“This’ll be on YouTube within an hour,” Knox says, holding up his cell phone, which he recorded the last shot with.
“Fuck all you fuckers,” Vic says, pulling off the blocker and trapper I loaned him and dropping them on the ice.
“Don’t just drop my trapper on the ice, prick,” I call out to him, skating over to pick up my gloves. “It takes me forever to break these in, and I take care of them.”
“Sorry, man,” he says, skating to the bench and taking the rest of his gear off.
He’s not sorry. I was right not to loan him my mask, which I had customized with red and orange airbrushed flames.
I shake my head and leave the ice, heading for the locker room. Once there, I shower, change into shorts and a T-shirt, and leave my gear for the equipment guys to take care of.
I’m walking out to my car while checking my phone and see that I have a missed call from my brother Logan. Once in my car, I push a button on the dash of my Tesla SUV to call him back.
“Hey, man,” he says in answer.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I need a favor.”
“More season tickets?”
“Nah, the four you got me are all I need.”
“Okay, what is it?”
There’s a pause before he says, “Uh…I was hoping we could talk about it in person.”
“Fantastic,” I deadpan. “Are you gonna ask me to donate an organ or something?”
“Nah, nothing painful.”
The line goes quiet again and I say, “Okay, give me something. Whatever you need, you know I’ll do it.”
“I hope so.” He clears his throat. “It’s actually work related.”
That perks my ears up, since Logan is a detective for the Chicago Police Department. “Oh. And it’s something I can help with?”
“It’s something I think only you can help with.”
“Huh. I’m intrigued.”
“Can you come by my office tomorrow afternoon around two?”
I have a massage scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, because the older I get the sorer I get from hockey, but I can reschedule it.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“Great, thanks man.”
“See you then.”
I end the call and take an exit to stop by a farmer’s market I like downtown. I plan to pick up some fresh vegetables to grill with the New York strip steak I’ve got waiting in my fridge for dinner tonight.
My wife Lily was always the cook in our relationship, and I was always in charge of the grill. I’d be out cooking meat with a cold beer in hand while she chopped stuff for salad or whipped up scalloped potatoes in the kitchen. Since she passed away almost three years ago, I’ve had to learn a few cooking skills, but I still stick to the grill as much as possible.
It’s not the same, of course. Sitting down to eat alone was really hard that first year. I’d look at her empty seat in the silent dining room and miss her so badly I couldn’t even finish eating sometimes. So I started eating in the living room, watching TV with either a game or ESPN on.
The therapist I saw after Lily’s death told me there are no rights and wrongs with grieving. She said making new routines helps some people.
It helped me, but not enough. Everywhere I went in the house Lily and I built together, I saw reminders of the life we had and the future we thought we had time for.
Empty bedrooms we hoped to fill with kids one day. The bed she fell in love with at a little furniture store in San Francisco that I paid an absolute fortune to have shipped to Chicago, just because I knew no other bed would make her face light up like that one did. The corner of our great room where we put up a Christmas tree together every year.
For a couple years, I held on to the house because even though it was painful, it was where I felt closest to her. But when I finally sold it and bought a lakefront apartment, I felt like I left some of the grief behind.
“Jonah West,” one of the vendors at the farmer’s market says when I bring a bag of veggies up to pay for them. “Nice game the other night, my friend. All of Chicago was cheering when you blocked that last shot.”
“Thanks, Cal. I was feeling that dive in my back the next day.”
He chuckles and gives me my total. I pass him some cash, saying, “Keep it. Thanks, man.”
“Thank you. And good luck against Philly.”
“Appreciate it, man.”
I drive home from there, take a run around the lake, get a shower and then make my dinner. When I’m not on the road for work, this is what I usually do in a day, unless I’m hanging out with the guys.
This is my life now. Hockey, fishing trips with my brother or friends, and downtime spent mostly by myself. And I’m okay with it. For me, it’s Lily or no one.
Chapter Three
Reyna
“Holy shit, you’re Rey Diaz?”
A detective gapes at me from behind the front desk of the Investigations Division at a downtown Chicago Police Department precinct. He eyes me up and down and the secretary sitting behind the desk he’s standing next to rolls her eyes in my direction.
“I am,” I say, giving the secretary a small smile.
“I, uh…” the detective runs a hand down his face, grinning. “Sorry, I was expecting you to be…a dude, you know? Not—”
The secretary clears her throat and says, “Agent Diaz, Detective West and Sgt. Jones are expecting you. I’ll take you back to the conference room.”
“I got it, Gina,” Officer Dipshit says, his gaze locked on my chest.
He leads me to a hallway off the lobby area and walks beside me.
“So, ever been to Chicago before?” he asks, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup.
“I have, yes.”
“Did your husband come with you? Or your boyfriend…?”
Jesus, this guy is a real douchebag. I get hit on by cops often, but usually not so blatantly.
“I’m not married,” I say, forcibly keeping my temper in check.
“Right here,” he says, opening a conference room door. “And hey, I’m Chip Tamblin if you’re ever looking for someone to hang out with here.”
One of the men at the table, a tall Black man with a no-nonsense expression, glares at Chip as he stands up and walks over to me.
“Agent Diaz?” he says, offering me his hand to shake. “I’m Sgt. Doug Jones, great to meet you.” He looks over at Chip and says, “Get the fuck out of here, Tamblin.”
“Yes, sir.” Chip bows his head and closes the door.
“Sorry about that,” Doug says. “Kid’s a rookie with a lot to learn, but he’s a math whiz and believe it or not, he does good work—with supervision.”
“It’s no problem.” I shake his hand, liking him already.
“I’m Logan West,” the other guy at the table says, coming over to shake my hand as well. “We appreciate you coming to help work this case.”
“I’m glad you asked me to come.” I set my bag on the conference table and slide into a chair. “From what I read in the file during my flight, this could be a really big case.”
Logan nods. He’s about to sit back down when he pauses. “Can I get you some coffee? Water?”
“I’m good, thank you.” I look across the table to Sgt. Jones, who is taking his seat. “Are we waiting on anyone else before we get started?”
“We’ve got others coming later. This is Detective West’s case. I’m just here because I’m helping coordinate resources for him. Our Investigations Deputy Chief is in a budget meeting or he’d be here right now, but he’s been fully briefed. I thought we’d have Detective West get you up to speed on the case and then go from there.”
“Sounds good,” I say.
Logan seems to decide against sitting back down. He walks over to the big white board on the conference room wall.
“I think better when I can write,” he explains, picking up a dry erase marker. “We’ve been gathering intel on this guy for a few months now.”
“Darren Shields is a billionaire who owns an investment company. He buys businesses, real estate, pretty much anything he thinks he can make money on. This guy is super connected, in Chicago and all over the world. He’s got politicians in his pocket and unlimited resources.”
I nod. “So you’re taking your time with him, building an airtight case.”
“Exactly.”
Logan is tall and lean, with short brown hair and blue eyes. He seems to have a good disposition for detective work. I can already tell he could answer just about any question I throw out about Darren Shields.
“Shields mostly moves between his apartments in Chicago, New York and London,” Logan continues, scrawling the names of each city on the board. “He also has a place in Hollywood that he rarely visits. And once or twice a month, he heads to his compound in Bermuda for a few days at a time.”
Logan circles “Bermuda” on the board and sets the marker down on the attached tray, putting his hands in the pockets of his suit pants.
“His Bermuda compound is the location of his sex trafficking operation,” he says. “Girls and boys as young as ten. We have very limited access to information about specifics, like how many.”
“So no CIs,” I surmise.
A confidential informant would probably make Logan’s case. I’m guessing helping him get one is where I come in.
“Not yet,” he says. “This case is bigger than it even looks.”
“Looks pretty fucking huge to me,” I say.
“There are some very big fish going in and out of that compound. We’ve kept the details of this case locked down, limited to only those who need to know. That numbnuts rookie who brought you in here knows nothing about this case, only that you’re a federal agent here to assist on a case.”
I put up a hand. “If you’re trying to tell me not to divulge anything to anyone, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“I know you do, and I mean no disrespect,” Logan says. “It’s just that I’ve been working this case hard for a long time now, and the shit just seems to go deeper and deeper. I want this guy. I want all of them, honestly. Every filthy fucker who’s ever set foot on that hellhole of a compound.”
“Good. I do, too. And I’m at your disposal. However long you need me, whatever you need me to do. I’ll be working undercover, right?”
Logan nods, and I see the wheels in his mind start turning. He walks over to a manila folder on the conference table and slides it toward me.
“You’ll be working as Renee Carlisle, a freelance writer who does articles for beauty and fashion magazines. Figured your friends could call you Rey with that name. I’ve already generated some articles under the name Renee Carlisle with time stamps going back a little over two years.”
I arch a brow and smile. “So you know your beauty products, Detective West?”
The first sign of a smile from him plays on his lips. “Not at all. I had help. More on that later.”
I pinch my brows together, thinking out loud. “So do you want me to try to form a personal relationship with Shields?”
“Yes, but you’ll have help.”
I look over at him. “Sorry, I’ll let you finish before I ask questions.”
“No, it’s okay.” He slides a second manila folder my way. “Shields was born and raised in Chicago. He’s a die-hard Chicago sports fan. He’s a regular in the VIP box for high rollers who contribute to the Chicago Blaze Foundation. He’s an acquaintance of Olivier Durand, the owner of the Blaze, but Durand doesn’t spend time with him outside of games and fundraisers.”
I nod and look up from the file at Logan. “You’ve done a lot of great work here.”
“None of it will matter if we don’t get these guys,” he says, sighing. “And that’s where my brother comes in.”
“Your brother?”
“Jonah West, he’s the goalie for the Chicago Blaze.”
My eyes widen at our luck. “Really?”
“Really. And he’s going to be your in. As his girlfriend, you’ll have access to all the VIP Blaze events.”
I draw back slightly. “As his what?”
“It’s the perfect cover,” Logan explains. “Jonah’s been single for three years now. He’s one of the highest paid players on the team and everyone loves him. Shields pays big money to hobnob with the players, and Jonah will help you get as close as you need.”
Now the wheels are turning in my mind, too. I have to admit, this is a really good plan.
“And Jonah’s okay with this?” I ask.
Logan’s expression turns sheepish. “He will be.”
“He doesn’t know yet?” My lips part with surprise.
“We figured we should clear this plan with you before bringing anyone else in,” Sgt. Jones says.
I sigh softly. “No, you’re right. I appreciate that.” I laugh. “I’ve done some crazy undercover shit, but I’ve gotta say, I never thought I’d be posing as the girlfriend of a pro hockey player. And a beauty writer at that. I hardly even wear makeup.”
“I’ve got you covered there, too,” Logan says. “You’ll be moving in with the son of one of our deputy chiefs, Kai St. James. Kai is a huge Instagram beauty influencer. He’s going to help you with all the beauty blogging stuff. He won’t know the details, but he does know you’re working undercover.”
I briefly consider all the aspects of this undercover role before asking, “And you’re sure your brother will go for this?”
“I mean, when he sees you…yeah.” Logan grins and shrugs.
“I’m not sleeping with him,” I say firmly.
“Hell no, I’d never ask you to do something like that. Jonah’s a good guy; I’d trust him with my life. He’ll do it when I explain the importance of this investigation to him. I was joking about him doing it just because of your looks and I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care, I’m used to it. I just need to know that he won’t talk to anyone. My life will be in danger if he does.”
“Don’t worry about that. When I tell Jonah about Shields, he’ll help in any way he can. I know him—he will.”
“And he won’t mind pretending to be my boyfriend?”
Logan shakes his head. “Jonah’s been… pretty committed to being single since his wife passed away three years ago. But that doesn’t stop women from trying. This will give him a way to avoid all that.”
“Okay,” I say. “I trust your judgment.”
Logan clears his throat. “I do need to ask you, though…I mean, part of this cover will be you and Jonah being openly affectionate with each other. Is that okay with you?”
I scoff. “I worked undercover as a stripper for three months once and had to give lap dances to some nasty-ass men. But we saved a number of girls in the end and every last second of stripping was worth it. I can handle your brother grabbing my ass and kissing me.”
Logan looks relieved. “I was told you’re the best there is at this.”
“It’s my life,” I admit. “And failure isn’t an option in this line of work.”
“You and I are gonna get along great,” Logan says, grinning.
“Thanks for all the research you’ve compiled for this case. I know all the stuff you’ve done so far isn’t the exciting part, but it’s essential.”
“I appreciate that,” he says.
“Logan’s the best detective we’ve got,” Sgt. Jones says. “And anything the two of you need for this case, it’s yours.”
“All we need now is to brief Jonah when he gets here and then I’ll send you to meet Kai,” Logan says. “I’ve had his place swept for bugs and I had a little soundproof area installed so the two of you have a place to talk about anything off script.”
I nod and smile. “Okay, then. Let’s take this fucker down.”
Chapter Four
Jonah
“Are you fucking serious?” I look at my brother, incredulous.
“I fucking am.”
“You want me to pretend to be in a relationship with a federal agent? Introduce her to all my teammates and Durand?”
“Yeah, that’s the how, but keep in mind the why, man—to put away a sex trafficker of children.”
I shift in my seat, across from my brother’s desk in his office. “Yeah, I get it, but…I’m a hockey player, man. I don’t know shit about undercover police work.”
“You won’t be working undercover. Reyna will. All you have to do is pretend to be dating her. And did I mention she’s ridiculously hot?”
“You did.” I glare at him. “You think that’s what I’m thinking about right now, whether or not she’s hot?”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t hurt that she is.”
I exhale hard. “Dude, I’m already under a ton of pressure. It’s early in the season and we’re grinding for every win. And I travel all the time.”
“You won’t actually have a girlfriend. You don’t need to call from the road or send her flowers.”
“Yeah, but—”
My brother cuts me off. “You need to at least meet her. She’s not gonna catch feelings, trust me. She specifically said she’s not sleeping with you.”
I throw my hands up. “I can’t believe you fucking pitched this to her without me even knowing.”
“That’s how law enforcement works.”
“How long would it be for?”
Logan shrugs. “However long it takes. If I had to guess, a few months.”
“Christ.” I let out a long sigh and look up at the ceiling.
“Come on, man. It’s not like it’s gonna keep you from dating anyone else; you don’t even want to.”
“Yeah, and everyone knows that. Will they really buy this phony relationship?”
“Yes.”
I roll my eyes. “And how the fuck would you know that?”
“When you see her, you’ll get it.”
“I can’t believe this. You’re an asshole, you know that?”
Jonah: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance Page 2