Val called Gil at 1:00 p.m., his designated midday break. “Hey, can a gal still buy lunch for a hot guy?” she said in a light tone.
“No, but I’m available,” he said. “Sit-down or takeout?”
“Something quick, delicious, and inexpensive,” she said. “Oh, and nearby.”
“Which McDonald’s would you prefer?” Gil said. “Oh, and I hope you weren’t committed to ‘delicious.’”
“Let’s upgrade to a sub, at least. Hoagie Heaven?”
“I’ll wear my best mustard-stained shirt.”
Val laughed, then realized he was probably being serious.
They met in the lobby and walked hand-in-hand two blocks to the restaurant. The limp from Gil’s hip injury nine months before had almost disappeared, and walking no longer made him wince in pain. Still, they took their time, enjoying the sunshine of the warm afternoon. A few young maple trees in the park showed signs of fall, with yellow and red tips stippling among the dark green boughs. A light breeze blew a few strands of hair across her face. She’d left her hat at the desk, technically making Val “out of uniform” while on break. So had he. With all the rules and bureaucracy they put up with day after day, it felt liberating to break a rule, even a trivial one.
“I can’t remember the last time we took our breaks together,” Gil said, squeezing her hand. “I hoped we’d do this every day.”
“We need to do a better job of synchronizing our schedules,” Val said. “Although that might get harder now.” She filled him in on the recent developments in Grimes’s life.
“That really sucks.” Gil stopped at the corner and faced her. He took both of Val’s hands in his and met her gaze. “Makes you appreciate what you’ve got sometimes, doesn’t it?”
Val smiled and let her eyes wander over his face, his smile, his powerful jaw, his broad shoulders. She felt a pang of guilt. She took Gil for granted sometimes. Not only his strength, good looks, and corny sense of humor, but also his calm, steadying presence in her life.
It reminded her that she rarely told him how much he meant to her, how much she cared. Gil told her all the time; she almost never said it back.
Time to change that.
Val pulled him in close, wrapped her arms around him, planted a deep kiss on his lips. “Gil,” she said. She mustered up her courage. They’re just words. Three little words. She could say them. He’d said them so many times, beaten her to the punch. Then she always found herself unable to respond, caught up in the feelings his words brought. Frozen by how lame it would sound if she just parroted the phrase back to him. Then she’d lose her nerve, stumble over her words, unable to say them. Every. Single. Time.
Val didn’t want that to happen this time. She wanted to tell him first, dammit. At least this one time.
She’d always imagined it happening in some romantic setting. A starlit evening stroll on a beach, say, after a nice dinner. Then they’d spend reveling in the beauty of it all, alone, focused only on each other. Not on the sidewalk outside of some convenience store.
Wasn’t that just another lame excuse?
Val drew in a deep breath, held him even closer, drew in his musky scent. This wasn’t the moment she imagined, but it was the moment she had.
Gil returned the embrace, nibbled on her neck with his lips. “Val,” he said. Her heart pounded against his chest. “I l—”
She pulled back from him, placed a shaky, tentative finger on his lips. “Sh. Wait. Please.”
His expression showed surprise, puzzlement. “You don’t want me to—”
“Iloveyou,” Val said, the words spilling out of her, out of control, rushed, whispered.
Gil froze a moment, then drew her in, so slowly, as if mesmerized, wrapping her up in the world’s warmest hug.
“I…love you,” she said again, this time in perfect control, her mind swirling as the impact of the moment finally hit her. She’d said it. To the most perfect man alive. And she didn’t die of humiliation, or fear, or anything.
At first Gil didn’t react, and she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her. Then he tightened his grip around her.
“I love you, too,” he said after an eternity.
They held the embrace for several seconds, then resumed their hand-in-hand walk in silence to the sub shop. Well, he walked. She floated. Their conversation drifted from this topic to that, but she didn’t hear a word—including her own. Somehow she conversed well enough, though, because he didn’t call her crazy, even once.
Val chided herself for waiting so long to tell him. What was the big deal? Other than the fact that she’d never said those words to another man, that she’d never felt that way about another man, what had changed?
The immediate answer just about smacked her in the face: she’d cleared another hurdle in overcoming her romantic and emotional hang-ups. She’d remained frozen in place in those areas since “the Milt incident,” as she preferred to call it now. Maybe now that freeze could thaw and she could enjoy a “normal” relationship with Gil—whatever that was.
She glanced at Gil and wondered what, if anything, changed for him.
Val shrugged it off. She’d find out soon enough.
Once inside the sub shop, Val’s senses returned to her. The world made sense again. Sandwiches. Aromas of fresh bread, meat, and toppings. Selections made. At the cash register, Gil pulled out his wallet, but Val stopped him.
“My invitation, my treat.” She opened her purse. Not enough cash, so she searched for her credit card.
Not there.
Fuck! Val’s mood shifted from euphoric to panic. Where’s her goddammed card?
She checked every pocket of the purse, which didn’t amount to much—she carried a modest-sized clutch. She patted her pockets. Nothing.
“Dammit.” Val fought to keep her voice in control. “My credit card is missing.”
“Crap,” Gil said, more sympathetic than alarmed. “Where did you last have it for certain?”
“At the dojo last night,” she said. “I-I re-upped my membership. I could’ve sworn I put it back in my—oh, crap, I didn’t have my purse with me. It was in my locker…I think. Dammit!”
“I’m sure they’ve found it by now. Tell you what. I’ll take care of lunch while you call them.”
“I’m so sorry. This is embarrassing.”
“Not at all.” He grinned. “In fact, it’s better. Now you have to make it up to me tomorrow. Win–win!”
Val failed to see the humor in the situation. She stepped outside and called the dojo. Tank answered.
“Yep, your card’s here,” he said. “You left it in the machine after checking out. The next person to pay found it this morning.”
Val smacked her forehead in frustration. She remembered now. Even recalled grousing to herself about those stupid self-service credit card machines everyone seemed to use these days. “I’ll swing by tonight to pick it up. Thank you, Tank.”
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll seal it in an envelope with your name on it behind the desk.”
She rejoined Gil at a table inside and dove into her sandwich, a turkey-and-provolone with a light vinaigrette dressing. Kind of bland, but healthy enough. She took a few bites, then set it down, chewing slowly.
“No appetite?” Gil asked. He’d already finished half of his.
“I’m distracted, I guess.” Val sipped her lemonade. “Beth called this morning. She’s actually ten weeks along, not six, which means an in-house procedure rather than a pill. I told her I’d go with her.”
Gil, about to take another bite, set his sub down on its wrapper. “Here in town?” He gazed off into the distance. “With all the threats…I don’t like it.”
“Do you think they’ll follow through?” Val said. “I know there have been incidents in other states in the last few years, but Clayton’s such small potatoes compared to Atlanta and Charlotte.”
Gil shook his head. “These zealots are bringing the war everywhere,” he said. “That’s how they think of it—as a war. A culture war. Except it’s changing from a war of words to one with bullets and guns. And yes, it can happen here. It can happen anywhere.”
“Which means,” she said, “it can happen out of town as easily as here. Have other nearby cities received threats? Hartford, New Haven, Springfield?”
Gil tapped out a note on his phone. “Good question. I’ll look into it when I get back. If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”
Val nodded and took another bite of her sandwich. Just once she’d like to enjoy a meal with Gil without letting work creep in and screw up the mood.
Val briefed Petroni in the sergeant’s office on her research findings from that morning. Petroni paused a moment after she finished, a curious expression on her face.
“These brawls you mentioned near the clinics,” Petroni said. “Aren’t you into that martial arts fight club sort of stuff? What do you know about these guys?”
“I do jiu jitsu,” Val said. “It’s different. The guys involved in these fights employed some MMA techniques—”
“What’s MMA stand for, again?”
“Mixed martial arts,” Val said. “It’s a broad term that means different things to different people. The more disciplined competitions adopt strict rules about what’s legal and what’s not. At the other extreme, anything goes. I can’t say for sure whether any of that’s connected to the street fights. It just resonated with me because…” Her voice trailed off. She hadn’t intended to raise this point, not least because she didn’t want to tarnish the reputation of the dojo Daisuke spent two decades building.
“Because why?” Petroni said. “Come on, spill. I know you. When your intuition puts two and two together, things add up in interesting ways.”
Val sighed. “The dojo where I work out just changed management,” she said. “The new master, Tank, is into amateur MMA fighting—even started his own club, of sorts. I only made the connection because I right after I learned of it, bam, I find reports of martial arts used in fights near the clinics. Coincidence?”
Petroni scoffed. “You know what your uncle always said about coincidences.”
“There aren’t any.” Val nodded, her ears burning. She hated when people used her uncle Valentin’s wisdom against her.
“How well do you know these characters at the gym?” Petroni asked.
“Dojo.”
“Excuse me?”
Val’s ears reddened again. “Where I take jiu jitsu—it’s called a dojo. I don’t know them well. Tank has been around for several years, but I was away at college for most of that time. This new assistant of his, Stevie, has only been around a few months. It seems like a small operation so far—they’re still recruiting. Even asked me to join.”
“Did you?”
Val laughed. “Of course not.”
Petroni cocked her head. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss the idea. It might help us.”
Val drew a deep breath, her ire building. “How would getting my ass kicked once a week help the department?”
Petroni shrugged. “If there is a connection…”
“It’s the longest of long shots,” Val said. “We don’t know who the street fighters are, who’s in the club, or…anything.”
“Right,” Petroni said. “But we should.”
Val stared at her in glum silence. She knew what her boss wanted her to do. But Petroni couldn’t force her to do it, and Val didn’t want to.
“Just think about it,” Petroni said. “When do you go back for another lesson?”
“My next regular session is Wednesday evening, and sometimes I go on Tuesdays…” Val’s voice trailed off again. Dammit. She had no ability whatsoever to bluff her way out of this.
“But…?” Petroni waited, tapping her fingernails on her desk.
Val sighed. “As bad luck would have it, I have to go again tonight. I screwed up and left my credit card there.”
Petroni smiled. “So, there might be an opportunity to ask a few questions about this fight club thing?”
Val hesitated. “Asking might give the wrong impression. That I’m interested, say.”
Petroni’s eyes narrowed and her smile turned wry. “I’m sure you’ll handle it just fine.”
Feeling that their meeting was either over or about to get worse, Val stood and shuffled out the door of her boss’s office. Petroni hadn’t ordered her to get involved, but she’d made her intentions clear. And anything short of an honest inquiry would leave her boss—the person most in control of Val’s fast-rising career—more disappointed than she could allow.
Val’s afternoon dragged by in an unproductive blur. She couldn’t focus on her work, preoccupied with worry for Grimes’s son, the prospect of engaging with the MMA fighters, and the additional responsibilities she’d face as de facto lead on the case if Grimes stayed out for more than a day or two. Knowing her credit card sat vulnerable at the dojo also distracted her. Had Tank locked it in a safe? Did they even have a safe? Her lack of trust in him sent her imagination into overdrive, imagining all kinds of charges piling up on her account.
Finally, 6:00 arrived. One hour of overtime would have to suffice. She texted Gil, met him in the lobby, and they hustled to her car.
“By the way,” Gil said, getting in the passenger side, “I expect to be cleared to drive any day now. You won’t need to shuttle me around anymore.”
“I don’t mind,” Val said, starting the engine. “I like your company. Oh, I want to stop by the dojo on the way, okay?”
“Sure. I’m interested in this place, considering how much time you spend there. Not that I’m complaining,” he added before she could reply. “I love that you’re getting back into self-defense training.”
“I was just going to grab my credit card,” she said, “but sure, let’s give you the nickel tour.” She drove through the clogged city streets in silence, still worrying about all the crap from work. Gil chatted on about something or other, and she nodded and mumbled noncommittal verbiage in reply.
He tapped her knee. “Hello? Earth to Valorie?”
Val started, jerked the wheel, then righted it and glanced at him. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“I asked about your afternoon. What’s got you so preoccupied?”
She heaved a deep breath and told him about Petroni’s request for her to join Tank’s so-called fight club. “I don’t want to do it,” she said.
“Then don’t,” Gil said. “She can’t make you.”
“I want to be a team player.”
“And get your head kicked in? That’s too big of an ask.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” That came out nastier than she’d intended. Whatever. “You don’t think I could win?”
“Of course I think you’d…do fine.”
“‘Do fine.’ Ouch.”
Gil blew air out between his lips. “Honestly, Val, I’ve got no idea. I don’t know bupkis about this. It just seems…risky, is all.”
Val drummed on the wheel, thinking. Someone honked their horn, loud. Her agitation rose in solidarity with the testy driver. Stupid traffic wouldn’t move.
“You don’t agree?” Gil asked after a long silence.
“Oh. Um, no. I mean, yes, I agree. However…” She edged the car forward and a Toyota in the next lane tried to cut her off. She gave the horn a quick beep. The driver stopped, glared, then looked away with a sheepish pout. Val smirked. She and Gil had kept their uniforms on, eager to leave in a hurry. Side benefit—nobody cuts off a cop in traffic.
“However what?”
Val sighed. “If it would make a difference, maybe I should. Take one for the team, you know?”
“Literally.” He laughed, but it sounded forced. “So, would you fight men, or is there a women’s division, or…?”
“Only women in my weight class, Tank said. I should ask him for clarification.”
Gil’s face clouded. “Sounds like you’ve decided to do it.”
“Not until I determine it’s safe enough.” Another car edged in front of her from the other lane. This time she let them in.
“Asking might convey the impression you want to join. At least, I’d take it that way.”
Val shrugged. “I’ll be careful in how I ask.”
“I could ask for you,” Gil said.
She shot him a piercing gaze. “Again, you don’t think I’m capable?”
“Jeez, Val, of course I do. What brought that on? I just thought, coming from me—”
“My six-two, two hundred and thirty-pound boyfriend in a police uniform?”
“Two ten. I’ve been working out.”
She ignored his correction. “How do you think they’d interpret that? ‘Duh, gee, officer, we never heard-a no fight club round here.’ Come on, Gil.”
“All right, don’t get testy. Look, if I’m in the way, I’ll just stay in the car.”
Val bit back a retort and took a moment to cool down. In a softer voice, she said, “I’m sorry, Gil. I’m happy to show you the dojo, and for you to join the conversation with them. But let me take the lead, okay?”
“Of course,” Gil said. “I was only trying to help. Sorry for overstepping.”
She slid her hand onto his leg and gave it a quick squeeze. “You have been working out,” she said with a smile.
“I’d love to show you how much I’ve been working out,” he grinned back.
“Okay,” Val said, her mood lightening. “You’ve got a deal. When we get home, I want you to take off those clothes, march upstairs…and get right on that scale.”
Gil’s mouth opened in a small “o” for a moment, then he burst out laughing. “Good one!”
Val pulled into the dojo’s parking lot a few minutes later and they removed their police jackets, ID tags, weapons, and badges. “Don’t want to appear too conspicuous,” she said.
“Yeah. Now instead of looking like cops, we look like off-duty security guards,” he said.
“That reminds me,” she said. “No radios, either.”
Once inside, they found Tank leading a group of purple belts in some high kick drills. Val waved at Maya, working out in the back line, but her new friend didn’t seem to notice them, her admiring gaze too focused on Tank.
“It’s pretty simple,” she said to Gil. “Lots of open space, soft mats for landing on, and mirrored walls so you can self-critique your form.”
“Where’s Daisuke?” Gil asked.
“He must be off tonight. The big guy there is Tank, the new Master.”
Gil leaned closer. “He looks like a dick.”
Val laughed. “He is.”
“He must be a ton of fun in the locker room. I’m guessing he likes to whip guy’s asses with wet towels in the shower?”
Val grinned. “I wouldn’t know. I use the women’s.”
“Well, I need to check out the plumbing in the men’s,” Gil said. “I’ll be right back.” He headed in that direction and stumbled over the edge of a floor mat. He recovered, but his limp returned for a few steps.
Val approached the admin desk and found Stevie Ray behind the counter.
Stevie glanced up when she approached. “Ms. Dawes,” he said.
“I’m here for the credit card I left here last night?” Val avoided Stevie’s intense stare.
“Sure, sure.” Stevie pawed around behind the counter. “Huh. I don’t see any credit cards.”
“Tank said it’d be in an envelope with my name on it. Maybe in the register?”
Stevie opened the old-fashioned register Daisuke installed eons ago, lifted the cash organizer out of the drawer, and pulled out an envelope. “Ah. Valorie Dawes. Hey, I like the way you spell your name.” He smiled and handed it to her.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Val paused a moment. She’d wanted to ask Tank about the MMA fights, but he seemed unable to break from his lesson.
A few steps away, a stack of postcards on a small table advertised mixed martial arts fights at another gym. Val ambled over and picked one up. “What do you know about these?” she asked. Only then did she notice Stevie staring at her ass. She sighed.
Stevie’s gaze snapped up to her eyes again. “Oh, they’re super cool. We allow a wider range of martial arts moves and methods than here in the dojo. You’d be great at it.”
“Who would I fight?” Val asked.
“Women your size,” Stevie said, averting his eyes. “And we need women in your weight class right now.”
“When do these matches take place? Is there training?”
“We train on Saturday afternoons and bouts are in the evening,” he said. “Come check it out.”
“Thanks,” Val said. “I’ll think about it.”
“Cool,” Stevie said. “If you want, we could meet up first for lunch or something, and I could go over the basics with you. Rules and stuff.” His excited grin told Val he envisioned this as much more than a casual meeting.
Val took a half-step away from the counter and shook her head. “Sorry. Uh, I’m not sure I can come this weekend at all. Short notice and all, you know?”
Stevie’s face fell. “Yeah, I get it. Hey, do you know that guy?” He pointed toward the men’s lockers, a suspicious frown on his face.
Val turned and spotted Gil leaning against the wall by the locker exit. “That’s my boyfriend. I’m showing him the dojo. Thanks for the info, okay? Gotta go.” She scooted away before Stevie could get another word in.
“Nice place,” Gil said when she embraced him near the exit. “I watched them work out for a minute or two. You do all that stuff too?”
Val chuckled. “That’s the intermediate class. I’m advanced—black belt.”
Gil’s eyes widened. “I take back any doubts I’ve ever harbored or expressed about your fighting ability. Damn, I can see why you’re such a menace to the thugs out on the street.”
“They underestimate me at their own peril,” she said, walking arm-in-arm with him to the car.
“If you join the MMA group, I’ll need to warn them about you,” he said. “Or take out insurance policies on them.”
Val rolled her eyes. She hadn’t yet decided about whether to participate. If they matched her up against women her own size, though, she shouldn’t have anything to worry about.
So why, then, did she worry anyway?