“Then you’re an idiot,” O’Hara said. “We know what we’re doing, and just because Cold Winds calls itself a private police force, and acts as one in some locations, doesn’t give you jurisdiction to operate in San Diego. I am trying to give you every opportunity to make all our lives easier. Don’t stand in my way.”
A variety of sarcastic remarks occurred to Cade. He discarded them all. It might be fun to tweak O’Hara’s, and by extension, the SDPD’s noses, but that didn’t mean it was smart. He gave in instead, with a shrug and a thin smile.
“Fair point,” Cade said. “I don’t get paid to fix the SDPD’s fuck-ups, after all. Clean your own house, Captain, and keep it away from mine.”
He drained his cup and tossed it into the nearest bin as he stalked away.
Marlow didn’t chase after him, which meant there were at least six withering put-downs that Cade wouldn’t get to use. That was definitely what he ground his teeth on as he headed down to the street to find a cab.
Chapter Three
MARLOW LANDED HARD. It knocked the air out of him and made his ribs—bruised but not broken—cramp painfully. He ignored it as he rolled to the left, and Bennett’s knee bounced off the padded mat instead of his gut.
It would have popped Marlow’s kneecap off like the cap off a beer bottle. Bennett just grunted and managed to lurch back to her feet. She hobbled backward, favoring her jarred leg, and brought her fists up to guard her face. Hanks of dark hair had been pulled loose from her tight braid, and her lip was split and puffy. She dabbed it with her tongue.
“Slippery little bastard,” she said without any malice in her voice. “Living up to your name, Kitty-boy.”
Marlow was too winded to jibe back at her. His ribs ached dully with each breath he forced in, and she’d wrenched his arm when she threw him. He just grinned at her and edged around the outside of the ring, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. Bennett moved counterclockwise ahead of him, her full weight back on her right leg.
Neither of them wanted to commit to an offensive. Marlow knew that Bennett would break first. She didn’t have the patience to wait him out, not in front of half the Night Shift. They both knew that. So Marlow made his move first.
He took two long steps forward and threw a jab at Bennett’s face. She caught it on her forearms, already mottled with bruises, and Marlow feinted a low kick at her leg. If it connected, he could take her already tender knee out from under her. Bennett jerked her knee up to block with her shin, and Marlow shifted his weight fluidly to his forward leg.
Hung over the ropes on the far side of the ring, arms dangled over the top one, Franklin saw it coming and yelped, “Watch out.”
It was too late. Marlow’s low sweep kick skimmed under Bennett’s raised foot and caught her behind the knee with just enough pressure to make it fold. She started to go down, and Marlow grabbed her by the shirt, spandex thin and sweaty between his fingers, and helped her on her way.
Bennett hit the mat harder than he had, and Marlow followed her down. He got one knee planted on her chest, his full weight on it, and punched the heel of his hand down toward her nose. It didn’t connect—Marlow pulled the strike with plenty of time. But it would have smashed her nose if he’d connected—and he would have.
“And out!” the ref called it as he slapped his hand against the mat. “He takes the match. That’s one each. We’ve got a draw.”
Franklin groaned and threw himself backward, held up by the bowed rope he had a grip on. “Fuck sake!” he said. “You had him, Bennett!”
Bennett gave Marlow a wry look from her prone position. She hadn’t. Not that time. They both knew that. Even if she had, there wasn’t a lot of status to be earned beating up the guy just back from medical leave. A draw wasn’t worth getting bent out of shape about.
“Nice throw,” she said. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”
“And lose the advantage?”
Marlow pushed himself off her and hopped to his feet. He stuck his hand out to help her up. She grabbed it and, for a second, the muscles in her arms tightened as if she was going to try and throw him. In the end, she just let him yank her up, taking the weight she was wary of putting on her jarred knee.
Franklin ducked under the ropes and jogged over with a bottle of water. His eyebrow was split and one finger splinted after his sparring match with the rookie earlier. The kid wasn’t half bad.
He handed the bottle to Bennett. She took a swig and fended Franklin’s offered shoulder off as she cocked an eyebrow at Marlow. “What do you say? Best two out of three?”
Marlow shrugged and stepped back, ready to agree. Before he could, O’Hara stepped in through the door of the gym and looked around.
“Captain,” Bennett said. She loped over to the corner of the ring and leaned out. Unless someone was close enough to see the tension in her jaw, they’d not know she was in pain. “Down here to show us lot that you’ve still got it?”
O’Hara gave her a dry look. “Trust me, Bennett,” he said, “I don’t, and I don’t miss it. The day I was promoted high enough I’d never have to run again? Best day of my life.”
She leaned folded arms on top of the padded post and grinned at him. “I don’t know if I’ll appreciate being off the streets as much,” she said. “I’ll let you know one day.”
O’Hara just shook his head and then looked past her. “Franklin. Marlow.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder for them to follow him. “With me. Now.”
He turned on his heel and left. Marlow stared after him for a moment and then traded a baffled glance with Franklin.
“Who have you pissed off lately?” Marlow asked Franklin as he headed over to jump down from the ring.
