Roland nodded. “If possible, I’d also like you to attend, and compile a report after the trip that might help us develop a framework for player security going forward. I certainly hope this is a one-off, but in case it’s not, we should have a policy we can refer to.”
“Absolutely.” Sales numbers and a trip across the country. She fought the urge to raise her fist in triumph. “Let’s consider Boise a test case, after which I’ll draw up recommendations for the rest of the season.”
“Perfect. I also wanted to—” He pulled his buzzing phone from his pocket and frowned at the screen. “Sorry, this is urgent. I’ll be right back.”
Roland rounded the table, opened the door as he answered the call and then shut it again, his voice dulling through the wall.
That left her and Oz. Alone.
Silence stretched long and wide. She clasped her hands in her lap. She wouldn’t make this comfortable for him. Oh, no. If he had something to say, he could damn well—
“How are you?” He finally looked at her, raising those big eyes to fix her with an inscrutable gaze.
“Fine,” she replied primly. “Yourself?”
“Not great.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“My best friend threw a party on Saturday night. Everyone was having a great time, and then I acted like a little bit of a dick.”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “A little bit?”
“I acted like a dick.”
“How big are we talking? Five inches? Six?”
He put the edge of his left hand on the table and planted his right hand next to it. Then he slid his right hand over to make the space in between wider. And wider. And even wider.
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” she told him dryly.
He smiled, flattening his palms on the table. “My point is, I behaved badly and I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to Jared if you think it’s necessary.”
“He’s moved on and so have I. I appreciate your apology, though.”
“Good.” He paused, and the humor in his expression dimmed. “Can I show you something in confidence? I don’t want Roland panicking.”
Mentally she stumbled at his sudden switch from personal to professional, and it took her a second to shift gears. “Of course, go ahead.”
He pulled out his phone, tapped and scrolled, and then handed it over.
“More of these Ausonius comments,” she murmured. “Your privacy settings are all locked down?”
“As tightly as anything on the Internet can be. I triple-checked when these comments started appearing. Every time I block this person, a new username pops up with the same content.”
She leaned back in her chair, thinking through the problem as he asked, “Do you think I’m overreacting? I don’t want to alarm Roland if it’s just some stupid fan of a rival team who thinks they’re funny. For all we know this person might not even be in America, let alone anywhere near Atlanta.”
“It’s always good to be overcautious, and I would tell you if it felt completely benign. The persistence, though, raises a red flag for me. This person doesn’t seem to be getting bored.”
Oz shook his head. “The opposite, if anything.”
“Let me talk to our cyber-security guy. We’ll keep it off the record for now, and I’ll let you know if he suggests we do something Skyline might have to pay for.”
“I’ll pay for it. It’d be worth it to keep Roland from freaking out any more than he already is.”
“I’ll give our guy a call and see what he says. Otherwise—Here’s Roland.”
The manager burst into the room, blatantly preoccupied as he glanced at his watch. “Bad injury news, I’m afraid. I need to get back to the training ground. Are we done here?” Then, softening his tone he added, “I mean, feel free to call me to follow up if you have any other questions.”
“I think we’re good.” Kate smiled brightly. “I’ll prepare the invoice.”
Chapter 6
“Paulo’s ball!”
Oz ducked at the center back’s instruction, avoiding an accidental deflection into their own net if they both tried to go for the ball at the same time. Instead Paulo comfortably cleared it with a header, one of their midfielders took possession and within seconds they were all running back toward Amity’s goal.
Midfielder Nico Silva made a nicely weighted pass to Rio, who took an audacious shot on goal that went wide. The clock ran down and Oz glanced at the fourth official, who raised a digital board showing the minutes added on for injury time.
Only two, thank God. He was tired, and Skyline’s two-nil lead was unlikely to be challenged in only a hundred and twenty seconds.
Skyline’s forward players passed the ball between them with deliberate sluggishness, and he vaguely marked an even more exhausted-looking Amity midfielder. Finally the whistle blew full time, ending the match and sealing Skyline’s victory.
“Nice one, good match,” he told the Amity player as they shook hands. He repeated a similar pleasantry to each player he encountered as he moved toward the away stand, and all of his opponents had similarly sportsmanlike—if slightly breathless—replies.
“Oz, pleasure to play with you today.” Boise’s captain—an American in his late thirties who’d had a successful career in Europe—spoke enthusiastically as they shook hands. “I know there was some noise around you coming to Boise and I really appreciate that you gave us a chance. We’re trying to build a strong franchise out here and the last thing we want is for top-flight players to be put off by the hostility of a couple local idiots.”
“It’s cool,” Oz assured him. “I wish you the best. The more clubs thrive, the better the competition across the league.”
They parted and Oz joined his teammates in applauding the away fans, who leapt and screamed and waved red-and-navy scarves to celebrate the decisive victory.
Oz forced a smile as he clapped, his shoulder blades drawing together inadvertently, the space between his eyes tightening. Something was bothering him, something heavy and ominous, compressing his lungs and balling his hands, but he couldn’t trace its source. He couldn’t shake it, either.
Maybe it was the half-full stadium. The rows and rows of empty seats loomed over the pitch like thousands of hollow eye sockets, and the erratic concentration of spectators made the sound of the crowd echo and fade and swell in strange ways as he moved from one end to the other. He didn’t think he’d ever played for the viewing benefit of so few people in such a big space, even as a youth player for the Swedish national team.
Or maybe it was the paranoia pervading so many elements of this trip. Kate’s presence at the airport, on the plane, in the hotel, and now in the tunnel was a constant, if not totally unpleasant, reminder that certain people didn’t want him in Boise. And although the welcoming hospitality from Amity’s staff and players was second to none, it was hard to ignore the black-suited security contractors always on the periphery.
“If the people of Boise didn’t hate you before, they certainly do now.” Laurent Perrin, Skyline’s French central midfielder, slapped him on the back as they started toward the tunnel. “Your goal-line clearance cost them the one chance they had to get on the scoreboard. And it was epic, by the way.”
“Thanks.”