Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3) (16 page)

16

T
he next morning, Graham's first stop was at the MPs office. He filled them in on Kara's theory, telling them about how it might not be related to the vandalism at all, but rather an isolated incident. They agreed to come talk with her at some point in the day. It was the best he could do. His car being keyed was hardly a priority for them, especially if it wasn't linked to a serial vandal.

Stop number two was to pick up Brad from the BOQ, who went with him to pick up his car, now fixed, and turn in the rental. It still heated his blood to see the key marks on his door. The windshield had been a quick fix. To get the paint redone would be longer than he wanted to be with a rental car. For now, he'd live with it.

While waiting at the rental place, he received Kara's text telling him she'd spoken to the lawyer and gotten his name approved for the file and information on the situation. She also sent the lawyer's contact information.

He decided to take this as a positive sign from last night.
It had been touch and go for a while, emotionally. But this sealed the deal for him. They were on the other side of it. Her worst fears were out in the open. Now they could start taming them.

And lastly, to the gym for the last day of workout before they flew down to Texas. When he stopped into the training room first to get two fingers wrapped as a precaution, he was surprised to see Nikki filling one of the large water jugs with ice. He raised a brow at Marianne, who shook her head and rolled her eyes, mouthing, “Later,” while she taped him up. He took that to mean she would explain later. That should be interesting.

Coach Ace led them through the first circuit, explaining every station before they broke into groups of four to work and rotate around. Graham was as surprised as everyone else when they found the circuit to be lighter than anticipated. They'd all assumed the sadistic man would take the final day to kill them, as they would have three days off before their first practice in Texas. But he'd surprised them all.

Twenty minutes into his second circuit, Graham caught movement from the corner of his eye. Two Marines in uniform—MPs from what he could tell—walked into the gym and headed straight for the training room. Two of his group members stopped working the heavy bags entirely to stare, and he growled.

“Get back to it, lazy asses. We get on a plane in forty-eight freaking hours. Don't waste what time we've got.”

Another minute later, Marianne stepped out of the room, and the door closed behind her. She sat against the wall, her laptop on her thighs, seemingly uninterested in the proceedings behind closed doors.

Levi wheeled the water jug to its place beside their station. Graham paused long enough to grab a cup and some water. “Thanks, man.”

The younger kid—probably twenty or twenty-one,
max—just stared at him as if he'd busted out his limited Greek instead of speaking plain English. Okay, then.

After another few minutes, the gym quieted as they all heard a shout from the training room. Marianne jumped up, setting her laptop aside. Levi sprinted for the door, but she held him back with a palm on the chest. He tried to knock her hands away, but she pushed back with both hands. They started to argue, and Coach Cartwright ran over to give her help. Graham felt someone walk by him, and he reached out to snag Brad's shirt before he went over and made it worse.

“Leave it alone, Brad.”

“Fuck off, she needs some help.”

“And she's got Cartwright. Let her handle it.” He winced when Marianne had to knock Levi back from the door again. “She's holding her own. She'll skin you raw if you step in and handle it for her. Cartwright's there, and he won't let her get hurt.”

His friend sagged a little. Graham couldn't blame him for wanting to run over and step between Marianne and trouble, even the mild kind a kid like Levi might give her. He'd want the exact same thing if it were Kara there.

Graham realized the entire team was watching now, with nobody even giving the pretense of working out a shot anymore. Coach Ace, normally a hard-ass about distractions, was as riveted as the rest of them at the scene unfolding in their gym.

Levi thrust his hands in his shaggy hair and paced away, then back again. “She needs someone!”

His voice rang out clearly now, with nothing and no one else to compete with the sound.

“They're just asking her questions. If she has nothing to hide, then she's fine. Leave it.
Leave it!
” she barked again, shouldering him back. The kid, though on the slender side, towered over the athletic trainer. But she was sturdy, strong and determined, and wasn't about to take any bullshit.

It was no wonder Brad was head over heels crazy for her. If he hadn't fallen for Kara, he might have been just as enamored. Marianne, pissed and in charge, was quite a sight.

The door opened behind her, bumping her in the back. Marianne jumped away as one of the MPs walked out, holding a sobbing Nikki by the upper arm. Her hands were at her sides, except when she reached up to her face to wipe at the mascara-tinted tears running down her cheeks.

The second MP held Levi back as he rushed at her. “What the hell is going on? Nikki. Nikki!”

“I'm sorry. I said I'm sorry! Please don't. Please. I'm sorry!”

“Nikki, tell me what happened. Please. God damn it, let me go!” The younger man shoved at the MP, but the Marine held firm until his partner had the young woman out the door. Levi's head drooped, then the MP leaned forward and whispered something to him. He jerked from the Marine's hold and stalked out the door himself.

“What the hell is going on?” Brad murmured, echoing exactly Graham's thoughts.

But he had a good idea exactly what the hell was going on. And his suspicions were confirmed when the remaining MP approached him a minute later.

“Captain Sweeney, can we speak privately for a moment?”

“Uh, let me check with—”

A large hand landed on his shoulder, and he heard Coach Ace's deep, rumbling voice behind him. “You can use my office, if it's quick. I need him back to finish up this last workout. We've got the games to get ready for. Marine pride and all that.”

The MP smiled briefly. “Understand, sir. Just a few minutes and he's all yours again.” They followed Coach Ace, who opened the door to his office and closed it behind him when they were situated.

“She did it,” he surmised quietly while the MP pulled out a notebook from his pocket. “She admitted it, I guess?”

“Not at first. We mentioned the partial print we pulled from the brick, and that was enough to get her to say it was an ‘accident.'” He scoffed at that. “You always hope one of them will get a little more creative . . . never happens.”

“I didn't realize the brick came with prints.”

“It didn't. Or none that were helpful. You're in JAG. You know how it goes. We can mislead all we want, long as we don't coerce. She confessed, said you yelled at her—”

“I did.”

“Which you already told us, so no problems there. Then she said the brick was just sitting there, in a pile, where they've got the construction materials for the repair on the back wall. And suddenly it was just in her hand, flying at your car. ‘Couldn't be helped,'” he added, using quote fingers on the last with a smirk.

Graham groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Couldn't be helped. Right. So, now what?”

“You know the drill from here. We need to determine if she was behind the rest of the vandalism on the building and the team's tires. My gut, though, says no. I just need to hear it from her.”

His gut said the same thing. “She might be part of it. A small cog in a large group. Herd mentality or something.”

“Doubtful. I'm still hanging onto the cut teammate theory. But we'll see. It's just too damn expensive to put up security cameras. We don't have that kind of a budget. And your season is almost over. If it's got to do with the team, and not just boxing in general, then it's almost over. Come back next year with a fresh team, and hopefully no troubles.”

Graham didn't point out that with all the trouble they'd run into, the team could be disbanded entirely. No point. He stood, shook the MPs hand and headed back out to rejoin his group, who had moved onto the third circuit.

He reached for a jump rope, realized people were staring at him, and he shrugged. “What?”

“Jesus Christ walking on the moon, it's a team practice, not the set of a telenovela. Get to work, you assholes!” Coach Ace bellowed.

Ah, there it was. Grinning at Greg across the gym, Graham started to practice on his footwork.

*   *   *

KARA
sat with Zach, both staring at Graham's house from her car. Her grip on the wheel tightened.

“Are, uh, we going in?” Zach shook the shoebox he held in his hands. The contents rattled around.

“Just give me a minute.” She breathed in, then out, much as she had before the barbeque two weeks earlier. The only difference this time was . . . oh, hell. There were a thousand differences now. She'd kissed him. Slept with him. Heard him say he loved her. Fallen in love with him in return.

Nothing would ever be like it was before.

“Zach, about Graham . . .”

“I know, don't get attached.” He rolled his eyes. Though her son had apologized that morning for his outburst the night before, she sensed he was more sorry for how he'd said it, not what he had said. And thought that she was holding back from letting them both get closer to Graham for “some stupid adult reason.”

Wasn't that the truth . . .

She got out of the car and walked to the front door, which was already open thanks to Zach walking in without knocking. “Zachary!”

“He told me I could, Mom.” Toeing off his shoes, he sprinted to the kitchen where Graham stood by the oven, a large red oven mitt on one hand. “Hey, Graham! I made you this box.”

He took it with the non-mitt hand, smiling a little puzzled. “Looks like Nike made it, bud.”

Zach rolled his eyes at the lame joke. Then watched
curiously as Graham pulled her in for a sweet kiss. “Are you guys going to do that all night?”

“How would we eat, then?” Kissing her again, he nudged her toward the fridge. “Grab a drink. Dinner's almost finished.”

“Can I eat it?”

Kara watched, stepping back a little to let Graham handle this one on his own. She knew what he'd made—he'd called her twice to be positive it was okay—but Zach didn't.

He hooked an arm around Zach's neck and pulled him in for a side hug. “Kid, I'm going to make you a promise. I will never invite you over for a meal you can't eat. If I'm serving it to you, you know you can eat it. Deal?”

“I still have to check,” he said slowly, as if unsure it was okay to correct an adult. “Because it's important.”

“Smart. Then that's two promises. I promise to serve food you can eat, and also promise to not get offended if you double-check.” Rubbing a hand over his head briskly, Graham let him go to get a drink. “And we're having pizza.”

Kara smiled when Zach looked at her and she nodded. He'd gotten the specific brand of frozen pizza she'd pointed out, and rarely bought, because of how expensive it was.

Zach whooped, then went to get himself a drink from the fridge. Kara kissed Graham's cheek. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“Thank me again later, when we send the midget into the living room to start up the Xbox,” he suggested.

She smiled at that, then set the table.

They ate and talked, and laughed more than once. Kara had the heart-panging realization that this could have been their life, if things had been different.

Stop that. Not your fault, not worth picking at the scab.

After she'd collected the dishes—“You cooked, I'll wash”—she nudged Zach. “Get the box.”

“Oh, right!” He ran to the living room where he'd left it,
and brought it back to the table. When Graham shot her a look, she shrugged. Zach had told her what he was doing, but she had no clue what was actually in the box.

“This,” he said proudly, sitting beside Graham and scooting the box over to him, “is your Good Luck box. Mom said we probably won't see you again before you go, and this tournament is important for you, so I made you this.”

Graham stared at it for a moment. Then he reached over and tugged Zach's chair closer, letting his arm fall across the young boy's shoulders. “Well, let's open it.”

Kara started to wash the plates to give them a chance for some privacy . . . sort of. She heard her son explain he'd written a letter, but he couldn't read it until the night before his match. A lucky penny, a picture of a gold medal he'd colored in and written Graham's name on, a few other assorted items a boy likes to grab and consider good luck. Smooth sticks, cool pebbles, the various flotsam and jetsam that appeals to kids.

“And this is me and mom. Because I figure you're good for us, so we might be good luck for you.”

Kara whipped around, dish towel dropping from her hands.

Graham held the photograph carefully at the edges. She knew that photograph. Had seen it thousands of times, framed on her wall. Zach had taken it from the frame and given it to the man she was dating. The man he wanted to keep in their lives.

“I'm, like, an hour old. Right, Mom?” Zach's smiling face turned to her. She nodded, unable to speak. “The nurse took it and gave it to Mom. I guess that's just something the nurses do when you have a baby.”

It is when you have nobody else there to do it for you.

“It's just a picture I like, so . . .” Zach's voice trailed off as he realized Graham still hadn't said anything. The lump
in Kara's throat grew, until she wanted to claw at it. “I didn't ask Mom. I should have, but I really wanted you to have it, because Mom looks really, really happy and I look funny.”