Sabotage Games

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Who will pay the ultimate price for Olympic Gold?

LAKE PLACID, N.Y., 1932—Sports journalist Emma Hancock is determined to claim her place in the press box, despite the male colleagues who slam the door in her face. But when a mysterious illness begins systematically sidelining athletes, Emma’s gift for spotting patterns reveals a plot far more sinister than mere competition.

With the Games in his own backyard, Olympic sprinter Ryan Callahan laces up his speed skates to compete in his first winter games. He has no time for distractions—especially not the inconvenience of the beautiful female journalist staying as a guest in his family’s crowded home. But when the pattern of sabotage deepens, Emma and Ryan must work together to follow the threads before they become the next targets to fall.

La Verità con Integrità. Truth with Integrity. The Legacy of a (Girl) Stunt Reporter.

Read the Whole Series

Prequel: 1892 - Undercover Wish
Book 1: 1931 - Eyewitness Sketch
Book 2: 1932 - Sabotage Games
Book 3: 1932 - Shrouded Trail
Book 4: 1933 - Fraudulent Progress
Book 5: 1935 - Pursuing Dust
Book 6: 1936 - Hostile Ally

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Published by Hearth Spot Press © 2026 Danielle Grandinetti

Read the Opening Scene

CHICAGO, Ill., Jan. 14, 1932—“Emma!”

“For the third time, I’m coming, Lena!” Emma Hancock shouted back as she stuffed her baseball glove into her satchel, then tossed the strap over her shoulder as she headed for the stairs, skirt swishing around her knees.

“We have a train to catch.” Redheaded Lena Carney stood at the base of the steps, arms crossed, looking smart in her tan trench coat. “The cab’s waiting with our luggage.”

Emma rolled her eyes, dropping the satchel so she could shrug into her gray wool coat. Freya, the agency’s German Shepherd, sniffed her bag. While Emma adored her fellow journalists, she wished Lena would smile more. The political journalist was too serious. That’s why Emma preferred covering sports.

“Le mie stelline,” their boss chided. Ali Di Stasio founded the Di Stasio Giornaliste agency after she married the wealthy Griff Morland about four decades ago. She kept her maiden surname as her professional pseudonym since Griff’s upper-class neighbors would not approve of his wife’s undercover exploits.

“I am never early, but I am seldom late.” Emma covered her dark curls with her bright red knit hat. “Anyway, there was a game at Chicago Stadium last night.”

Lena stared. Freya leaned against Lena’s leg, tongue lolling.

“Hockey game. Black Hawks hosted the Canadiens.” Emma huffed, then realized the hall had crowded with half of the agency’s six journalists and Gabby’s new husband. “We lost, by the way. Two-one.”

“Train, Emma.” Lena sighed, the long-suffering colleague. Drat her.

“Fine.” Emma wrapped her matching red scarf around her neck. Her coat might be gray, but the rest of her accessories didn’t need to be colorless. “Off we go then.”

“Primo, una preghierina.” Ali’s Italian words brought immediate peace to Emma’s soul and the room. One would never realize Ali was once an Italian street urchin, what with her cultured tone, and well-dressed manner. Until she brought God into the conversation, then her Italian flared, both in words and accent.

It always caught Emma off guard, this apparent closeness Ali had with the Almighty. Emma didn’t have time for such revenant demand. Except when Ali huddled them close.

The diminutive woman rested one hand on Emma’s head, the other on Lena’s as she offered a prayer of blessing over them and their mission. She ?sent her journalists off in such a manner only when they went undercover or on an extended trip.

This particular trip would last over a month, perhaps longer for Lena, depending on what campaign trail she would need to follow. Apparently the governor of New York State had all but declared a run for president. Franklin Roosevelt would also open the Olympic Games, so Lena had elbowed her way into Emma’s trip.

The gathered women and Gabby’s husband all echoed Ali’s amen, then Andri opened the front door. Gabriella Salatino, a talented sketch artist, had married her childhood friend Andri Jóhannsson over Christmas, and they were now the resident chaperones. Never a necessity before, but Emma had to admit that with the rising unemployment rate, it was nice having a former police officer and his dog living in the house now.

Lena herded them toward the waiting cab outside, watchfulness tensing the line of her shoulders as she eyed the breadline winding around St. Mark’s Catholic Church across the street.

“Do you have all the information you need?” Andri followed them down the brownstone steps, Freya at his side. “Yesterday, I spoke with the owner of the home where you’ll be staying. They’ll expect you Saturday evening.”

“I called Mrs. Callahan as well,” Lena said as the cab driver opened the rear car door. “I will be coming and going between there and Albany, so she’s giving me a separate room. With Governor Roosevelt soon to toss his hat into the democratic nomination ring, I need to learn more about the man.”

“Wait.” Emma held up both hands. “Callahan?”

“Emma.” Lena rolled her eyes. “We’ve known their name for weeks.”

“No. No I haven’t. I would have remembered.” She had a mind for names and stats and dates, and this name, she would have remembered. “Callahan is the name of one of the female speed skaters taking part in the demonstration.”

“Fortuitous, then?” Andri winked at her. “Or perhaps Ali suggested this house because she knew the connection.”

Lena smirked as she slid into the cab. Emma’s shoulders sank. “Ali is like a spider with her web. It probably extends to Europe!”

“I suspect it does.” Andri chuckled, but gave Emma a nudge into the car. “Off with you now. The train won’t wait. Remember, if you need anything, call the telephone line, send a telegraph to the house, release a carrier—”

“Pigeon, I know.” Emma laughed.

A cold January wind blew under her skirt, and she slapped her palms on it before climbing into the cab and settling her satchel at her feet. Her spirits soared nearly as high as the fabric had as the cabby sped down the Chicago streets toward Union Station.

In less than an hour, they would begin the train journey across the United States to upstate New York, to a small town on Lake Placid and the third Winter Olympiad.