Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) (23 page)

“Damn it!” she yelped, shaking the scalding liquid from her
skin.

Who would be stopping by Garrick’s house in the early
afternoon on a weekday? She paused by the bottom of the stairs, unsure what to
do. All the little hairs on the back of her neck prickled, standing at
attention as goosebumps zipped across her skin.

Her pulse kicked up a notch as she studied the silhouettes
of two large men through the sheer curtain on the door. Who were they? Could they
see her?

Another man stepped up to the door, bending over the knob.

Three men?

The jiggle of the door and the soft scrape of something
being inserted into the lock kicked her flight instinct into high gear. Forcing
herself to move slowly, she eased her weight over the creaky floorboards as she
backed toward the dining room. She considered her options. Her shoes were
upstairs. Her car keys too. She couldn’t risk getting trapped up there.

Her cell phone was in the kitchen. She took another step in
that direction and peeked into the dining room to see if anyone was looking in
the window. No one was there.

They must all be too busy picking the lock.

Her best option was to run for her phone, then maybe to the
basement to lock herself in Garrick’s ancient root cellar. The idea was
terrifying, but maybe they wouldn’t search that far and would assume she wasn’t
home.

She froze when the blare of a car horn came from the street.
The crunch of driveway gravel was clear to her this time.

Standing in the wide doorway between the hall and the dining
room, she could see the front porch out the large dining room windows. When the
horn roared again, closer this time, a fourth man stepped from his position
against the front of the house.

Jesus. How many of them are there?

Praying the new guy didn’t turn around, she slipped around
the dining room table and flattened herself against the front wall of the house.
She stayed there, listening for voices, some clue about who they were, how many
were out there, and why they’d come. Or been sent? She dared a quick peek to
see who was out on the porch. And who was in the car making a damn racket.

She couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh or cry when Rhian
leaped from his car and waved to the men on the porch. She couldn’t hear what
he said, but she could guess from his grand gesture and broad smile, it was a
friendly greeting.

She eased farther into the window, now able to see two of
the strange men in profile. She’d never seen one of them before, but the other
looked vaguely familiar. A friend of Bobby’s, maybe? Regardless, they appeared nonplussed
by their welcoming committee and eager to avoid introductions.

At some signal, they moved off the porch and down the stairs.
When they neared Rhian, Savannah considered running for the phone and dialing 9-1-1,
but stayed rooted to the spot and watched the scene unfold.

Rhian kept his smile in place as he continued to talk to
them, seemingly unaffected by their approach, shrugging as he waved at the
house. The men marched past him, their smiles vague, exchanging looks that
ranged from concerned to confused as they climbed into their black SUV and
drove away.

Now she remembered. She’d seen one of the men in her
neighborhood. Just as she’d seen that SUV parked in front of her condo.

She ran into the front hall and threw open the door just as
Rhian jogged to the top of the porch stairs. Launching herself from the stoop,
she threw herself against him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Whoa.” Rhian caught her and held on. “You okay?”

“I am thanks to you.”

Rhian set her on her feet and urged her back into the house.
“Well, I’m not sure how long it’s going to take that pack of morons to call
into home base and get sent back out here. Get what you need and let’s go.”

Savannah didn’t question him. In less than three minutes she
had her shoes and coat on and was bolting down the porch stairs with Rhian
right behind her.

Thanks to the adrenaline overload, her brain didn’t fire on
all cylinders again until they were on the highway to Moncton. “How did you
know to come out to the house?”

“I didn’t.”

Jesus. That had been a really close call. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “Well, maybe
something. I feel stupid, since it’s not like I’m his keeper, but Garrick said
he’d be at practice today and he didn’t show.”

“He didn’t?”

Rhian glanced at her. “So he
was
supposed to come
in?”

“Yes. If he’s not there, I have no idea where he is.”

She pictured the men on Garrick’s porch and her blood ran
cold, panic fluttering in her chest.

“He’s fine,” Rhian assured her.

“How do you know?”

“I finally got the S.O.B. to answer his phone a while ago. That’s
why I came out to see you. He’s up to something, and I’m afraid it’s either stupid
or dangerous.”

She debated brushing it off, keeping Rhian in the dark, but she
needed his help. “It’s probably both.”

Rhian’s bark of laughter made her smile. Her amusement was
short lived when she glanced at the dashboard clock. “You should be at
practice.”

Rhian shrugged. “I’m glad I’m not.”

“I’m glad you’re not, too, but we need to get your ass back
there.”

He glanced at her. “Why?”

“Because we don’t want the Kramers to think you showing up
at the house was anything but coincidence.” The more she thought about it, the
more desperate she was to get Rhian back to the rink. She and Garrick were toast,
but scouts were still looking at Rhian.

“Do you know where Garrick’s friend Jack works?” she asked.

Rhian didn’t comment on her rapid change in subjects. “Yeah,
sure. He’s over at the Brunswicker Ale House.”

“Is it open for lunch?”

Rhian shrugged. “I think so.”

“Great. Could you please take me there?”

She held her breath and prayed he would go along. That he
wouldn’t fight her when she insisted he leave her with Jack.

If Jack is even there. If they’re even open.

She was grasping at straws, but somehow she’d figure out how
to thread the right ones together.

Garrick hunkered down behind the cold funky dumpster and
lamented his change in scenery. He might get a better look at the back door
from here, but he wasn’t sure if that would net him anything but a burning
desire to never, ever smell rotting chicken fingers and beer this closely
again.

Peering through the small space between the corner of the
dumpster and the wall, he rested his shoulder against god only knew what and
prayed his hip would forgive him. It was cold and there was no way in hell he
was sitting anywhere, let alone in the puddle of fluid that hadn’t frozen on a
twenty-five degree day.

He could stay here undetected for some time, provided no one
took the trash out. And then, he just might be desperate enough to steal it if
he thought it came from that damned back room. That is, if he could get his
aching legs to spring up and make a run for it.

He grimaced at the image of him hobbling down the alley. His
adolescent delusions of being the next James Bond were definitely a thing of
the past.

The creak of the back door yanked him from his musings and
he sank lower, praying the crates at his back were as sufficient cover up-close
as they’d seemed from the street. A hand appeared on the release bar across the
door, followed by a thick arm and a familiar Canadiens logo. A head of
white-blond hair appeared in the door as one of the back office workers left.

The door swung shut quickly and Garrick sat perfectly still.
A middle-aged woman hurried down the alley and out into the street. If she’d
noticed him, she gave no indication.

It was two thirty. Early to be going home when you come in
at nine. He wouldn’t have pegged Kramer as the kind of boss who offered flex
hours.

He scanned the alley again. He’d walked the block three
times, circling the alley to search for any sign of cameras or surveillance. The
windows were still covered, and they faced a brick wall on the other side where
some enterprising architect in the 1950s decided windows to an alley weren’t
necessary.

If the smell were any indication, that architect might have
been right.

Clenching his teeth, Garrick shifted his weight again and
accepted he wasn’t going to be able to stay where he was for long. Maybe he’d
follow the next worker to leave back to their house.

And do what?

Savannah took up residence at the bar of the Brunswicker Ale
House, having convinced Rhian that she was just going to ask Jack to help her
figure out where Garrick might be and that they would call Rhian as soon as
they had a plan.

In other words, she’d lied.

Within a minute of sliding onto the stool, Jack came to take
her order.

“Hello, gorgeous. What can I do for you today?” he asked
with a playful wink and flirtatious smile as he passed her the menu.

She smiled back, intrigued to meet Garrick’s old friend. Somehow
Garrick had failed to mention Jack Chevalier was drop-dead gorgeous.

Black hair, blue eyes, pink cheeks and long, sooty lashes
that should have made him look like a girl, especially with those cheek bones. He
obviously had a gift for charming the ladies, his face giving him unfair
advantage, his outrageous flirtation sealing the deal. She ordered her drink
automatically, enjoying his lingering look.
Wow.

“I’m Savannah,” she said in a low voice, praying the name
would mean something. She had no idea if Garrick had told his friend about her,
but she knew he’d talked to Jack about the Kramers. What she didn’t know was
where else Jack might have sent Garrick to investigate. She needed a place to
start searching.

Jack’s smile faltered but he kept wiping down the bar. He didn’t
so much as glance at her, but she sensed she had his undivided attention.

“Can you help me?”

Her heart fell when he tossed the rag into his workspace
behind the bar and walked away. Damn it.

She was racking her brain for what the hell her next step
should be when he came back, set down her Diet Coke and crossed his arms on the
bar.

“What can I get you?” Another big smile. His piercing blue
gaze pinned her.

Her face might crack from the wide smile she slapped on. “A
tuna melt, no tomato, please.”

“Anything else?”

“Any idea where he might be?”

He shook his head. “Fries?”

She tried not to let her frustration show. “Yes, please.
With vinegar, if you have it.”

“I do. I’m not sure I have what else you’re looking for, though.”

She nodded and looked down at her hands clenched in her lap.
His laugh brought her head up again. He was a marvelous actor, his eyes shining
with amusement. She wondered if that was something he’d been born with or had
to learn. The idea of that pretty face in prison gave her a chill.

He leaned in close, as if she’d said something funny and he
was going to whisper his presumably naughty response in her ear. “How long has he
been missing?”

She turned her face toward his, her nose almost bumping his ear,
their cheeks brushing. “He’s not, really. We’re not sure.”

Even an actor as talented as Jack couldn’t disguise his dubious
look as he departed to help another customer.

When he returned with her food, they began an exhausting
back and forth. To anyone watching, they were flirting like strangers who had
nothing to lose. He refilled her drink. She ordered dessert. He brought her
coffee. It all appeared, she sincerely hoped, perfectly innocent. In reality,
she was slowly sketching out her problem to Jack. Her face had burned when he acknowledged
he’d seen Bobby’s recent television interview, his narrow gaze and muttered
curse a small consolation before he returned to his flirtatious act.

Now she was nursing her last cup of coffee. Between her
nerves and the obscene amount of food and drink she’d consumed in order to drag
out her stay, she thought she might barf. Three o’clock and Jack’s break
couldn’t arrive soon enough.

Her phone sat silent in her lap. Garrick hadn’t called. He
hadn’t answered when she called. Hadn’t replied to her texts.

She’d begged Jack to tell her where he’d sent Garrick, but
he wouldn’t do it, knowing she’d go there alone. He insisted he would use the
hour he had between his double shifts and take her there himself.

She thought about texting Garrick where she was. Who she was
with. She had no idea if he was even getting these damn messages, but Jack’s
name and her presence in a Kramer establishment might motivate him to come find
her.

But she was also a chicken. She could only hope Garrick
would forgive her for dragging Jack into this mess. Jack, like Rhian, was
someone to protect, not endanger. She understood that.

But it wasn’t enough to override her escalating fear and the
need to find Garrick.

Garrick walked around the block one more time, trying to
ease the ache in his cold legs and sore hip before sneaking back into the alley
and behind that god-awful dumpster. He was coming around the corner, the Sugar
Shack’s front door halfway down the block, when the SUV he’d seen a while back returned
and the same four men piled out.

Garrick eased over to the nearest shop window and pretended
great interest in the legion of women either painting toes or having their toes
painted. Several of them gave him a strange look and he smiled back, trying to
appear innocent.

When he judged enough time had safely passed, he tucked his
head down farther into his collar and turned to continue his walk. He was three
steps beyond the nail salon’s window when he realized he’d made a big mistake.

They were waiting for him.

Oh, fuck.

He ran like hell in the other direction. His boots hit the
pavement hard and he winced, regretting that he had let his legs get so cold in
the alley and hoping his pounding heart would pump blood back into his muscles
quickly.

Taking the corner at a dead run, he pelted full speed down
the side street and cut into the alley at the last moment. It was the fastest
way to his car.

His sprint seemed to have caught his pursuers off guard and
he was gaining ground. He was just beginning to warm up and ease into a
long-legged stride when the back door of the Sugar Shack flew open and Blondie,
the Canadiens fan, stepped out into the alley in front of him, with Goon Two
hot on his heels.

His pace faltered. He looked over his shoulder. Still being
chased.

Damn.

Skidding to a halt in the icy slush, Garrick spun, facing
the four men first. He’d hardly planted his feet when the first punch landed.

He was no stranger to a good fight. He was a hockey player,
for crying out loud, but no one, not even a seasoned brawler, could have done
anything but crumple under a pile-on like this.

His head hit the pavement with a resounding crack, though he
feared only he could hear the sickening sound in his head. As his vision
narrowed to a thin, brightly lit tunnel, he thought he heard his name and
forced his eyes open. The blows had stopped and someone was rolling him onto
his stomach, his face pressed to the cold dreck coating the alley.

His stomach roiled and his vision blurred, but not before he
saw Savannah standing at the head of the alley, crying out his name.

No!

Savannah stood frozen in horror, the echo of her cry still
ringing in the alley, when Jack Chevalier dragged her out of view of the gang
of men assaulting Garrick.

She fought against the arms wrapped around her until Jack managed
to get them both across the street and behind the cab of his truck. He shook
her hard. “Savannah!
Think!
”

She
was
thinking. She was thinking those men were
going to kill Garrick. She was thinking she had to stop them. She was thinking
that this was a really stupid and typical time for her to figure out just how
much she cared about him.

“Savannah,
please.
They’ll only come after you, too.
Stay here.”

Savannah forced herself to calm, to listen to him, because
he was right. There was no future for her and Garrick if she got them both
killed. With a whimper, she slumped back against the truck and sank to the
ground, her forehead on her knee.

Jack ran along the cars parked in front of them, his head
low, until he was across from the alley.

“Those are the men,” she called to Jack.

“What?” He didn’t look away from the alley.

She climbed back to her feet to go see what held his rapt
attention, but he ran back to her side at the truck.

“Those are the men who came to Garrick’s house earlier. The
ones Rhian scared off.”

Jack grimaced.

Savannah dug her phone out of her pocket and began to dial 9-1-1.
Jack yanked the phone from her hand before she could hit send.

“They might have police scanners.” He cleared her phone and
shoved it back in her hand.

“So?”

“So, I don’t want them to panic. And I don’t want them to
clear out before the cops get here.”

“I need Garrick to be safe.”

Jack’s expression was sympathetic but firm. “They took him
inside,” he said as he searched the street.

She didn’t know Jack well, but she could tell there was more
he wasn’t saying.

“What?”

“I don’t think he’s conscious.”

She’d seen his head hit the pavement, so she wasn’t all that
surprised, but her hand jerked for her phone again automatically. She checked
herself when Jack took his phone out and started dialing.

He put the phone to his ear. “I have a friend. A Mountie.”

“A what?”

Jack flashed a quick smile. “Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”

She pictured the street swarming with men in red jackets on
horses. “Like Dudley Do-Right?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “No. Well, yes. But they’re like your state
police. He’ll help us.”

Help us what?
She paced away from Jack and leaned
against the bed of his truck. One man wasn’t going to be much help unless he
brought a whole lot of friends with him.

The front door of the Sugar Shack swung open and let in their
first customers of the night, the neon lights in the window flickering on.

Overwhelmed by helplessness, she turned away and looked into
the jumble of stuff in the bed of Jack’s truck. She stared blankly at the
mishmash of tools and hardware supplies and an idea flickered to life.

She hauled herself up and over the side of the truck. Jack watched
her while he spoke on the phone and desperately tried to convince whoever was
on the other end to take action.
Some friend
. Then again, Jack was an
ex-con, deservedly so or not. He no doubt had an uphill battle.

Grabbing what she needed, she vaulted back onto the sidewalk
and yanked open the passenger door of the truck. She upended her purse onto
Jack’s front seat, pocketed her Swiss Army knife, and shoved her prize from the
back of Jack’s truck into the now empty bag. She then slung it over her
shoulder and turned for the Sugar Shack.

 Jack caught her arm. “Where the hell are you going?”

She looked back at Garrick’s friend. “I’m going into the
Sugar Shack. You’re calling in reinforcements. If you see either me or Garrick
leaving that building by some means other than our own volition, call the cops
and let the police scanners be damned, Jack.”

“You can’t go in there.”

“No,
you
can’t go in there. I don’t give a fuck if
they recognize me.”

“And what are you going to do if they do see you?”

Savannah smiled grimly. “The public will protect me in the
bar. And otherwise, I have everything I need.”

“Really?”

“You have no idea what I can do,” Savannah muttered.