Chapter Two

Jenna slammed her fist into the punching bag, then whirled around and kicked out, following the move with a rapid series of punches, trying to rid herself of the frustration that gnawed at her insides.

Weak. Fragile. Sick.

The words hammered through her mind in time with the blows. Finally, she stood, hugging the punching bag, her forehead resting on the warm leather.

“Wow.” A voice spoke from behind her. “Someone’s upset you tonight.”

She turned to see Steve, the owner of the gym, standing in the doorway and forced her face into blankness. “Hi there, and no, not really. No more than normal, anyway.”

Though that wasn’t completely true. Tomorrow was her monthly medical checkup with her father. No doubt, she’d have to listen to the usual long list of admonitions.

You have to be careful. You have to look after yourself. You’re weak—not like other people.

All her life, she’d heard the same thing, until her father’s words were ingrained in her mind, a part of her. He wanted only to protect her. He loved her, had given up so much for her. She knew all that. But she didn’t feel weak.

“You know,” Steve said, interrupting her black thoughts. “You ever want to go into the ring for real—MMA or kickboxing—I can get you some fights. You’re ready, and you’ve got that killer instinct needed for the professional circuit.”

“I have?” That was a surprise.

“Yeah. You like to win, and with your looks, you’d be a real draw.”

Jenna almost smiled at the idea. Her father would go ape. He would go ape if he even knew she trained. So she didn’t tell him. But she needed some way to get rid of the excess energy, the restlessness, and this worked the best of anything she’d tried.

“Well?” Steve asked. “I know you don’t need the money, but I can get you a fee.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so, but thank you.”

“If you change your mind, let me know.”

“I will.” She glanced around; the place had emptied while she took out her frustrations on the punching bag. “Are you wanting to lock up? I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“I can wait until you’ve showered.”

“No need, I’m going to run home. I’ll shower there.”

He raised a brow. “Across the Heath? Is it safe?”

Jenna shrugged. “I’ll be okay.”

He nodded slowly. “In the mood you’re in tonight, I pity any poor mugger who tries to attack you.”

“Yeah.”

She crossed the room to pick up her things, just a sweatshirt and a small bag that fastened around her waist. Her cell phone rang as she picked it up. She punched the off button without looking at the caller ID. She knew it would be her father checking up that she hadn’t forgotten the appointment tomorrow. As if she could.

Steve was tidying the place, straightening the equipment, but he glanced across as she reached the door.

“You sure you don’t want me to see you home?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

The night was clear. Jenna breathed in the cool air, heavy with the scent of fumes and too many people living too close together. Maybe she should move out of the city, but she couldn’t bear the idea of crowded commuter trains every morning. Living next to Hampstead Heath was a compromise. She could almost pretend that she was out in the open country, and the Museum of Anthropology where she worked as a curator was only a couple of miles away.

The gym backed onto the Heath, and she headed out to the open grass, feeling better once she left the orange glow of the streetlights behind.

She ran until her legs ached and her breath came hard and fast. Twice her cell phone rang, but she ignored it, her pace never faltering. She saw no one else and acknowledged the pang of disappointment that fluttered deep inside her. Some part of her craved confrontation, as though by proving she was stronger, she could deny the knowledge of her own frailness.

Her apartment was on the first floor of a converted Victorian town house that stood on the edge of the Heath. Jenna let herself in through the front door as her phone rang again.

She gritted her teeth but pulled out the phone and stared at the screen. She frowned. The number wasn’t her father’s after all. She didn’t recognize it, and unease stirred inside her. She checked the log; it was the same caller all evening. Not her father for any of them. Which was odd.

She raised the phone and punched in the number.