“Yeah, yeah, I got it, I got it. It’s putting it all into practice that’s the problem.”
A grin cut Chai Bui’s face. He was a small, tattooed, and sinewy ex–Muay Thai champ from Malaysia, and he taught the historic art of Thai combat in his gritty little martial arts studio near Chinatown. Angie had spent almost every afternoon or evening since the fishing trip getting beaten up by Chai on the mats or by one of his students as Chai showed her how to spar, parry, block, kick. It was making her lean and strong in body.
Angie was hoping it would also forge strength of mind, because she was on a dangerous edge since Brixton had axed her. Either it was Bui’s Boxing Gym or she’d be hitting the bar or, worse, the sex club. She’d been feeling the nip of the old dog at her heels and her brain—that desperate desire to block everything out, to resort to her old coping mechanism of both numbing and exciting herself with hot, anonymous sex.
She could not do that to Maddocks.
Or herself.
So she was here. Safe from temptation while she tried to fight and box and kick and elbow her demons into submission.
And there was another reason. The only damn job interviews she’d managed to score in the past three and a half weeks included one for a security guard at a high-end gated community where she’d basically be sitting in a guard booth at the gates. Another was for a close-protection detail. She’d been offered both positions and was considering taking the bodyguard job because she’d run out of options—no local PI firm was interested in hiring her. The close-protection job would involve being fit and fight-ready. It would also mean extensive foreign travel and being away from home for months at a time.
The job required protecting a female pop star in her midtwenties, a talented but irascible and foul-mouthed prima donna fast gaining international traction, a young woman who flaunted her sex appeal and had issues staying out of booze, boys, and trouble. Glorified babysitting was what it would be. Angie detested the idea. Even so, part of her deep down wondered if it might be a good idea to take a break from this city, from the media, from seeing MVPD members at every turn and being reminded of her failed career. But taking the job would wobble her relationship with Maddocks. It might mean putting the wedding and house-hunting plans on hold.
“You’ll be ready for the ring soon,” Chai quipped as his impish grin widened.
“Yeah, right.” Angie took a deep glug from her water bottle, allowing liquid to spill down her neck and cool her chest. “More like ready to kick at the marauding superfans of a little pop diva.” She wiped her face with her towel and tossed it onto her gym bag, which rested on the floor against the wall.
“Good to go?” Chai said, starting his Muay Thai march, hands up in front of his face, his head held low, his black eyes fixed on hers.
She nodded and stepped onto the mat. Raising her hands in loose fists in front of her face, she began to shift from foot to foot, meeting his gaze.
“You’re still angling your hips, Angie. You still got the boxing stance.”
“Habit. Protecting my gun, offering smaller body target to my opponent.”
“Yeah.” He threw a kick. It caught her hard before she could get her knee up to check him.
“See? That’s why. You stand with one hip leading like that, and you can’t get into position fast enough to check my kicks,” he said, shuffling toward her, backing her up, aggression in his stance. He punched suddenly, swung, elbowed, swung, kicked, and flipped her down onto the mat with a thud. Air whooshed from her as her back slammed the ground.
“Jeezus.” She scrambled rapidly to her feet, breathing hard, a fresh rush of adrenaline dumping into her blood.
“Like I said, balls forward. Face me squarely. You want to tempt and bait your opponent with a wide body target. When he moves in, you attack, parry, block. Strike.”
“Yeah, I got balls to put forward. What’s your problem, Chai, you never taught a woman?” He kicked fast. She sidestepped and threw a kick of her own. High. He ducked. She spun through the movement, landed her foot, brought her other leg up and kicked fast from the other side while raising her opposite hand to protect her ear and the side of her head from the strike she knew Chai would retaliate with. She landed her kick, spun, and hit him with her elbow.
“Good! Good.” He laughed, stepping back. “Nowthat’sthe way to do it—eight points of contact. Use ’em all. Elbows, knees, hands, feet.” He resumed the classic Muay Thai stance and so did Angie, her gaze locked on his, her body square this time, hips forward. She moved quickly.Attack, kick, jack, parry, step, knee, kick.They continued like that in a hot trance, a dance of combat, sweat gleaming on their limbs. Angie was deep in the zone when she heard her phone ringing in her gym bag.
It distracted her momentarily, and Chai took the gap, landing a kick to her head.
The blow dazed her, and she stumbled sideways.
He laughed again. “That was just a tap, Ange. Keep focus at all times, hear me?” He reached for his own towel and hooked it around the back of his neck, using the ends to wipe his face. “Next time we’ll get you squared up with an opponent in the ring. You’ll wear full protective gear and let rip a bit.”
She snorted, chest heaving as she made for her bag and scrabbled inside for her phone. She frowned as she checked the caller ID. Unknown number.
Connecting the call, she put her phone to her ear that wasn’t ringing from a kick.
“Yeah?” she said, voice coming out in a breathy croak. Hot, she dabbed sweat from her neck with a towel.
“Angela Pallorino?”
Angie stilled. The voice was female, strident. Something about the tone quickened her pulse. Her first thought wasreporter. She glanced at Chai, who was now prepping to spar with another student, and she turned her back.
“Who is this?”
“If that’s Angela Pallorino speaking, I want to hire you. For a case.”
