If the syndicate approached him tomorrow with the right offer, he might be desperate enough to listen.
But I can’t tell Morrison that. Can’t admit that my presence is what’s making Tate vulnerable in the first place.
My phone rings, and Morrison’s name appears on the screen. Fuck. He’s not settling for text updates anymore.
“Christensen, I need a more detailed report on the Oakland situation.”
I clutch the phone tight against my ear.
“It’s been a week. What’s your read on Barnes?”
Shit. Even Morrison knows that goalies are the easiest position to corrupt. They touch the puck on every play, have the most influence on game outcomes, and carry the most individual pressure.
“He’s dealing with performance issues that could make him susceptible to outside influence,” I say, hating myself for exposing him further.
“Good. That’s what we need. A player under pressure who might be willing to make a deal.”
“I should mention that the player’s performance issues may be related to my presence on the team. There’s some... history that’s complicating the coaching relationship.”
Silence on the other end of the line. “What kind of history?”
“Personal. Nothing criminal, but it’s affecting his ability to focus.”
“Can you work around it?”
Can I? Can I find a way to help Tate get his game back while working this undercover position? Can I protect him from a syndicate that might target him while working forthe organization that’s supposed to catch them and make an example of him?
“I’m working on it,” I say.
“Work faster. We need results, Christensen. The syndicate’s been quiet for too long, which means they’re planning something big. Your job is to be ready when they make their move.”
“Understood.”
“And Christensen? If this personal history becomes a problem for the operation, I’ll pull you out and send someone else. Someone who can maintain professional objectivity.”
My breath catches. If Morrison pulls me out, the deal I made with the FBI dies with my involvement. No more witness protection. No more federal funding for my father’s care. No more immunity from prosecution for my past involvement with the syndicate.
And if they revoke my protection, the syndicate will find me within a week. They’ll finish what they started with my knee, and they’ll probably go after my father just to make a point.
“That won’t be necessary,” I say. “I can handle the situation.”
“See that you do. You’re only useful to us as long as you can deliver results. The moment you become a liability, you’re on your own. And we both know how that story ends.”
SEVEN
tate
“Parker’s starting tomorrow night.”
I stare at Coach Enver across his desk, wondering if I landed in an alternate reality. But I know this is my current and completely fucked reality.
Liam Parker, the backup goalie who’s barely played twenty games in the NHL. The kid who was drafted three rounds later than expected and has been riding the bench for two seasons.
“What?”
“You heard me.” Enver doesn’t even have the courtesy to look uncomfortable. “Parker gets the net tomorrow in Phoenix.”
My mouth goes dry. In four years with this team, I’ve never been benched. Not once. Injured, yes. Rested on the second night of back-to-backs, sometimes. But never benched for performance.
