Playing To Win

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“Thanks for the heads-up, Craig. I’ll take care of telling my family.”

“Understood. I’ll be in touch.”

Luke hung up the phone. He would deal with the personal stuff later. Right now, he had to focus on his team. They were only two hours away from puck drop.

He reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit, exchanging his phone for a folded-up piece of yellow legal paper. He’d found it on the floor of the bathroom and recognized instantly what it was. That 5–0 loss had been brutal. The fact that it was predetermined made it cut even deeper. Luke shook his head against the proof clutched in his hand.

He couldn’t believe any of his guys would do this. They’d battled too hard to get to where they were.

And yet...the entire premise of point-shaving and over/under betting was predicated on having an inside man, someone out there on the ice who could impact the game.

This was the last thing they needed right now. He’d only just put this team back together after losing their last captain in a blaze of scandal and lies. It had taken months of work to get all twenty-three players over the shake-up and focused on making the play-offs.

And look at them now.

The only bright spot in this rotten situation was that he’d been the one to find the betting sheet. At least this way he could deal with it internally—protect his team.

He didn’t even want to think about how this would have played out if Holly had found it instead. She could’ve ruined their chance at winning the championship before it even began.

And he wanted that championship, not just for himself but for the team.

Each and every one of those guys deserved to hoist sports’ greatest trophy above their heads, and he’d do whatever it took to make sure that happened.

For them. For himself. For his brother.

5 (#ulink_85c546fe-cc42-573b-af17-dcbffddaca8d)

“WE’LL WIN TONIGHT. Yes. By two.”

The words still echoed in Holly’s brain, hours after the final buzzer had sounded.

The Storm had handled their opponents with relative ease tonight, up 3–0 after two periods. Then at the start of the third, Sillinger had taken a bone-headed roughing penalty, Luke had fumbled the puck and failed to clear the zone, and seconds later, LaCroix had lost his chance for a shutout.

For a while, things settled down a bit, until Colorado scored to make it 3–2 with seven minutes left in the game. Things were looking grim for the list’s prediction, and then Jacobs came out of nowhere, stripping one of his opponent’s defensemen of the puck. He deked out the goaltender and put a wrister top-shelf to make the final score 4–2.

And the Storm won by two with eight seconds left in the game.

“You’ll get your money’s worth.”

The eavesdropped whisper haunted her.

It could just be coincidence, she reminded herself. It wasn’t like 4–2 was an outlandish hockey score. And this was the first prediction on the list that had come true. She had nothing but suspicion at this point. Still, the words were on her mind as she conducted post-game interviews with the guys.

“Hi, everyone. This is Holly Evans of the Women’s Hockey Network, reporting live from the Storm’s dressing room after a big 4–2 win over Colorado tonight. I’m with Portland defenseman Doug Kowalchuk.” She turned and held her mic in his direction.

“Doug, what do you think of the new jersey colors?”

On the ice, the burly D-man was a force to be reckoned with, but off ice, he reminded her of a big cartoon bear—imposing but nonthreatening. His grin was goofy and genuine. “They’re great. Red and black is a really classic combination, you know?”

Holly couldn’t quite mask the withering look on her face at his answer. She hoped Jay had zoomed in on the navy and teal jersey behind Doug instead of her face. Seriously, this was her life now?

“No, Doug. Not New Jersey’s colors—I meant the Storm’s redesigned jerseys.”

“Oh right. Yeah. They’re awesome. Go Storm!”

Holly forced a smile as she turned back to the camera. She could see Jay’s shoulders shaking with laughter. “You heard it here, folks. Go Storm!”

When she was sure the camera was off, she let out a frustrated sigh.

“You’re doing great,” Jay assured her. “Who’s next?”

Holly glanced around the scrum in the dressing room. She’d been hoping to sneak in an interview with anyone who’d made a direct contribution—be it positive or negative—to the final score tonight. She wanted to get an idea of their demeanors, a sense of their moods. But unfortunately, all four players that had risen to the top of her list—Eric, J.C., Luke and the rookie—were all big draws for reporters and had press queued up and waiting for them.

“I think we’ve got enough. Kowalchuk’s was interview number five, and I’ll do some highlight voice-overs later to cut with it. They only wanted a three-minute piece about the game, right?”

Jay nodded as he removed the camera from the tripod. “Yeah, that should be plenty.”

“Okay. I’ll catch you in about half an hour.”

“Sure thing, Holly.”

Now that she was off duty, she angled her way through the bustling dressing room toward the crowd around Eric Jacobs. He was known to be a little shy and incredibly humble considering the breadth of his talent, but he was always exceedingly polite to reporters and smiled easily. Holly hadn’t seen him smile once tonight.

She listened in as Corey Baniuk asked Eric about his spectacular goal, but the handsome centerman seemed disinterested in the recap, a little tired maybe.

And though he made the Storm’s PR department proud by saying all the right things—“Colorado played a great game and were worthy opponents,” “I saw an opportunity and fortunately I was able to capitalize on it,” “I couldn’t have done it without my teammates”—there was none of the quiet intensity that he usually brought to an interview and his gaze wandered, like he was preoccupied.

Then the “Charge” anthem played, and panic flashed across Eric’s handsome face. He turned away from the cameras and microphones being shoved in his direction and dug his phone out of the pocket of his jacket.

What the...? Eric and Luke have the same ringtone?

Eric’s expression darkened when he glanced at the caller ID, as if he was expecting bad news from whomever was on the line. “Excuse me, please, I have to take this,” he said to the group of reporters.

After Eric left, the reporters dissipated quickly, rushing off to grab quotes from other players before their allotted time in the dressing room was up.

Holly pulled out her phone and typed her observations into the memo she’d titled SUSPECTS. This investigation was the key to parlaying this farcical job into something she could be proud of, and every clue counted. To prove it, she added a note about the dark circles under Eric’s eyes and the fact that his last-minute goal corresponded to the +2 win predicted by the list. And the ringtone, obviously.