Undercover Holiday Fiancée Read online

  Seconds earlier he’d been praying for a diversion. Something simple and straightforward that would enable him to take out two gang members at once in a way that didn’t blow either his cover or risk the lives of his hockey players. Now, here the strongest, toughest and most infuriating cop he’d ever known had somehow materialized on the floor above him, making his job that much harder.

  Her eyes were now locked on his face. She’d recognized him. He watched as shouts and footsteps suddenly sounded from above, giving Chloe barely moments to leap to her feet before a third Gulo pelted down the hall toward her. Chloe threw her shoulder into the Christmas tree and tossed it at the gang member like a football tackle. The Gulo grunted and fell under the force of pine needles and branches. Trent nearly whistled.

  It was a gutsy move and impressive—not that he didn’t wish she’d run instead. But he could tell she’d also seen his players in their hiding place. Had he been right to tell them to hide instead of fight? Hard to know. The four young men weren’t the best athletes or experienced fighters. Hodge had gotten a text from his girlfriend, Poppy, saying there were heavily armed criminals swarming the building.

  When Trent had heard the chaos and destruction moving through the halls toward them, he’d ordered his players to hide and not a single one had argued. Instead they’d all dived for the narrow crawl space below the platform. Later, he could worry about whether that meant anything to his case. He’d gotten used to thinking of the four 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.

  TWO

  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 tha
t 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 eyes met hers.

  “Come on!” she said. “We’ve got to get you guys out of here.”

  “You’re Coach’s fiancée, right?” The whispered question came from a young man with curly brown hair and a composure that implied this wasn’t his first crisis. Under any other circumstances she would’ve laughed.

  “No, I’m a cop.” She pulled her badge out and pushed it in front of his face. “You are?”

  “Aidan. I’m the center for Third Line.”

  So, the hockey equivalent of a third-string quarterback then.

  “Okay, Aidan. I’m going to crawl around to the other side of this platform, and you four are going to meet me there. We’re all going to stay really low and head down the hallway. Once I give the word, you’re going to jump to your feet and sprint to the exit as fast as you can. Nice and simple. Got it? Now let’s go.”

  She turned to crawl away but felt a hand grab her ankle. It had to be Lucy’s brother, Brandon. Dark hair falling over an angular face, his earnest eyes were deep with worry. “I have to find my sister, miss. She works at the coffee counter.”

  Being called “miss” grated. She preferred Detective or Officer. But she couldn’t begin to imagine how he must be feeling and now was no time to quibble. “You’re Brandon, right?”

  He nodded. “Brandon. Brandon Butler.”

  She blinked. Frank Butler’s grandson? She vaguely remembered seeing his grandchildren from a distance at their grandmother’s funeral. “Your sister’s okay. She made it out safely.”

  “Thank you.” He let out a long breath and closed his eyes for a split second as he whispered a prayer. But the anxiety in his face didn’t fade. “What about Coach Henri?”

  He pronounced the French version of “Henry” like the letter H was silent, so it almost sounded like “Enry.” Seemed Trent hadn’t strayed too far from his real last name on this cover. But as Trent liked to say the best covers always contained a hint of truth.

  “Don’t worry. Your coach is going to be okay.” Now, to hurry up and get them all out of there before they noticed just how okay he was doing.

  Trent was still battling two Gulos at once. He was such a strong fighter he seemed almost invincible, except that she happened to know he’d dislocated his shoulder once or twice in the past. She prayed it wouldn’t happen this time, and would come back to assist him once she got the civilians out.

  She crawled flat on her stomach around the side of the stage, where the students were already making their way out from under the platform. The second-floor Gulo was nowhere to be seen. She waved a hand at the hockey players and started toward the wall, her body low as she moved across the floor on her forearms. The players followed. They reached the wall and she waved them on, putting herself between the young men and the gang members, praying the Gulos wouldn’t see them.

  The sport center’s main hallway lay long and empty ahead of them in a maze of destruction and broken glass. The doors shone at the end as headlights blazed in the darkened parking lot, sending a blinding white glow against the glass, punctuated by dashes of moving red and blue. Emergency services had arrived.

  Gunfire and vile shouts sounded from above. A huge decorative snowflake crashed to the floor ahead of them and shattered. They’d been spotted.

  “Run!” She leaped to her feet and ran forward, pausing just long enough to make sure each and every member of the team had made it to their feet and was moving. Bullets rang behind her. The youths sprinted down the hallway. Chloe ran behind them, taking up the rear and urging the boys on.

  The doors in front of them opened. Cops leaned in, reaching out for them. The young men ran through, guided by police. One by one they disappeared into the parking lot. Thank You, God! They were going to make it. Every single civilian Trent had been protecting was going to be okay.

  Footsteps pounded down the hall behind her as the last player tumbled through the door. A hand grabbed her neck and yanked her backward so suddenly she felt her feet slip out from under her. A plastic mask pressed against her cheek. A rough voice barked past her ear, “Stay back! This pretty little thing is mine!”

  The cops stepped back. The door closed. For one quick moment her eyes searched the hallway behind her. Two Gulos lay on the floor where Trent had been fighting just moments before. Trent was gone. Her body was pulled backward into an office. She looked up into the cold, plastic stare of an old-fashioned goalie mask.

  She’d been taken hostage and Trent had left her to fight for her life alone.

  * * *

  Trent watched through the eyeholes of the vintage goalie mask as fear filled Chloe’s face. A gasp slipped through her lips. He winced. Didn’t she know it was him? Didn’t she understand that he just needed to grab one quick moment to tell her what she needed to know about his undercover investigation before she ran into a mob of local cops? The security cameras in the center might be so bad they were practically nonexistent, but that didn’t mean he wanted a phalanx of officers—let alone Butler—seeing the local hockey coach yanking a provincial detective away for a private chat.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” He let go of her body and reached up to pull his mask off. He didn’t get the opportunity. Chloe’s strikes came hard and fast, beating him around the head and sending the mask spinning until he could barely see through the eyeholes. “Chloe! Stop! It’s me—”

  A strong, precise and determined kick caught him in the gut and sent him flying back against the wall. She’d knocked the air right out of his lungs. He could barely make himself heard in this stupid mask. Or she was so determined to fight she wasn’t even listening.

  Her fists flew toward him again. Enough! He could hardly get this stupid mask off if she kept attacking him. He ducked her blow, swung her around and pressed her back up against the wall. He braced his forearm across her chest, pinning her, and yanked the mask off his face. “Chloe! Stop! It’s me!”

  “Trent?” The fear and the fight fell from her face. Her eyes went wide.

  They were standing so close his arm was the only thing keeping her chest from touching his, and he could feel her heartbeat radiating through it. For a moment he couldn’t tell if she was tempted to slap him or to hug him. He stepped back and raised both hands in front of him before either could happen. “I can’t believe you didn’t know it was me! Don’t you remember when we first worked together undercover, I called you a ‘pretty little thing’ and then you pretended to be mad at me.”


  “That wasn’t pretend.” She blew out a long breath. “Not that I expect you to understand that.”

  He didn’t know what she meant by that, but now was hardly the time for arguments. “Are there any casualties?”

  “Not that I know of,” she said. “There are two college students in the upstairs exercise room—a young woman named Poppy and a hockey player from Haliburton named Johnny. They’re on the phone with 9-1-1 and barricaded themselves in. I also helped Brandon’s sister, Lucy, escape. She told me the security guard had gotten out, too.”

  “And hostiles?” he asked. “I disarmed three.”

  “I only saw three, too.” She touched her right sweatshirt pocket with the back of her hand, like she was checking to make sure something was still there. “Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at, Henry, but you have exactly sixty seconds to explain what’s going on. Because now, thanks to you, there’s probably a whole parking lot full of cops thinking that one of their own is being held hostage by a goof in a goalie mask.”

  A goof?

  “What are you even doing here?” he asked. Trust Chloe to barge into the middle of his undercover investigation and start demanding answers. “You just happened to be hanging out in a random, small-town sports center when gang violence broke out?”

  “I’ve been popping by here to work out,” she said, without meeting his eyes. “I have the week off work, and I own a house in the country about half an hour from here. This is the closest gym that has a pool and equipment room.”

  He didn’t doubt she was telling the truth. The Chloe he knew would never lie to him, and it wasn’t unheard of for people in rural parts of Ontario to drive even farther for a grocery store or bank. Other college athletes and teams came from all over the area to use the facilities and rink. But, he also knew her well enough to know that there was more to it than just that. Fine, if she wanted to keep things to herself, so could he. His eyes traced down her slender throat to the lanyard she wore with her detective’s badge.