the old cases you worked on together. But, trust me, you can’t underestimate the amount of damage a single bad apple can do.”
“In my experience, actual bad apples are so rare they’re almost a myth,” Chloe said. “Cops are human. People make mistakes. But have you ever actually met a rotten-to-the-core cop who used their position to break the law?”
His mouth twisted into a grimace. Knew one? One of his cover identities had meant pretending to be one. “You don’t think Frank Butler would bungle an investigation to protect Brandon?”
Chloe stared out through the windshield. “The Frank Butler I served under was a stone-cold sergeant who’d send his own grandson to jail.”
* * *
Trent lapsed into silence again. Whatever she’d said to trigger him this time, their conversation was over again for now. She glanced at him sideways.
When she’d first met Trent, it had been in the middle of summer. He’d been undercover with the Wolfspiders and had met her in a dingy roadside diner to pass off information he’d gathered from Uncle. His black hair had been buzzed short that day and soaked with sweat. The strong lines of his form had been perfectly framed by a plain white T-shirt that cut across his broad chest and muscular shoulders, like something carved out of marble.
Trent had looked like danger then. It had radiated from him in every move and every glance. He’d looked like the kind of man she’d have to be on her defenses against. The kind who’d pull a gun on her the moment her guard was down. The kind she’d inevitably find herself tossing to the ground and handcuffing before carting him off the jail. His current beard and toque softened him. It made him look like the kind of caring man who’d hold a steady job, make sure the bills got paid, remember to empty the dishwasher and play with the kids after school. It made Trent look like the kind of man she’d never thought she’d ever have in her life, let alone a future with.
A sign welcoming them to Bobcaygeon appeared ahead. Trent navigated the main streets, until he reached Trillium Community College. The building was smaller than she remembered. It was brown and flat, spread out in three rectangles, with a parking lot to the side and a forest to the back. How had she felt about starting courses here? Determined. Like Trillium was just one more challenge she’d needed to get through to be where she wanted to be.
Trent’s hand brushed her shoulder. “Ready?”
“Absolutely.” She met his eyes. So what if shivers were moving through her arms again? She could handle shivers. “We’ve got this.”
* * *
The afternoon passed in an unending series of seemingly unremarkable encounters. She’d showed her fake engagement ring off to the staff in the office and hung on Trent’s arm when they’d paused to grab coffee in the staff room. She’d sat in the very back of the room at his first lecture and listened as Trent talked about how the body reacted to adrenaline and danger. His facts were bang on and all stuff they’d learn at the academy. But his delivery was dry, stilted even. She’d never known Trent to be anything close to stilted.
She’d spotted Poppy in the second row, in a clump of Trillium players that included Hodge, Aidan and the shortest of the third-line players, who she knew by the process of elimination had to be Milo. But besides a sunny smile from Poppy and quick hello from the players, none of them had wanted to stick around to chat.
First class was followed by a quick trip through the cafeteria, where she spotted Lucy in the corner, curled up by herself with a textbook on perfume and cosmetics. Chloe waved. Lucy smiled shyly and waved back. Yes, Chloe remembered hiding in the corner to study all too well.
Milo was also in Trent’s next lecture, as were a clump of first-and second-line players, although she noticed that Milo didn’t sit anywhere near them. Once again, while technically accurate, Trent’s delivery was so awkward it was like he was a robot who’d never spoken to
people before. He wasn’t connecting. Most of the class wasn’t even listening. It was beyond baffling. How could a man of such endless talents and irresistible personality be so terrible at talking to students?
Class finished. Students fled the room and new students filed in, like two currents moving at once. Trent tossed his arm lightly around her shoulder. His face bent toward her. “See anything interesting?”
“Plenty.” She smiled benignly as he planted a light kiss on her cheek. “Nothing suspicious.”
“Well, let’s get out of here.” His voice rose to a normal level. “I’ve just got to grab my stuff and then let’s head to Nanny’s Diner. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
They navigated the hallways and he steered her into an office barely larger than a walk-in closet, with a large glass door looking out into the hallway on one side and a huge glass window looking out into the trees on the other. There, on his desk, sat their picture. They were standing on a ski gondola, with snowy, tree-lined slopes spread out beneath them. His arms were around her waist. She was leaning back into the strength of his chest. The smiles on their lips and twinkles in their eyes were so convincing they looked to anyone like a real couple in love. It was all so fake. Yet looked so real. Right down to the piece of costume jewelry on her finger.
“How are you holding up?” Trent’s voice was soft behind her. Then she felt the warmth of his hands on her shoulders as his strong fingers squeezed the knots and tension from her muscles.
“I’m good.” She stepped forward, out of his hands, and turned around. The office was so small she was practically sitting against the desk with her knees inches from his legs. “Nothing major that stands out. But, to be honest, today was all about maintaining our cover before I meet up with Trilly tonight. I’m really pinning all my hopes on what happens at the hockey game.” Maybe Trent would be more engaged with the players then and less like the stiff and awkward oddity she’d seen in front of the class.
“You’re frowning,” Trent said. “You had that same pained look on your face when I was teaching. Care explaining why?”
He was looking at her intently and she was torn between the desire to be honest and the desire to be polite. She knew which one Trent would prefer. “Your choice on how to play Coach Henri was really odd to me. It wasn’t anything like any other cover I’d ever seen you do before.”
“Well, of course. Because Coach Travis Henri is a college professor and hockey coach. He doesn’t have a shaved head and a motorcycle, with an illegal-looking shotgun on the back.”
“He’s boring and stiff,” she said. His eyes widened. “And that has nothing to do with the fact that he’s a professor. I know you, Trent. I’ve seen how many incarnations of you so far? Four? Five? And you know what each of them had in common? They were likable. They were dynamic. But, Coach Henri—”
“Is boring.” He finished the sentence for her.
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t want to put it that bluntly—”
“You just did.”
She ran both hands through her hair and felt her elbows graze his folded arms. “You said yourself that you had trouble connecting with people on this assignment and getting the players to trust you.”
His brow furrowed. His mouth opened.
The window behind her exploded.
SEVEN
Glass showered the room around them. Trent pulled her into his arms and spun her around. They hit the floor. She landed on her elbows and knees. Trent crouched over her, one arm around her waist and the other on her shoulder, cradling her and sheltering her with his body. Freezing wind whipped at them through the broken window. She glanced back, past Trent’s forearm. The window had completely shattered.
“You okay?” he asked softly. His fingers touched the back of her neck. It was comforting and protective.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said. Except for the fact that her heart was racing. He’d grabbed her, reached for her, sheltered her and pulled her from danger. She flexed her legs to stand.
“Hang on. Don’t move.” Trent’s deep voice filled her ear. He braced himself with one hand, slid his other hand into his pocket and pulled out a leather glove. He tugged it on with his teeth and then picked something up off the floor. He held it so she could see it. “See this?”
She looked down. A smooth, symmetrical white stone lay in his palm, wet from the snow. Smudged words were scrawled on the surface in black marker that was quickly running into an illegible smear.
Mind your own business or your fiancé dies!
Someone was threatening to kill Trent? She nodded. He slid the rock into his pocket. Then he stood, and she let him pull her to her feet.
Jagged edges of glass stood around the window frame. The tree-lined lot was empty. Whoever had pitched the rock through the window had bolted. On the other side of them, a handful of students now stood around the office doorway, although Chloe was amused to see that even more were moving past blithely. Most of the students who had noticed the broken glass were now taking pictures with their phones.
“Now, everyone step back!” Trent said. “Don’t want anybody cutting themselves. Can somebody run and let the office know what happened? They’re going to want to call the police and send down Maintenance.” Students stepped back. A few were typing on their phones, but none were specifically dialing. Then she noticed the young man, with a thin frame and serious eyes, slip away at the back of the crowd. She glanced at Trent. He’d noticed him, too.
“Hey, Brandon!”
The young man froze and, for a moment, she thought he was about to bolt. Instead he took a step toward them. “Hey, Coach! What happened to the window?”
“Somebody threw a rock through it!” Trent said. “Just glad nobody was hurt. Can you do me a huge favor and call your grandfather?”
Brandon hesitated. His eyes darted from the floor to the broken window and then back to the floor again. “You don’t have to call him, though, right? You can just call the division and they’ll send a regular cop.”
Was it her imagination or was sweat actually forming on the young man’s brow?
“Well, somebody should call the police, right?” Trent’s arm slid around Chloe’s shoulder. “Your grandfather worked with Chloe years ago, so I figured he might want to handle it personally.”
Trent pulled her in for a hug. But she could tell in an instant that he was doing so to position himself so that they could whisper without being heard. Yes, this kind of Trent hug she knew well and had experienced before. It was all tactics and no warmth, unlike the confusing way his fingers had touched her skin after the home invasion. Trent rested his head on top of hers. She tucked her head into his neck.
“They used an erasable whiteboard marker on a wet rock,” he said softly. “The rock is from one of the planters out front. The marker could be from any classroom. It’s a total crime of opportunity.” She could hear the frown in his voice. “Thankfully, it gives us an opportunity for you to talk to Butler about the payara situation, and judge where he’s at with that for yourself. Certainly, I think something’s off with him. But you might disagree. When he gets here, I’ll talk to him and then I’ll make myself scarce while you talk to him. We can compare notes afterward.”
“Sounds good.” A sigh of relief filled her body and she found herself moving deeper into Trent’s chest before she caught herself and pulled back.
Trent detangled himself and walked over to talk to Brandon. By the sound of things, Brandon still hadn’t called the police but was reluctantly agreeing to give Trent his grandfather’s cell phone number.
Chloe turned back to the glass-strewed office. A silent prayer of thanks crossed her lips. She was more than grateful Trent had suggested she talk to Butler alone. She was almost surprised at the thoughtfulness of it. A larger task force would inevitably be formed to investigate the pay
ara situation in the future, even if Butler didn’t face an internal affairs investigation.
Trent’s undercover mission into the third-line players was just the first step of a much broader and larger operation that would be launched. Her conversation with the staff sergeant after the Gulos’ attack on the sports center had been rushed. Her top priority had been protecting Trent’s cover, even though she barely understood it, so her own reasons for being there had fallen completely by the wayside. But now, thanks to a rock through the window and its hastily scrawled message, she had the opportunity to have a real conversation with her former training officer about the whole situation without threatening Trent’s investigation.
“Clo?” Trent’s hand brushed her shoulder. She turned. He was holding out his cell phone. His brow furrowed and she could tell by the set of his jaw that he was working at finding the right words to say. “I’m going to head to the front office and fill them in on what’s going on. Brandon’s grandfather says filing a report over the phone is fine for vandalism. But I wondered if you wanted to talk to him, too? You know, cop to cop.”
Really? Trent handed her the phone. She took it. “Hello, Staff Sergeant Butler?”
“Detective Brant.” The older officer’s voice was rushed and breathless, like he’d been interrupted while running on a treadmill. “I understand you want to talk to me about the vandalism at Trillium College?”
She stepped deeper into Trent’s office. Glass crunched under her feet. Cold air stung her skin.
“It goes much deeper than that, Sir,” she said. “Are you free at all this afternoon? I’d really appreciate being able to talk to you about it in person.”
“It’s my day off, Detective. My grandson should never have given his coach my personal number. A vandalism report can be filed directly with the division. I hope you have a nice day—”
“But, Sir, it was a threat. There was a warning written on the rock. The words were pretty smudged but I was able to make them out.”
Undercover Holiday Fiancée Page 7
