“Well, look who’s here. Our resident MMA star. Guess we’ll be well protected tonight.” Sol DeMarco, Symbian’s most senior guard greets me with a smirk when I walk into the control room on Friday night.
Six feet tall, his dark hair receding at the temples, and carrying a few extra pounds around his middle, Sol has had an issue with me ever since he found out I was on the MMA amateur circuit. He alternates between mocking me and challenging me to fight when we have to work together, but he never crosses the line the way he does with the other female guards. And that tells me everything I need to know.
“Keep your distance,” Joe whispers when I sit down to log in my arrival time. “He lost five grand on the tables in Vegas last week, and Babs left him again.”
“Ouch.” Sol’s girlfriend, Babs, is a woman who likes the finer things in life. When he wins at the tables, she is all sorts of good to him, but when he loses, she walks out the door. He works to feed his gambling habit and keep her happy, but he is always talking about the day he makes the big score.
“Last time, she didn’t come home for a month,” Joe says.
“Why does he keep taking her back?”
“It’s called love. Once you find it, you can’t let it go.”
My mind turns back to my kiss with Zack before he left for Seattle two days ago. The feelings are still there—the chemistry, the connection. But can you love someone who has cut you so deep you can never heal, who has broken you beyond repair?
“C’mon, honey.” Sol holds his arms out by his sides. “Give it your best shot. Gimme a little punch and show me what you give those girlies in the ring. I’ll tell you if I feel anything. Or would you be more comfortable in the mud pit behind the fence?”
“Tempting, but I don’t think you’d look good in a bikini.” I catch Joe’s snigger as I stow my bag under the reception desk. “What’s he doing here?” I whisper.
“Symbian’s put two extra guards on every shift. Apparently, they’re launching some revolutionary new cloud technology, and they’re worried about competitors trying to steal it. Lucky me gets the pleasure of Sol’s company all night. You and Cheryl have been assigned to building two.”
“I’m sorry you’re going to be stuck with him.” Aside from his abrasive nature, Sol is a pain to work with. When he’s on patrol, he usually hides in an empty office and watches sports on his phone. His partner is left to pick up the slack, but people rarely report him, because the extra work is better than listening to him complain—his second favorite activity after gambling.
“It is what it is,” Joe says.
Cheryl checks in while I’m suiting up, and we walk through the quiet night, checking the grounds on our way to the second of the four buildings that make up the Symbian facility. The air is warm and smells of fresh earth and mowed grass. Symbian’s gardeners come twice a week and keep the grounds looking more like a country club than an industrial estate.
“So how’s the new boyfriend?” Cheryl checks the lock on one of the side doors of building two, then runs her hand along the edge of the window.
“As you well know”—I turn and glare—“he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my coach, which, in retrospect, was a mistake, because I couldn’t even make it through a jiu-jitsu class with him without wanting to rip off his clothes.”
Cheryl nods. “I can see that. If I was in denial about my feelings and pretending he was just a coach, I’d want to rip off his clothes, too.”
“Are you done?” I snap.
“No problem with the window.” She laughs. “You’re wound up pretty tight. What else is going on with your coach?”
I am tempted not to tell her, but the whole Zack thing is eating me up inside. I need to talk to someone, and the Predator and Sadist, my usual confidants, now have confidants of their own. “My friend Sandy is after him. When she mentioned they were having dinner with her parents, I wanted to bounce her around the ring. It doesn’t make sense. I’m still angry with him. He forced me into the wrong choice. It ended everything—my belief in love, my dance career, my dreams about marriage. So why do I lose all self-control when we’re together?”
“You can be angry with him for leaving you but not for the choices you made after that,” Cheryl says. “I think in your heart you know that, and the feelings you had for him are probably still there. First love marks you for life. I’ve been married four times, and yet I’d jump into bed with my first again if I had the chance. He didn’t want kids, so we split up, but I didn’t love him any less.”
I sigh and lean against the building. “So you’re saying I’ll never get him out of my system?”
Cheryl laughs. “Not if he has anything to do with it. And the way you’re going back and forth about him, I gotta wonder if that’s really what you want. Would it be that big a risk to forgive him?”
Stones crunch under my feet as we walk along the gravel path beside the building. I used to listen for the same sound when Zack would come to my house in the middle of the night. No matter how quiet he tried to be, I always knew the moment he stepped onto our driveway. “It’s not just about him,” I say. “It’s about all the men I’ve cared about. I love them, and they betray me. I need them, and they hurt me. I can’t feel like that again…like I’m nothing.”
“Honey, you’re not nothing. You’re something special.” She gives me a hug, and then she pulls back and grins. “That’s why you have me as a friend.”
Drained by my outburst, I focus on checking the building perimeter. A smudge of dirt on the window frame halfway along the building has me crouching down in the flower bed, and I spot a footprint in the freshly overturned earth.
“Cheryl!” I motion her over. “Check the door.”
She twists the knob and holsters her flashlight. “It’s open.”
After I hit the emergency button on my radio to let Joe and Sol know we need backup, Cheryl pulls open the door, and we make our way up the stairwell. Emergency lights flicker on the concrete walls. Our feet thud softly on the steps. We emerge on the first floor, and my pulse kicks up a notch when I see light streaming from under a computer lab door midway along the long, white hallway.
Cheryl pulls her pepper spray from her belt. I grab my baton. Although we both carry firearms, the last thing either of us wants is to pull a trigger.
Using hand gestures, I motion for Cheryl to move to the other side. But just as she steps forward, her radio squawks with Sol’s voice.
“What’s going on, ladies?”
I hear a curse and then a crash. The door slams open, and two men dressed in black burst out of the room. They take a step in our direction, freeze, then take off down the hallway toward the main stairwell. Cheryl runs after them, and I dash into the computer lab to see if they were alone.
All clear. I race back down the hallway and check the other rooms. From outside, I hear the crack of a gun, followed by a scream. Heart pounding, I follow the sound down the stairs and out the door. Joe is on the ground, his face stark white, his Symbian shirt dark with blood. Cheryl is kneeling beside him, trying to stanch the wound.
“Oh God. What happened?”
“They came out the door shooting,” Cheryl says. “Joe took one in the chest.” Her face tightens, eyes glistening with tears. “He wasn’t wearing his vest.”
“Where’s Sol?”
“He went after them. I’ll call 911. You go give him a hand.”
Heart pounding, I run around the building and spot the two men near the wire fence. Sol lunges for them, and the taller of the two turns around and belts Sol in the jaw. Sol stumbles back and goes down on one knee.
With a burst of speed, I fly across the gravel. I pass Sol and jump, flinging myself at the nearest intruder. I rip him off the fence and reach for his partner in crime, pulling him down.
“It’s a damn girl,” the first guy snarls.
“Not like any girl you know.” I move quickly with an inside leg kick, winding the first guy and knocking him back against the fence. Then I land a kick on the second and move in with a combo, landing a right hand. My attacker jabs, then winds up and misses his next strike. I kick again and throw a few punches, snapping his head back, and he goes down hard. But my satisfaction is short-lived when I hear the wire twang behind me.
“Sol,” I shout. “The other one is getting away. Stop him.”
But Sol just stands there, mouth gaping, as I cuff the guy against the fence, while the other runs away.
The police arrive only a few moments later. Cheryl and I stay with Joe until the ambulance takes him away. I call Sadist, my go-to person for exciting news, while Cheryl calls Symbian’s head of security to brief him on the break-in. Sadist manages to calm me down while at the same time extracting details about the fight and my first arrest. He then gives a play-by-play summary over the Redemption PA system for the benefit of everyone in the gym. I hear cheers in the background and fighters chanting my name. There is no place like Redemption.
Cheryl, Sol, and I are interviewed by the jaw-droppingly handsome blond-haired and blue-eyed Officer James Morrison and his equally good-looking friend, Detective Bruce Waterton. Cheryl squeezes my hand every time Officer Morrison talks, but if I had to pick one of them, it would be the dark-haired detective whose eyes crinkle at the corners and who has the squarest jaw I’ve ever seen.
“Shayla was amazing,” Cheryl tells Detective Waterton after giving a long, overly enthusiastic description of my fight. “She beat their sorry asses into the ground.”
“I weakened them during the chase,” Sol mutters when Detective Waterton asks him for his version of the events. “Got in a few punches when we were around the corner. By the time they got to the fence, they could barely walk. That’s how the dude was beat by a girl.”
Detective Waterton smiles at me and winks to let me know he’s not buying Sol’s story. My cheeks heat up under his silent praise.
Afterward, Cheryl contacts our supervisor, and he agrees to call in some replacements so we can go to the hospital to check on Joe. He has no relatives in the city, and after his wife died, he stopped going out with his friends. Cheryl and I often take him out for a beer after work when we have an early shift, and I always get him tickets to my fights. On the rare occasion, Cheryl and I will be able to drag him out to see a band, but for the most part, he lives a quiet, lonely life.
Cheryl and I patrol outside the building while we wait for our replacements to arrive and meet up at the parking lot.
“I talked to the paramedic before they took Joe away,” she says. “He told me Joe was stable, although he’s going to need surgery. He’s going to be okay.”
“Why didn’t he wear his vest?”
She shrugs. “He told me once he’s just going through the motions, waiting until he can be with his wife again. Maybe he took a calculated risk because he wanted to be with her. They were childhood sweethearts. Did you know that?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “No. I knew they’d been together a long time but not that long.”
Cheryl’s voice is uncharacteristically soft. “I’ve never loved anyone so much that I thought I couldn’t go on when we split up. I loved all my hubbies, and I was always sad when the relationships ended, but I was never devastated. Maybe that’s why I’ve been married four times. I’ve been looking for that deep, enduring kind of love. The kind that touches your soul.”
I had that. I had it, and I lost it, and I’ve carried the pain for the last seven years, because our love did endure. I just couldn’t see it. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have married Damian, and Zack and I might have had a second chance. Not that I’m absolving Zack of guilt, but for the first time, I wonder if my actions might have played a part in our separation, too.
Cheryl gives me a nudge, pulling me back to the present. “Maybe I’ll get some loving tonight.”
“Oh my God. You got Officer Morrison’s number, didn’t you?”
“He’s meeting me at the hospital after his shift. How sweet is that?” She pulls out her phone and shows me his name. “What about you? Detective Waterton was definitely checking you out. Is Zack out of the picture?”
“Zack is—”
The loud screech of tires cuts me off. Moments later, a blue Acura NSX races into the parking lot, jumps the curb, and screeches to a stop only five feet from where we’re standing.
“Here.”