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“I don’t know,” Bennett said, sitting on the dresser and keeping his expression neutral. “I’m just going by what the club reported.”
“Bro, a bunch of the guys on the team have those coats. Don’t you remember the brand deal Dev had with that clothing company a year ago? Anchors, or whatever the fuck it was called? Half the team got that coat for free.”
No, Bennett hadn’t known about Dev Singh’s brand deal or the coats. “Ah, okay. You’re the only one I ever see wearing it.”
Patty’s expression turned pleading, like he needed Bennett to believe him. “It wasn’t me, Benny. I haven’t fought in a bar or a club in a long time, I swear.”
This was true as far as Bennett knew, but it didn’t mean Patty wasn’t drugging girls. Bennett was going to need to dig a little deeper. “Did you hear about anyone else in a fight, or causing trouble of some kind while you were there?”
“No, it was a pretty chill night. We all went home pretty early. I drove Dev home because he was shitfaced and I was sober.”
Ah, this would rule out both Patty and Dev. “What time did everyone leave?”
Patty shrugged. “Singh and I left around midnight. Bergy and Sid were already gone by that point. Campbell, Mac, and Welly stayed, though. Pence was there, too. Not sure when he took off, though. He’s always hard to keep track of at the clubs.”
This matched the list of guys Bennett had pulled from Noah’s text thread, the ones who made plans to go to The Loop that night. And Nico’s cousin had been drugged around one o’clock, long after Dev, Bergy, Sid, and Patrick left. “Anyone else wearing a pea coat that night?”
“Didn’t see. They all hit the coat check on the way in.”
Fuck. Bennett should’ve known that. Except he didn’t go to clubs very often, so why would he? “What about a beaded bracelet? You know the kind with words spelled out. Was anyone wearing one that night?”
“To a club?” Patrick’s face registered his distaste. “When you’re trying to get laid? Uh, no. I didn’t see anyone doing something that stupid.”
Bennett smothered a sigh. “Okay. Thanks, Patty.”
“Want me to talk to the other guys? See if one of them owns up to it?”
Definitely not. Bennett didn’t need the guy responsible to know they were looking for him. “Please, don’t. We should let it go. Sounds like it wasn’t a big deal anyway.”
“Cool. If you change your mind, hit me up.” Patty stood up and stretched his arms up over his head. “You headed out for dinner soon?”
“Yeah, in a few. See you there?”
“Yup. See you there.”
As soon as Patty left, Bennett went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. What the fuck was he doing, trying to play detective? He should turn this over to people who knew what they were doing. Namely, the Toronto Police Service. The TPS were equipped to handle this situation far better than Bennett ever could. They could probably get answers quickly.
Whatever happened, he couldn’t involve the team’s management or coaching staff—or the league. The players’ association couldn’t find out, either. Bennett had seen too many guilty guys get away scot-free once those factions took over. They cared more about hockey’s image than guilt or the victim.
And whoever was drugging girls in clubs—and probably doing worse once he got them somewhere private—didn’t deserve any consideration or protection. He deserved jail time. After a proper trial, of course. No matter what else happened, Bennett would see that the guy paid for all the crimes he’d committed.
Nico Marzano might dole out justice on the streets of Toronto, but in the Reign locker room? That role belonged to Bennett and Bennett alone.
CHAPTER 8
The texts arrived as Bennett was unlocking his hotel room door in Columbus. They’d just finished the second game of their three-game road trip—a 5-1 victory—and wouldn’t leave for Minnesota until the morning.
Bennett’s stomach jumped when he saw messages waiting from the contact saved as NM.
NM: Do you have a name for me yet?
NM: And not the promise of a name. A real name.
Scowling, Bennett tossed his key card onto the desk and considered not responding. He wasn’t sore any longer, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten about the other night in his apartment. Encouraging contact with Marzano was a bad idea. Fuck off, Bennett wrote back.
NM: That isn’t how this works, Verreault
Bennett: You know this will take time.
