Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) (12 page)

An anvil landed in Garrick’s gut. “What?”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t have to tell you it’s really
not possible for one guy to fuck up a whole hockey game, but he sure does help
it along sometimes. Don’t you ever wonder why in some games Bobby is as sweet
as pie and in others he’s starting fights and picking up penalties like it’s
his job?”

Garrick stared at Jack. Numb.

“It
is
his job, Garrick. He’s so far up his dad’s ass,
so desperate to keep his access to the treasury, he’d sell his own mother as
polar bear food.”

Garrick’s throat was dry, his chest tight. He chugged the
rest of his beer, hoping to ease the tension. It immediately tried to come back
up again.

Robert Kramer couldn’t own the Ice Cats. Not just because
Garrick would lose his job. Or because Savannah would have to walk away from
hers. Robert Kramer would screw this team, each and every one of the players,
the management, the arena staff. The town.

Garrick scrubbed a palm over his face and rose to his feet.
He carefully masked the ripple of pain stabbing his nuts as his groin pull reminded
him why it was important to stretch after the game and not run straight to a
cold bar to sit on a rock hard seat.

“Thanks, Jack. It’s been educational.”

Jack nodded. “Sorry to be the one to have to tell you.
Though, if anyone asks, we talked about beer and hockey. Nothing else.”

“Understood. You working this week?”

Jack eyed him. “Yeah, I work every week. It’s not like I can
afford a lot of vacations. Not to mention I’m not allowed to leave the country.”

Garrick grimaced. Jack was a bartender at the Brunswicker Ale
House, one of Kramer’s many establishments. He’d had the job since getting out
of prison five years before and Garrick had harbored the belief that Kramer
couldn’t be
that
big an asshole if he were willing to hire a con right
out on his parole.

Jack deserved a good job. He and Garrick had gone to high
school together, and a few short months before what would have been Jack’s
graduation from Université de Moncton, he’d been caught helping his old man rob
a liquor store. Not that Jack had known he was abetting a felony while he sat in
his car, waiting for his dad to come out with a six pack. When his dad had come
out empty-handed but for the wad of cash and the gun shoved in his belt, Jack
had panicked and driven his father away.

They’d been arrested within an hour, long before Jack could
do the right thing and call the cops on his own father. A judge decided to make
an example of Jack for these fleeting moments of decidedly poor judgment and
sentenced him to five years. Since then, Jack had kept his nose clean and tried
damn hard not to stir the pot. Garrick wouldn’t jeopardize that.

Garrick clapped him on the shoulder as they stepped out of
the bar and turned toward their cars. “I might poke around a little. You can
pretend you’ve never seen me before.”

“Nah,” Jack said. “Stick as close to the truth as we can. I
can’t help you, but I’m not going to tell you I don’t wish someone would take
that man down a peg or two. I’d like to see him survive a week in the joint. Fucking
idiot. He treats people like they’re meat, dumb animals he’s forced to deal with.”

“You see him do a lot of business?”

“Yeah, sure, but at the Brunswicker it’s all on the up and
up. The mayor comes for lunch, sometimes with Kramer. We’ve got a bunch of cops
who come in after shift. You know the drill. And anyway, no way I’m going to
witness shit and not report it.”

Garrick nodded.

“Look, if I get wind of anything, a place to look, a time to
be somewhere, I’ll let you know. Some of the other bartenders and bar-backs
move between properties. I’ll see what I can get.”

“No, man, not worth it,” Garrick said immediately. “I
appreciate the offer, but do not stick your neck out on this.”

Jack shrugged. “We’ll see.” He stopped to unlock his truck. “I’ll
see you around?”

“Yeah. Stop by the house for a beer when you get a chance.”

“I’d like that.”

Garrick sighed. Jack always said that, and he’d never once
done it.

Savannah sprinted down the long corridor beneath the arena.
The sound of her feet striking the concrete a hollow echo. Heart pounding, she
ran as faster, gasping for breath, senses tingling. He was getting closer. He
was going to catch her soon.

She didn’t need to look to know it was Bobby who chased her.
Whose big ugly hands were reaching for her as she darted around a corner.

Now she was on the ice, her skates a natural extension of
her legs as she pumped them to gain speed, to swing around behind the net in a
desperate attempt to put something, anything, between her and Bobby.

Garrick was calling. She could hear his ringtone—
Thunderstruck
by AC/DC. Even as she made the dash for the other net, trying to keep ahead of
Bobby, she wondered why the hell he was calling her when she needed him here. Now.

With a start, Savannah sat up in her bed and stared at her
alarm clock.

2:12 AM

Flopping onto her side, she groped for her phone and managed
to hit ANSWER a moment before the last notes of AC/DC’s classic arena jam
played out and voicemail took over.

“Hello?” She sounded drunk and tired.

“Hi.” He sounded good. Way too good. But tired.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to.

“Me too. I sent out my résumé today.”

“Good.”

Perversely, it irritated her that he was so fine with that.

“I hate it,” he said after a while, “but I’m glad you did
it. You need to get out if this happens.”

“When, Garrick. Not
if
. I hate to say it—”

“I know. I’ll be gone too. Done with hockey.”

He said it calmly, but she knew. For her it was a job
change, for him the end of a career.

“You should start your own business. Consulting or something.”
She rolled onto her back and stared up at her ceiling.

“Yeah?” He sounded less than convinced.

“I’m serious, Garrick. The business plan was great. I had no
idea that profits could be invested outside the sport and all that stuff about
capital and whatever. You know what you’re doing.”

Silence stretched on long enough that she wondered if they’d
been disconnected.

“Thanks.” His voice was a deep rumble down the phone line.

“You’re welcome.”

“I wish I could fix this,” he said.

“No brilliant ideas on that?”

“Sure. I got one. Know anyone who wants to buy a hockey
team?”

She sighed. “Would it do any good?”

“Actually, it might.” Garrick told her about his phone call
with Reese. It wasn’t really much of a hope, but it was something. Then he filled
her in on the conversation with his friend Jack. Goosebumps sprung up over her
arms and neck.

“That’s really bad,” she said quietly.

“Yeah. It really is.”

The next day Savannah sat at the desk in her office and
stared at the wall.

Did she know anyone who wanted to buy a hockey team?

No. Maybe. She sighed. Probably not. It was a long shot.

She closed her eyes and plunked her elbow on the desk, her
forehead in her palm. She pictured Garrick out on the ice. Sitting in her hot
tub. Walking her to her car. She remembered how Alexei and Mike had teased her
about the little index card fitness plans she liked to hand out. She was sure
she’d spotted an NHL scout at last night’s game, taking notes and pictures
every time Rhian was on the ice.

She had to at least try.

Picking up her phone, she hit the speed dial on the first of
two phone calls she needed to make.

Hours later Savannah was puttering around her office,
cleaning up the usual mountain of post-game detritus. She grimaced when Bobby
stalked into the room.

Her last appointment of the day. To say she hoped it would
be quick and painless was a gross understatement. He caught her gaze with his
beady-eyed stare. She had to fight back a shiver.

She’d noticed during his pre-game visit that his usual anger
had been replaced with a smug satisfaction that made her want to slap his face.
And leave town.

Forcing herself to remain professional, she rolled the wheelie
cart loaded with tape, bandages, and various scissors to her table. She turned
to Bobby and braced herself, stifling a growl when she saw her chair sat empty.
As usual, he stood with his hips against her table, arms crossed, and stared down
at her.

Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him.

Savannah shoved her scissors in her back pocket and went to
work on his elbow. Or at least she tried. He kept his arms tight to his chest,
refusing to move his limbs until she was forced to tug them apart and
repeatedly reposition them.

It was ridiculous. So fucking stupid she actually smiled. Bobby
Kramer was a fucking baby.

“What’s so funny?” he asked softly.

She probably should have been concerned by his silky tone,
so uncharacteristic, but she was too fed up to care.

“Nothing.” She put his arm where she needed it and grabbed
her scissors, seriously considering cutting through perfectly good and reusable
bindings to speed the process of removing them.

“You’re going to learn to respect your betters, Savannah
Morrison.”

“Hunh,” she snorted. She sure didn’t see any
betters
right now.

She refused to back away when he leaned into her, his breath
hot on the side of her face.

“I’m going to own you. I’m going to own this whole fucking
team. You’ll come around when you see what I have to offer. What I can take
away. Like your job, your reputation. You’ll never work in hockey again.”

Savannah kept working, even as her blood boiled. She ripped
off the last piece of tape, leaning to the side to give herself some space
while she tossed it into the trash. Relief flooded her when she saw Mike Erdo
in the hallway. His back was to the door, but he was well within shouting
distance.

Standing straight, she forced Bobby to back off and stared
him right in the eyes. “You’re a bully, Bobby. Nothing but a stupid grinder.
And I would no more work for losers like you and your father than I would sell
myself on a street corner.”

Bobby’s eyes bulged, his face flushing scarlet.

“Now,” she continued, “shut the fuck up and stand there
while I finish.” She didn’t try to disguise her sneer as she looked him over. “You’ll
never get anything from me, Bobby Kramer. Not. A. Damn. Thing. And you sure as
hell don’t have
anything
I’m ever going to want.”

Bobby’s complexion took on shades of purple.

If she’d had any idea how satisfying it would be to tell
Bobby to fuck off, she would have done it long before now. The look on his face
was priceless. She wished she had phone so she could snap a picture to show
Garrick.

She didn’t see Bobby’s hand come up until it grasped the
front of her pullover, fisting in the soft fleece and the sports bra beneath.

She yelped when he yanked her close, his face almost touching
hers. “I got something you want. I got it right here.”

Bobby had her feet almost off the floor. The strength of his
grip tightened her sports bra until it cut into her skin. She sucked air into
her lungs to scream and dug her fingernails into Bobby’s hand, desperately battling
him and her fear.

What little air she’d managed to gather left her in a
whoosh
when he shoved her away and she crashed into her supplies, barely keeping
herself and the cart upright. Bobby reached down and her eyes followed,
widening with horror.

“This is for you, sweetheart.” He shoved his shorts to his
thighs and fisted his limp dick, stroking it slowly. She shuddered with
revulsion, unable to look away from his hairy groin or his ham-sized hand
choking his cock into a response.

Something in her
snapped
.

“That’s for me?” Cocking her head, she pretending to stare
her fill. She’d have to find a way to bleach her eyeballs later. “Well, then it
turns out I
do
have something for you.” With the confidence of long
practice, she grabbed a roll of tape from the cart behind her.

Then she tore a long strip free and lobbed the heavy roll at
Bobby’s face.

He caught it automatically, the reflex to protect his face
leaving him vulnerable to attack elsewhere. Lunging, she slammed the strip of duct
tape across his semi-erect cock and pinned it to one of his big, hairy thighs, shoving
the adhesive against the thick thatch of groin hair.

Bobby bellowed, dropping the roll of tape and grabbing at
his junk. His fingers pressed the tape around his shaft, catching in the adhesive
and yanking the sensitive hairs.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, bitch! Do you hear me!? FUCKING
KILL YOU!” His cry echoed off the cinderblock walls.

Footsteps rushed toward them. Mike shouted her name as he
barreled into her office. Someone else called for Mark down the corridor.

There’d be a circus in her office within seconds. An entire
hockey team and countless staff to witness Bobby’s predicament. To see the
evidence of her complete loss of professionalism and control.

Oh Jesus, what have I done?

Though it was way too late, adrenaline and embarrassment struck
in force. She’d done the unthinkable. She’d made a scene. She’d assaulted a
player on her team, and regardless of how richly he’d deserved it, now there’d
be questions. Now everyone would know she couldn’t handle herself with a shithead
like Bobby.

In less than ten minutes, the entire arena would know she’d
lost her fucking mind. As it was, they could probably hear Bobby screaming that
he was going to end her life with his bare hands.

Dodging Mike, she snatched her bag and coat off her desk and
ran.

Garrick sat at the computer in his study, his eyes gritty
with exhaustion from staring at reports, analysis, news pieces, and any other
data points he could find about well-run, profitable sports teams. He put down the
white paper he was working through when he heard the crunch of driveway gravel
in front of his house.

He checked the clock. 1:17 AM.

He’d only been home for a half hour, having dashed out of
the arena after the game to meet up with Melissa DuPont, another childhood
friend who worked for the Kramers.

Another unofficial conversation and the picture was bleaker
than ever. Garrick was walking a careful line between collecting information
and putting his friends, people he cared about, at risk. What had seemed a
vague threat at first now felt like imminent danger. The Kramers, the apparent captains
of all underground industry in the area, had interests to protect.

The question was how great a threat they would perceive
Garrick to be. He had no idea what he was going to do with what he’d learned,
especially since he couldn’t tell anyone how he’d gotten it.

He went to the window and saw the sweep of headlights across
his barn. When the sound of the idling engine didn’t change, when there was no
car door opening or closing, he went to investigate.

He didn’t get lost travelers or drunken drop-bys out here at
his farmhouse, being a solid ten miles outside the Moncton city limits and in
the dead middle of farm country.

He flipped on lights as he moved through the house,
hesitating when he got to the front hall. For the first time in his life, a
frisson of fear rushed through him when he thought about opening his door.

Another reason to hate the Kramers.

He pulled aside the sheer curtain over the front door window
and considered rubbing his eyes, convinced he was imagining things.

Savannah.

Something is wrong.

He threw the door open, cursing himself for not listening to
the voicemails Rhian and Alexei had left earlier. He’d assumed they were
telling him where to find them if he wanted to celebrate their win. He should
have known something was up after Rhian called a third time.

Savannah sat in her car and stared at the steering wheel,
not even glancing at him as he leaped down his front porch stairs and ran the
length of his front walk.

She yelped when he wrenched her door open. Her unblinking
gaze and pale face brought him up short. She was frightened. He knelt by her
open door, ignoring the bite of driveway gravel digging into his knees.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently.

She didn’t answer. He reached out to touch her face, alarmed
by the tear stains reflecting the dim blue light of the dashboard dials. When
she flinched away, he let his hand drop and rested it on her leg.

She looked back at her steering wheel. “I’m in big trouble.”

She was still wearing her game clothes. Had she come
straight from the arena? She should have left hours ago. His need for answers
nearly choked him but he stomped on it. He’d get there, but first he needed her
to turn off the car and come inside.

“You’re not in trouble with me.”

“Is Melissa still here?”

He blinked, surprised. “She was never here.”

Confusion clouded her expression. “I drove around for a
while.” She glanced at him. “I didn’t want to interrupt…”

Garrick’s alarm grew. “You’ve been driving around since the
game?”

“I was afraid to go home. There’s been this car. A big SUV,
sometimes, at night.”

Fear churned in his gut. He forced himself not to shake
answers from her. “You can always come here.”

Some day he’d even ask how she knew his address.

“I heard you tell Rhian you were meeting Melissa. Am I
interrupting?”

A piece of the puzzle fell into place.

“Melissa is an old friend who I met for a late supper so we
could talk about the Kramers.”

The relief she failed to hide was a bright spot in a long
and increasingly stressful evening.

He wanted to tell her there wasn’t another woman in his
life. Hell, he hadn’t given any other woman more than a passing thought since
he’d met her. Hadn’t even managed the passing thoughts since he’d been with
Savannah on Cape Breton Island. Now didn’t seem like the time.