Undercover Holiday Fiancée. Maggie K. Black

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       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 that 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 СКАЧАТЬ