Game Over (The Baltimore Banners Book 2)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  “I am hardly working too hard.” She laughed, a forced sound of frustration. The only thing she had to do was make sure Nikolai showed up where he was scheduled to be, and on time. So far, there had only been the bowling alley event, and one photo session for some team publicity shots. And Nikolai had been cooperative and agreeable for both.

  “Well then,” Nikolai grinned. “I will not feel too guilty about giving you more work to do.”

  “More work?” Bobbi laughed again. Any ‘work’ she had been given had been assigned to her by George Toomey…and calling it ‘work’ was a stretch by any standard. Nikolai had asked her to do exactly nothing.

  “Yes. I would like for you to take me shopping. And then, if you would like, I have another favor to ask of you. But that’s for later. So, moj dosadnyj malen’kij bich, will you do that for me?”

  “Shopping?” She knew she should ask about the other favor, but she was having enough trouble processing the shopping part. Why would he want her to go shopping with him? And what on earth was he shopping for?

  “Yes. Women like shopping, no? So, you will go with me?”

  She almost asked him if she had a choice but bit the words back. If she did ask—even jokingly—he would tell her that yes, she did, and that would be the end of it. There would be no shopping. Nikolai had absolutely no expectations. He didn’t ask anybody to do anything for him, and he didn’t demand anything. Bobbi was beginning to wonder why Toomey felt he needed a babysitter at all, because Nikolai was easily the most agreeable person she had ever met. In fact, the only time he had come close to being demanding was last week, when they shared their first and only kiss.

  And yes, it had turned into way more than just a kiss. But his ‘demanding’ that night had, without a doubt, benefitted her way more than it had him.

  So she shrugged then nodded. Shopping. What could be less harmless? Bobbi grabbed her files and tossed everything into her bag, then let him lead her out of the office and down the hall. They had to pass through the practice area to get outside, and she hesitated at the sight of a group of twenty or so people that had gathered around the edge of the rink. A few players, still in full gear, were standing at the edge of the group, talking and signing autographs.

  As usual, Nikolai didn’t hesitate at all, just tugged on her arm and led her toward the group. He pulled away from her as they approached and called out a greeting to a few people who called his name. Nikolai did this after each practice, eagerly greeting the fans; there was nothing out of the ordinary here. Yet Bobbi hesitated again, the hair on the back of her neck prickling in warning.

  Nikolai was deep in conversation with a boy about eleven years old. The hero worship was clear in the boy’s eyes as he held a jersey toward Nikolai to sign. Even from a few feet away, Bobbi could see that it had Nikolai’s name and number on the back.

  Nikolai laughed at something the boy said, a full hearty laugh, then motioned toward her. “Bobbi, do you have a pen? This future hockey player would like for me to sign his jersey.”

  Bobbi stepped closer, stopping at Nikolai’s side, and reached into her bag for one of the permanent markers she had started carrying for just these occasions. Her head turned as she began pulling out the pen, Nikolai clear in her peripheral vision, when her gaze was distracted by a flash that was there and gone almost before her mind registered it.

  She pretended to stumble into Nikolai, pushing him out of the way as her eyes scanned all around. Ignoring his mutter of surprise and pulling out of his grasp—he had actually grabbed her so she could regain her balance!—she moved so she was standing in front of him.

  Movement at the far end of the rink caught her eye, and she pushed away, muttering an excuse about forgetting something as she quickly made her way to where she had noticed the movement. She reached the spot in a matter of seconds and pushed through the exit door and into the sunny afternoon. The warmth of the late March day swept over her, a striking contrast to the chill of the rink…and to the chill that raced through her.

  Because the flash she had seen had been the pinpoint red light of a laser—the kind of laser used to sight a target before shooting.

  Her hands shaking, her heart pounding as a feeling of utter helplessness swamped her, she looked in all directions, trying to find who had been responsible for the warning. And there was no doubt it had been meant as a warning, because if the person had been intent on shooting, Nikolai would have been dead before she pushed him away.

  Several cars were pulling out of the parking lot, all of them moving at a generally sedate pace. A scattering of people were milling around the front door, but again, nobody was moving in any way to call attention to themselves. Cursing, Bobbi slammed her palm against the metal siding of the rink.

  Dammit! She kicked out with her foot, knowing even as she did that the action was useless. She could go ten rounds with a punching bag and her heart would still be racing in fear, her stomach would still be clenched in panic.

  Because those were the two emotions that had slammed into her as soon as she had seen that pinpoint of light in the middle of Nikolai’s chest. Dear God, she could all too easily imagine the spattering of blood, the tearing of flesh and muscle and bone.

  She swallowed hard and bent over at the waist, taking deep breaths to calm down. She had no idea what she looked like, but she knew that Nikolai would be able to tell something was wrong if she didn’t calm down. At least outwardly. Inside, she was panicked and pissed.

  Had this been some kind of twisted act on Denny’s part? If it was, she was going to have his head on a platter. And if it wasn’t…then there was a whole lot of something that hadn’t been passed on to her.

  Taking one last deep breath, Bobbi walked back inside and headed toward the group. It was smaller now, but Nikolai was still talking to the same boy as before. He glanced up and gave her a curious look, as if asking if everything was okay.

  She swallowed and pushed the vision of his bloodied body out of her mind, pasted a smile on her face, and nodded. He smiled back, but it wasn’t his usual smile, and she knew that he didn’t believe her.

  So come up with a quick story, she thought as she made her way over to him. Yeah, no problem with that one.

  “See? I told you she would come back,” Nikolai was saying to the boy. He turned to her, another smile on his face. “So, moj dosadnyj malen’kij bich, my friend here has waited patiently for me to sign his jersey.”

  Bobbi almost laughed but swallowed it back at the last minute, certain that it would have sounded like a cackle if it had escaped her lips. She was pushing visions of a dead Nikolai out of her mind, and he was waiting on his marker. With a mumbled apology, she pulled it out of her bag and handed it to him, then stood as close to him as she possibly could without drawing his attention. Her eyes continued to search around them, but there was no one else left…at least no one visible.

  “Thanks Mr. Petrovich! This is so cool!” The boy was overloaded with excitement, and his enthusiasm was obviously shared by Nikolai, who reached out and ruffled the kid’s hair. The hero-worship in the boy’s eyes jumped to mega-wattage as he skipped away, gushing non-stop as he held out his jersey for his mother to see. Within a minute, they were outside, and the rink was eerily quiet with only Nikolai and her left.

  She felt his stare on her and turned to face him, surprised at the intense scrutiny and worry etched on his face. His blue eyes were searing as he studied her, and his hand reached out toward her. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb, his calloused flesh warm and soothing on her flushed skin.

  “You should not lie to me, moj dosadnyj malen’kij bich.”

  “Lie? I’m not—”

  “Something has upset you. Maybe you think nobody else will notice, but I know you. I see. So what has happened?”

  “Nothing. I just…I felt a little dizzy and needed some air. That’s all.” He didn’t believe her. She could see it clearly in his eyes, in the look he gave he
r, a look that was almost as unsettling as his words.

  He didn’t know her. How could he? They had just met each other, and except for that night in her apartment, their contact had been on a professional basis.

  He did not know her.

  But she questioned her own instincts as she met his gaze, as she saw the worry and concern clearly written there. Yes, they had just met each other, but they had been together for long hours at a time, all day, every day. He laughed and joked with her, shamelessly flirted with her, asked her questions about herself and her life as he shared the same information with her. And she realized that she knew more about him than she thought. Was it that crazy that he would think the same of her?

  Yes. Yes, the idea was crazy. He didn’t know her. He only knew the person she was pretending to be, he only knew her as his personal assistant, his babysitter, his annoying little pest. He did not know the real her, and why she was really with him.

  To pry into his life. To dig so deep there were no secrets left.

  No, he didn’t know the real her. And he never could.

  “You will not tell me why you are upset. I will not be nosy again. But, it is now my job to make you forget, so we will go shopping.” He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss, a brief touch of his lips against hers that caught her so completely by surprise that she didn’t have a chance to react. She was still blinking her disbelief when he grabbed her hand and led her outside to his car.

  He still wanted to go shopping. Of course he would, he had no idea what had just happened. And she couldn’t tell him. But she couldn’t just follow blithely along. Not now, not when she had to confront Denny and demand answers. But she had no idea how to get out of it.

  Then she realized that maybe the best thing she could do would be to go shopping. To just act like nothing had happened. To keep such a close eye on Nikolai, to stay so close to him that he would look at her with that amused expression on his face and call her his annoying little pest as she did her best to make sure he was safe.

  And then, when they were done…then, she would go after Denny and get to the bottom of whatever game he was playing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The building was quiet, nearly deserted at this late hour. Bobbi had counted on that, realizing that showing up at such a late hour, unannounced, would work to her advantage. Her casual loafers made little noise on the carpeted hallway as she walked straight toward Denny’s office. A light had been on in Howard’s office, and she had briefly toyed with the idea of going there first, but she wanted to use whatever element of surprise she might have.

  She was not under the impression that nobody knew she was here. Not in this building. She could use that to her advantage as well if she played it right.

  Light seeped around the edges of Denny’s office door. Bobbi paused, listening for voices and hearing none, then continued forward, pushing the door open with just enough force. As she suspected, Denny was behind his desk, his gaze focused on the computer screen at his side. He looked up at her sudden entrance, his eyes registering momentary surprise before he leaned back in his chair and fixed her with a steady gaze.

  “Bobbi. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  She walked inside and shut the door behind her, then leaned against it, her arms folded across her chest as she fixed him with her own stare. “Didn’t you? Why don’t I believe that?”

  Silence stretched around them as she watched him, looking for any movement, any telltale sign that would let her see more than he wanted her to. His expression was more drawn than usual, small signs of stress etched at the corner of his eyes. A hint of beard darkened his jaw, and his hair looked as if he had run his hands through it in frustration then smoothed it out. It wasn’t his normally pulled-together look, but not completely unlike him if he was working a particularly complicated case.

  “If there’s a reason you’re here, please share it. I don’t have time for games right now.”

  “Games?” She pushed away from the door and crossed to his desk in a few angry strides, leaning over it far enough that he actually backed his chair away a few inches. “Games? You think having someone target Petrovich in a rink full of spectators is a fucking game?”

  Shocked disbelief followed her outburst and deliberate crude language. Several emotions crossed through Denny’s eyes so quickly that they were hardly noticed. None of them gave her the answer she had been expecting. But she refused to back down, refused to back away as he straightened in his chair and faced her, his look one of feral seriousness.

  “What? When was this?”

  “This afternoon. And don’t tell me you didn’t have anything to do with it.” Her gut was saying her initial suspicion was wrong, but she pushed anyway.

  “Why the hell would I target Petrovich? He’s our easiest shot at getting in.”

  “Because it was meant as a warning.” Bobbi pushed away from the desk but didn’t step back. Let him think she wasn’t convinced, see if he tipped his hand and shared any more information.

  “Shit. I wasn’t expecting…” He grabbed the phone and punched in a few numbers, his expression grim. “Howard, we have a situation. I need you in here.”

  Denny slammed the receiver down and stood, tension radiating from every line of his body as he pulled thick files from a tall cabinet. He picked up the phone again, then replaced it as he looked up at her. She straightened even further, knots of anxiety twisting her stomach.

  “Petrovich. Where is he now?”

  “Why?”

  “Dammit, Bobbi, not now. I can’t take a chance of this blowing up. Where is he?”

  “At his house. Now tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Denny shook his head, picked the phone back up and punched in some numbers. His voice was short, authoritative as he spoke. “Get someone over to Petrovich’s house. I want him covered.”

  Bobbi’s stomach twisted even further, and she was ready to grab Denny by the throat and demand answers when Howard walked in. The office door closed behind him with a definitive click and he gave both of them a flat stare.

  She looked from Howard to Denny. “What the hell is going on? I want answers. Now.”

  “Bobbi, tell me exactly what happened. I want every detail.”

  The tension in the room was at an alarming high, fueling her anxiety. She swallowed back the emotion that threatened to drown her and gave a thorough recounting of the afternoon’s incident, ending with her dropping Nikolai at his home before coming here.

  Denny and Howard exchanged a long glance, communicating silently and reinforcing the fact that there was something much bigger going on than she had been led to believe. Howard finally looked at her, then motioned for her to take a seat as he did the same. Her stomach heaved as she lowered herself into the chair, her knees suddenly weak. It didn’t make her feel any better when Denny remained standing, a stubborn scowl on his face as he shook his head.

  “Howard, I want her out of it.”

  “Out of what? What the hell is going on?”

  “It’s too late for her to be out of it. And right now, she’s our best bet to stay as close to Petrovich as possible without blowing everything.”

  “She’s a forensic accountant, not a field agent. She’s not trained—”

  “Dammit!” Her outburst caught the attention of both men, and they finally turned to look at her. “What is going on?”

  Again they exchanged a look full of silent communication that ended only when Denny released a heavy sigh and took his seat. His fingers drummed against the files as he stared at her with a look she couldn’t read, a look that did nothing to relieve her growing anxiety.

  “Petrovich is signing most of his contracted salary over to his agent. We believe he’s being blackmailed but we don’t know why. Nothing we’ve been able to uncover has given us any indication that there’s anything in his background that would justify blackmail.” Denny thumbed through one of the files and pulled several sheets of paper out.

&nbs
p; “During his first two years in the league, he was signed with the SLA Agency. His contracts were solid and legitimate. Then, for no apparent reason, he terminated that contract with no notice and immediately signed with Walter Jacobs of Timur Bratva Ltd. One month after his signing, we became aware of irregularities in the finances of TBL, and specifically with Walter Jacobs. Monitoring of these finances led to the discovery that the contract signed by Petrovich gave Walter Jacobs ninety-eight percent of Petrovich’s earnings.”

  Bobbi stared at Denny, her mind wrapping around the facts as she tried to paint a clearer picture of what he was saying. He had alluded to something like this last week, but this…It didn’t make sense. Why would Nikolai agree to something so blatantly illegal? And why wasn’t anything done about it back when it was first discovered? She asked Denny, but it was Howard who answered.

  “The contract was executed while Petrovich was in Russia, and TBL’s jurisdiction is for Russia. It wasn’t bound by US oversight at the time.”

  “Is that even legal? I thought all players were bound by standards and regulations set forth by the league.”

  “Technically they are. But there was a little-known loophole that was used for this. That loophole has since been closed, but doesn’t apply here.”

  “I don’t understand. Why doesn’t Ni—Petrovich terminate the contract and sign with another agency?”

  “That’s what we can’t find out. He’s been approached by other agencies, and he’s been offered advice and assistance, but he refuses. He simply denies that there’s anything wrong and that he’s satisfied with his current agent.”

  Bobbi was still having trouble understanding. Why would Nikolai agree to something so outrageous? He was an intelligent man, smarter than he let everyone know because of the Old Country act he deliberately portrayed to everyone—even to her, though usually not as extreme when they were alone.

  “This agent, Walter Jacobs. Is he even legitimate? He’s obviously working in the US. Isn’t there something that can be done from that angle?”