Alex pushed the covers to the side, sat up, and made sure the alarm was off for good.
To hell with them. She was fine with the way things were, thank you. She was her own boss, could pass on assignments she wasn’t interested in, could even take off and do nothing for a month or more if she wanted to. Not that she ever did, but knowing she could was all that mattered.
She stood up, still angry, thinking that if Mr. Jason McElroy hadn’t grabbed her door like an overaggressive lunatic, she could have brushed it off. That’s what had really set her teeth on edge. Her personal space was very important to her.
More than one person had learned that the hard way.
She thought about taking a shower, but what she really needed was to work this crap out of her system, so she pulled some clothes on, grabbed her gym bag, and headed for the door.
Ackerman’s gym was located in a middle-class Baltimore neighborhood that was once good, had gone bad, and was now transitioning back the other way.
Through it all the gym had remained a constant.
The original owner had been an old fighter named Marty “Ace” Ackerman. Marty had never gotten close to a title fight, but had seen plenty of champions either on their way up or their spiral back down — much like the neighborhood, Alex had often thought — and had died at the ripe old age of eighty-six, right there in the gym.
He’d left the place to its longtime manager, Hans Emerick. Emerick himself was getting up there in age, but he still showed up every day, and was more than willing to train Alex whenever she asked.
“Speed bag,” he said the moment she walked in. “Fifteen minutes. Then crunches. Five hundred.”
His German accent was still thick after all these years in the States. He was a refugee of the Cold War, a promising East German weightlifter who’d escaped through one of the tunnels under the Berlin Wall, something he almost never talked about.
“Ancient history,” he’d say, if anyone brought it up.
Alex was the only exception. In her he seemed to see some sort of kindred spirit, and had given her a glimpse of what his life had once been and how terrified he was the night he snuck into the West.
“You have not known fear,” he told her, “until you’ve been alone in the dark and either freedom or death is only a few footsteps away.”
Alex had never argued the point.
Just hearing about it was frightening enough.
Changing into her workout clothes, she wrapped her hands in tape, and headed out to the bag. Within the first few seconds, she could feel her tension begin to drain away. This was exactly what she needed, something to get her blood moving again. Push out the toxins and soak in the fresh oxygen.
Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. The rhythm slow at first, then speeding up to her normal pace. Sweat beaded along her hairline and down her jaw as the knot in her stomach started to loosen.
This was good. Really good.
Emerick let her know when the fifteen minutes were up by clapping his hands twice and saying, “Crunches.”
She hit the bag one last time, then moved over to the floor and began torturing her abdomen. She had counted to two hundred twenty-one, grunting with each crunch, when the buzzer at the far end of the room went off.
Someone had entered the lobby.
Emerick, who had been sweeping the area around the boxing ring as Alex worked, leaned his broom against the ropes and went to see who it was.
Alex passed crunch number three sixteen when Emerick came back inside, accompanied by two other men. She assumed they were clients, and didn’t pay them any attention.
Three thirty-five. Three thirty-six. Three thirty-seven. Three thirty-eight.
“Alex?”
Three thirty-nine.
She slowed slightly on three forty, and looked over.
“Someone here to see you,” Emerick said.
She shifted her gaze to the man standing next to him.
Jason McElroy.
Son of a bitch.
The suit was dark blue today and he was carrying a briefcase, but he wasn’t wearing a tie, maybe in deference to his surroundings. He took a few steps toward her, his buddy remaining back by the door to the lobby.
“Good morning, Ms. Poe.”
Ignoring him, Alex picked up her pace again. Three forty-one. Three forty-two. Three forty-three.
She kept going, right through four hundred and all the way up to five, before she finally stopped. Lying back on the mat, she allowed herself to catch her breath, then hopped to her feet.
“Okay, what next?” she asked Emerick.
He thought for a moment. “Medicine ball.”
With a nod, she moved over to where they kept the heavy, oversized ball, picked it up, and acknowledged McElroy’s presence for the first time. “You catch.”
He blinked at her. “What?”
“I throw. You catch.”
“Uh, okay.”
As McElroy turned to set his briefcase down, Alex tossed the ball. Sensing the movement, he swung his arms around and up just in time to catch it before it slammed into his hip.
Alex motioned with her fingers. “Come on. Throw it back.”
McElroy tested the heft of the ball, and heaved it in her direction. In a single, continuous motion, Alex caught it and sent it back.
“I was hoping we might have that chat now,” he said.
She nodded at the ball. “Keep it going.”
As he threw it back, he said, “I realize you’ve been contacted by others from my organization in the past.”
Alex made another smooth catch and return. Catching it again, McElroy grunted under his breath. “I know that whatever it was they were asking of you, you turned it down.”
“The ball.”
“Can’t we just talk first?”
She stared at him for a second, then looked at Emerick. “Next?”
Before Emerick could reply, the man who’d been standing by the door said, “I’ll toss with you.”
Alex had ignored him earlier, assuming he was simply there to make McElroy look more important. But as he walked toward them, she realized he was more than that.
She knew him.
At one time, she had known him well.
Shane Cooper.
“How you doing, Alex?”
She shot a look at McElroy. “Are you kidding me? Is bringing him along supposed to give you an edge? Is that what you think?”
“I tried to tell him it wouldn’t work,” Cooper said as he picked up the ball. “But you know suits. They never listen.”
He threw it at Alex with more force than McElroy had even come close to achieving. She caught it and returned it equally hard. They continued the back and forth, neither holding the ball for more than a few seconds before sending it off again.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Cooper said.
“What question was that?”
“How you’re doing?”
“I’m fine.”
“Me, too.”
“I didn’t ask.”
He smiled. “I know.” He tossed the ball back to her. “You’re looking pretty good. Maybe a little angrier than before.”
“My mood depends on the company.”
“Ouch.”
They silently tossed for a couple of minutes.
Cooper finally said, “It is good to see you.”
This time when she caught the ball, she dropped it to the ground and looked at Emerick. “Next.”
“I have an idea,” Cooper said.
As she started to scowl, he glanced at the boxing ring then back at her. “How about it?”
She stared at him, then shrugged as a short, disdainful laugh escaped her lips. “Your funeral.”
While Alex was more than willing to get into the ring with only gloves on, Emerick insisted they both wear headgear and mouth guards. He also loaned Cooper some shorts, shoes, and a T-shirt.