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It would be fun. Everything in the job description was right up Joe’s alley. His first few years with the FBI had been spent as a defensive tactics instructor at the academy in Quantico. With his extensive background in jiu-jitsu and Krav Maga, as well as a few other disciplines, he’d been part of the team in charge of training countless FBI agents in hand-to-hand combat—and for a whole lot less than what Cade was offering. Then, for some dumbass reason, Joe had traded in that job to work in the field. To go undercover and rub elbows with the slime of humanity. To get shot at.
Idiot.
A generous salary plus impressive benefits to teach and not get shot at? Hell, he’d deck himself out in spandex and be the cardio kickboxing class instructor for that deal.
The thought of squeezing into skin-tight clothing sparked a memory of Roxie’s running pants. Which then made his mind drift back to those damn pictures.
He turned to Cade. “Have you done a self-defense class before?”
Cade looked at him like he was a moron. “Wow. Rocket scientist, you are not. Hate to break it to ya, bro, but you do realize this is a fight gym? That’s kinda what we do.”
“No, smart-ass. I meant a self-defense class for women, specifically targeting your cardio kickboxing clientele.”
“Huh.” Cade’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think we’ve ever done that. Our beginner MMA and jiu-jitsu classes have self-defense aspects, but not specifically catering to women. That’s smart. I mean, not rocket scientist-level smart or anything, but still.”
Joe chuckled, and a plan began to take root in his head. If he could get Roxie to attend, if he could teach her some basic, real-life moves, he’d feel a little better about the whole picture ordeal. Not a whole lot better, but a little was better than nothing.
“If you think there’d be interest, I’d be more than happy to lead that class.” Joe shrugged. “That way, you can also see if my teaching style jives with what you’ve got going on here.”
“Sure,” Cade said. “If that makes you feel better, we can do that. But I don’t need any convincing, Joe. You’re the man for the job. How long have we known each other?”
“Too long,” Joe said with a grin.
They continued walking around the gym, pausing here and there for an introduction.
“I told you I swung into Roxie’s café this morning, right?” Cade said after a while. “Dude, have you met that Sheila chick?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Is she really Poppy’s cousin?” He looked baffled.
“Hard to believe, right?” Joe wagged his eyebrows. “You interested?”
His friend grimaced. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on, I figured Sheila would be right up your alley. Busty, blond, and perky. If that’s not your type, brother, then I don’t know what is.”
“You’d think, right? But, man, that squeaky Minnie Mouse voice is a bit too much.”
“Sheila’sa bit too much,” Joe said, shaking his head. “I’d steer clear of that one.”
Cade sighed. “Fuck, man. As much as I love small-town living, being a single guy on an island—with a shit-ton of other single guys—fucking sucks.”
Joe slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Well, at least Seattle’s just a ferry ride away, my friend.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Cade blew out his breath and nodded toward a floor-to-ceiling glass wall. “Now let me show you the offices.”
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Asoft knock sounded on her office door. Roxie glanced up from her computer screen, working her neck from side to side. “Hey, Eli. How’s it going?”
“Your back door lock is still broken, Roxie.”
She winced. Right. She’d completely spaced on that. Again.Shit.
Was she a real-life version of those too-stupid-to-live characters she read about in suspense novels? Maybe. Who else would leave the lock on their back door broken when they had creepy-ass pictures being sent to them?
Stepping into her office, Eli placed a business card on her desk, then tapped it for emphasis. “The locksmith. I went ahead and called them. They’ll be out at closing time today.”
