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Kate went to her bedroom to put on her gym clothes. She could hear Jack in the living room of her suite. When she came out, he was in his workout gear and she nodded at him. She wasn’t sure she’d ever fully smile again.
“I texted Flynn and he’s sending a deputy over to get Chet’s personal things. We’ll leave the garage door unlocked.”
“What about the files?”
“It seems that no one wants them. Flynn said he was told—I quote—‘that old kidnapping case was Dakon’s bugaboo. It has nothing to do with the Beeson case.’”
“But—” Kate began then stopped. “Right. It’s their case. Has nothing to do with us.”
“Exactly,” Jack said.
Sara was at the truck waiting for them. Her sixteen-ounce red boxing gloves and gel hand protectors were in a Ringside sling bag. She had on long black pants and a green T-shirt.
Jack drove to the LA Fitness on University and they went into the basketball court to box. Kate was new at the sport but she’d picked it up quickly. “It’s DNA and anger,” Sara had said.
“I got the DNA from you and Dad, but no anger,” Kate said.
“Your mom’s depression bouts didn’t make you angry?” Sara asked.
“And your uncles saying your naked knees were inspiring lust in men didn’t do it?” Jack asked.
“How about your isolated childhood?” Sara asked. “And—”
Kate slammed into Jack’s pads so hard he had to remove them and shake his hands to relieve the pain. “Okay, so maybe I do have a teeny bit of strong feelings.”
Even with past experience, Jack wasn’t prepared for the strength that came from the two women. Brutally hard slams, left then right. Uppercuts so violent the pads almost hit him in the chin. He could feel the muscles in his chest crying out to stop.
But the women went on and on, taking turns in three-minute rounds of hard hitting, then switching to the bags. None of them rested.
Only Jack added kickboxing. After thirty minutes of holding the pads for the women, he tossed them down. He released some of his own anger by kicking the big hanging bag so hard it bent in the middle. When the bag touched the wall, Sara and Kate got behind it and held it with their shoulders. Jack’s strong kicks pounded into their bodies.
Leather hitting leather echoed through the gym. They didn’t realize it but they had an audience. Outside the glass doors were half a dozen trainers and gym rats, all watching in awe. It didn’t take much to know that they were witnessing a physical manifestation of fury.
Sweat ran down the faces of the three of them, the drops so big they could be heard hitting the wooden floor. Their eyes burned from the salt, but with the big boxing gloves on they couldn’t wipe it away.
When Jack’s legs were screaming in pain, he put the pads back on and the women starting hitting again.
It was two hours before they stepped away. Jack tossed the pads down and the women clasped the gloves between their legs and pulled them off. They looked at one another, dripping wet and shaking with fatigue. Jack opened his long arms. They went to him, arms around his hot, sweaty torso, and began to cry. Jack’s tears joined them. They were a huddled threesome of unhappy, weeping people.
Outside the door, the watchers left. What they were seeing was too intimate to behold.
It was a while before they recovered enough that they could separate. Silently, they picked up gloves and pads and put them in their gym bags.
They didn’t shower there. Sometimes they went to one of the big grocery stores nearby, but not today. Today they just wanted to go home and try to get back to lives that didn’t involve dealing with a murder.
Jack had parked the truck in the covered parking garage near the exit.
“That was quite a show you put on in there. It was almost like you gave a crap.”
They turned to see a man, midthirties, quite handsome, but his face was distorted by a sneer. “But you gave it up, didn’t you? Walked away. Did you have too many suspects to choose from?”
Jack had stepped in front of the women, using his body as a shield. He was Megan’s brother, Kyle, and he looked ready for a fight. “I don’t know what your problem is, but we don’t want it.” Jack protectively started to usher the women to the truck.
Kyle didn’t move. “I’m one of the people who hated Janet Beeson.”
The three of them turned to look at him.
“Nobody hated her,” Sara said.
