All Saints: Love and Intrigue in the Stunning New Zealand Wilderness (The New Zealand Soccer Referee Series Book 1) (13 page)

I laid in
bed late on Saturday with my cell phone on silent. I suspected my father would
text his fat little fingers off trying to force me to go to the game in the
afternoon and planned ahead, having unplugged the landline the night before.

Jack stuck his head around my
bedroom door at lunchtime, grinning as I sat ensconced in my duvet with stacks
of lesson plans scattered around me. “What you up to?” he asked.

“School stuff,” I said and ran a
hand through my tangled fringe. “Where were you last night?”

“Out, Mum!” he said with sarcasm.

“Are you going out again now?” I
asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Hey, you know
the boxes of stuff we brought upstairs? What happened to the laptop?”

I shrugged. “It was knackered.
Wouldn’t turn on.”

Disappointment scudded across
Jack’s handsome face like cloud cover. “Oh. I wanted it.”

“Sorry.” I feigned indifference,
feeling the temperature hike between us but not understanding why.

“What did you do with it?” he
pressed and I frowned.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s
broken!”

“I might be able to get it
working,” he persisted. “I’ll pay you for it.”

“For a knackered laptop!” I
scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’d really like it,” he repeated
and I detected the hard edge in his voice.

I stared at him and tried to read
his face expression, coming up empty when usually I knew his inner thoughts as
though they were my own. “You should have said something,” I sighed, picking up
a picture of a bunny rabbit shaped from the letter ‘b’ and pretending to
examine it. His eyes bore into the side of my face. “It’s gone now, sorry.”

“But where did you put it?” he
demanded and I narrowed my eyes.

“Jack, stop!” I thumped the
rabbit onto the bed and saw it bend in half with a ruinous crease. “Bloody
hell, man! Go into town and score yourself one that works. The Easter sales are
still on for goodness sake.”

I closed my eyes and heard him
leave, confused by the nonsensical argument. The front door slammed and I
heaved a sigh of relief as the tension left with him, blowing out as rapidly as
it blew in. Unable to concentrate, I kneeled on the floor next to my bed and
reached underneath. The laptop slid into my fingers, inviting me to experience
more of Peter Saint’s confidences. The home screen showed a full battery and I
closed the lid again, rolling up the charger and sitting it on top. “Not
today,” I told it. “I’m not in the mood.”

Clearing a passage through my
clothes in the wardrobe, I sought the safe buried into the wall and tapped in
the code. The dim light revealed my passport and other important documents and
I wedged the laptop into the slender space, just managing to fit it in and
close the door. The charger proved too much of a stretch and I hid it in my
underwear drawer. I projected thoughts of gratitude towards the architects of
the ugly nurses’ home who employed extreme foresight in some matters and
ineptitude in others. The safe in each apartment counted as the former and the
lack of a separate toilet and bath as the latter.

I heated a tub of noodles in the
microwave as Jack slammed his way back into the flat and flung his backside
into a bar stool. “Want some?” I waggled the fork at him and he shook his head.

“I need to talk to you,” he said,
his tone serious.

“Sounds important.” I shovelled
noodles into my mouth from the tub, feeling decadent for a Saturday afternoon.
“You not going to the game?”

Jack snorted. “I never go to the
games.”

“Liar! You were there on
Wednesday night!”

He rolled his eyes. “To see you!
Dad sent the Saint-minions out looking for me, remember?”

I shook my head. I didn’t
remember.

“Paulie!” Jack huffed,
exasperation in his voice. “He said Dad wanted to see me. That’s code for ‘he
wants to hurt you and throw your body to the fishies.’”

“To say hello!” My voice sounded
muffled through the noodles. “Not to throw you out of the grounds.”

Jack still looked fed up, so I
stashed the fork in the dishwasher and washed the tub out under the tap. “I’m
not going either,” I said, feeling like a rebel. I dropped the tub into the
bucket under the sink for recycling. “I might go and support the girls tomorrow
though. That will really upset Dad.” My chuckle sounded all revenge and no
mirth and I didn’t like how that looked on me.

“I need to get on,” I said,
heading for the door into the hall. Jack moved quicker than I gave him credit
for and barred my way.

“I said I need to talk to you!”
His eyes held an unfamiliar intensity and unnerved me as he gripped my shoulder
in his good hand. I couldn’t seem to shake him off.

“I’m not interested. We’ve had
this discussion and if you can’t accept it, you need to leave.” I pushed at his
chest and felt him rock on his heels but as I raised my hand to repeat the
movement harder, he gripped my wrist.

“Not that, Ula! This is
different. I need that laptop; Pete’s laptop.”

I put my head back and groaned.
“No! Leave it. It’s gone, that’s final. Get out of my way.”

When he failed to move, I kicked
him in the shin, hurting my bare foot more than his leg. Enraged, I attempted
to grab his nuts and we ended up collapsing to the kitchen floor where we
grappled around on the tiles. It didn’t end well for me against a much stronger
opponent, even one with a broken wrist and he pinned me down with sickening
ease, holding my flailing wrists above my head one-handed and suppressing my
kicks with the weight of his body. “Ula, stop!” he shouted. “I’m serious!”

I lay still and played dead,
refusing to look at him or respond to his questions about the laptop. Even when
he lifted my shirt and tickled me, I giggled like a child but didn’t crack. He
also gave up before I did, proving little had changed since our childhood.
Leaning up on one elbow with his leg stretched out across mine, Jack Saint gave
me a look of blistering lust. “I hate you,” he said with a sigh and I giggled
again.

“No, you don’t. You just always
want what you can’t have.”

“True dat,” he sighed and laid
his head on my shoulder. I put my arm around his neck and cuddled him close,
spotting a lonely, dried up pea which had made its escape under the fridge
months ago.

“Go and see Lacey,” I advised
him. “Did you ever give her the chance to explain?”

“She shagged someone else!”
Indignation filled his voice.

“Just hear her out,” I begged,
amazed at my own level of investment. “It might surprise you.”

“I’ll wear you down instead,” he
joked, making a grab for my breast and catching my ribs with the edge of his
cast. I kneed him in the nuts and he doubled over, allowing me to make my
escape without hindrance.

“About the laptop,” he called
after me and I slammed my bedroom door and locked it, refusing to listen to him
anymore.

In true Jack-style, he didn’t
give up, ambushing me every time I left my room until I shouted at him and told
him to leave. He didn’t.

“This is why you and I would
never work!” I yelled finally. “You don’t know when to shut up.”

“Ok, ok,” he conceded, holding
his hands in front of him. “I’ll tell you everything, Ula. But you can’t repeat
it or I’ll lose my job.”

“What?” I stopped with the wine
glass half raised to my lips, filled to the brim with the nice stuff Jack
funded on our impromptu beach picnic.

“Promise.” His eyes begged me for
mercy as he took the wine stem from my fingers and laid the glass on the
counter. I nodded, the action feeble against the momentum of some unseen force
in the room which channelled itself through Jack’s brown eyes. He watched for a
moment and then took my hands in his. “I think you need to sit down,” he said.

“They’re watching me too?” My
voice rose a notch and I heard my heart send blood rushing too fast into my
brain. I felt dizzy with fear. “For how long?”

“A few months now. I’ve literally
fallen into this mess face first.” Jack curled his top lip as though suffering
garlic reflux and sighed. “All these years I’ve kept my distance from the
Saints and their mess and now I’m in it up to my eyeballs.”

“I’m in it up to my eyeballs
too,” I whined, twisting my fingers together in my lap. “How did this happen?”

“No idea,” he replied, running
gentle fingers up and down my back in a soothing motion. “I knew nothing about
it until last week. There’s been gossip at the station and one of the guys who
ran me to hospital did some legwork for the detective heading up the case.”

“Start at the beginning,” I
pleaded. “I don’t understand.”

Jack kissed my temple and then
ran a pink tongue over his full lips, picking his words with care. My brain
felt foggy with confusion and nothing made sense. “Someone tipped off a
detective last season, claiming a gambling syndicate operated within the
premier soccer league. The informant said All Saints were at the centre of it
with two other clubs. The betting service lays the odds and takes money from
members of the public who choose which club will win or lose that week. There
are bets for anything; the range is incredible and hardened gamblers will place
bets on what time the sun comes up each day if they can find a bookie to take
it. Anyone can bet on anything if they’re willing to risk their money; who
scores the goals; what minute a goal will be scored in; the final score or the
number of red or yellow cards given. It’s all up for grabs. This Asian Handicap
system has caused heaps of problems in European soccer because there’s no draw;
only win or lose.”

“Why didn’t I know about any of
that,” I mused. “I scored some goals last season. Do you think the four people
on average who showed up for our games were gamblers?”

Jack kissed my head again and
crushed me closer. “Sorry. I don’t know if they bet on women’s soccer,” he
said, sounding regretful.

“Typical!” I snorted. I pushed
myself away from him so I could watch his face. “Is it illegal to bet on
soccer?”

Jack frowned. “No, but it’s
illegal to rig the games so that certain gamblers get massive payouts. That’s
cheating.”

“So this detective somewhere
thinks All Saints are cheating?” My eyes widened and I couldn’t stop the laugh
which emerged. “Oh my gosh! Could they throw them out of the premiership?” I
imagined my father’s disgrace and wondered if he’d allow his wheelchair to be
rolled onto the grass of a first or second division pitch.

Jack maintained his serious face,
ignoring my sniggering. “They’d be thrown out of New Zealand football, Ula. And
anyone associated with All Saints. A team a few years ago in Europe were kicked
out of the Champions’ League for throwing a final.”

“Oh.” It didn’t sound so funny
anymore. “That’s really bad. Who told the detective? Can’t they be more
specific about who’s doing it so the detective can catch them red handed?” My
eyes widened. “Is it possible All Saints cheated in the final last season?” My
voice rose to a squeak. “But they won.”

Jack stroked my fringe back from
my face and his words sounded like nails on a blackboard. “They’ll sort it out,
baby. But they can’t talk to the informant anymore, Ula. He died in a car
accident, hours after meeting with the detective.” His eyes told me everything
his lips couldn’t as he held me in a firm embrace.

“Pete.” My voice sounded dull and
flat against the sounds of traffic in the street outside and my body felt numb
beside the hardness of Jack’s muscular body. “Pete informed.”

I shoved Jack from me, hearing a
hiss as my flailing caught his wrist. I stood and backed away, shaking my head.
“Is that why you’re here?” I demanded. “Pretending you’re horny and wanting to
rekindle something which never got started?” I sounded hysterical. “You’re
trying to make detective and I’m your means to an end.”

“No, Ula.” Jack stood. He waved
his arms at my lounge and sparse furnishings and shook his head. “Me, my
current situation; it’s all real. My life sucks and I came here hoping that...”
He stopped before his feet went into his mouth and he choked on his own words.
I had no plans to resuscitate him. “I wondered if we had a chance but yes, my
ulterior motive is to protect you. There were millions of dollars at stake and
the syndicate won’t stop if they’re onto a good thing. You can be sure they’ll
run the scam again this year.”

“So, Pete wasn’t involved?” I
asked, covering my face with my hands. “He didn’t cheat?” I remembered his
playing style and fierce competitiveness. I couldn’t bear to think it might
have been an act. Pete’s soccer was the only thing about him which still seemed
truthful in the face of everything else.

“They don’t know.” Jack
approached me, his arms by his sides. “Maybe he found out and wanted it stopped
or perhaps he’d been involved at the start and wanted out; who knows?”

“I don’t want to believe it,” I
said, wrapping my arms around myself. “So the cops are watching everyone; me,
Dad, Uncle Terry, all of us?”

Jack winced and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh my gosh, no.” I bent double
and grabbed my knees, waiting for the faintness to stop as the floor tiles
whirled around in my peripheral vision. “I just bought a fifty grand car and
paid off a ten grand loan early.”

“I know.” Jack patted my back and
forced me upright, leading me back into the lounge and helping as my legs
collapsed onto the sofa. “That’s why I asked so many questions about it.”

“I can’t tell you.” My eyes filled
with tears. “And I don’t even know where he got the money in the first place.
It might’ve been dodgy.” I resisted the urge to bawl like a baby but my chest
gave in early, like always, spitting ugly sobs into Jack’s denim shirt while my
nose left telltale trails of snot.