“Nothing, really.” She twisted, pulled and secured until her hair was in a silky bun at the top of her head. Having watched her work before, he knew it wouldn’t be long into their yoga session before strands were falling down around her temples, framing her heart-shaped face. It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. “Relaxing with Zach, for the most part. New school year means I’m at the ready for problems.”
“He’s a great kid. I’m sure there aren’t too many problems.” He heard a short bark, almost like a yell, but ignored it. “Maybe this weekend you could bring Zach to catch the match. We’re just competing against the local Lejeune team. No travel.”
She bit her pink bottom lip, looking worried. “I don’t know. It’s a violent sport, and—” She turned as he did when a heavy door at the opposite end of the gym screeched open and shut, finding the source of the shouting as it grew louder.
Coach Ace, a burly black man who had muscle and heft and moved like a ghost, walked in, pointing directly at Graham. “You.”
He stood slowly. “Yes, Coach?”
“What have you seen since you got here?”
Graham blinked, then looked down at Kara, who remained sitting on her mat. “Uh, nothing. Just talking with Kara, sir.”
“You,” he pointed at Kara, still speed-walking their way. “What have you seen?”
Graham bristled at the tone. She wasn’t one of the Marines, or a teammate, to be barked at. But Kara unfolded her legs gracefully and started to stand. He held a hand down for her, and she accepted it on autopilot, barely giving him any of her weight to bear. “I’ve seen nothing, sir. I was in the training room, and then I came out here to stretch. Gra—I mean, Sweeney has been the only Marine to come through so far.”
Coach Ace grunted, as if in disbelief. Graham wanted to ask, but he also didn’t want to get in the middle of anything. But still . . . “Sir, is there a problem?”
“You could say that.” Rubbing a hand over his dark face, the coach rocked back on his heels and looked heavenward. “Someone’s vandalized the wall of fame.”
Graham looked at Kara, found her looking at him, then they both took off at a jog. Coach Ace didn’t join them. He skidded to a halt at the other end of the gym, at the doors that led to the mostly unused hallway containing photos of past boxing teams and champions. “Hold on. Let me check it out first.”
“He said they had vandalized it. Not that they currently were vandalizing it. Pretty sure he wouldn’t be asking you what you’d seen if he caught someone red-handed,” Kara pointed out, clearly not listening to him. “Don’t play the ‘protect the womenfolk’ crap with me. I’m a big girl. Now go.” She shoved at his shoulder, and he opened the heavy door.
Right away, he saw it. The photos of each boxing team from the past several decades lined the walls, framed in simple black or gold frames, with white mats and a small plaque to indicate the year. On the glass covering the photos, someone had used a marker or paint or something to draw obscene images, write nasty messages and create lewd or downright stupid pictures. A few were more simple, just giving each guy a dumb mustache or top hat. Others were more graphic, with body parts and sexual suggestions scribbled.
“This is . . .” Kara’s voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat. “Juvenile. I know it’s horrible, and so very disrespectful. But it’s almost juvenile compared to the other acts. Right?”
He couldn’t help but agree. Their vandal was losing steam, or maybe losing ways to fuck with the team. Trashing the bus, the training room, puncturing tires, creating a huge publicity mess with paint . . . that had taken time, energy and support away from the team. This was just disrespectful, but not all that clever. It was the sort of thing you expected from middle school kids who hated their principal and snuck in after hours to doodle on his photo in front of the office.
“Maybe the handwriting will help the MPs figure out who it is. Since they have to be connected to this building or the team somehow . . .” She didn’t say what they were both thinking.
The vandal was most likely a member of the team. Or had been. Or had wanted to be. It might be someone they currently trusted. Someone they called a friend.
CHAPTER
4
Kara sank down on the couch beside Zach just in time for the phone in the kitchen to ring. With a sigh, she hefted herself back up. “Pause the movie, would ya?”
“Moooooom.” His young voice whined at the command. “Hurry back. We can only watch it tonight before it’s gotta be back to the red box thingie drop off tomorrow morning.”
“A five minute phone call will not ruin our plans. The Avengers can wait a minute. Captain America waited, like, six decades.”
He groaned at her joke, burying his face in a throw pillow.
She chuckled and answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Kara, hi.” The voice of her attorney, Tasha Williams, cut through any good feelings she’d had about the evening. Her stomach sank, dread swirling to mix greasily with the handful of buttery popcorn she’d already consumed.
Her attorney never called unless there were problems. Big ones. Otherwise, she had her assistant send a simple email. “Do you have a minute to chat?”