Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3) (23 page)

“Since I'm the guy who would be abducting her and taking her to the Bahamas, that's off the table,” he joked.

Reagan smiled soothingly. “I'll check.”

“No, I'll check,” Graham said. “If the uniforms are there, I'll take them back to the locker room with me.”

“They're not in here,” Marianne said, finishing up the tape and slapping a hand on Simpson's back. “Off you go, big boy. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Cook.” He slid his feet back into his untied running shoes and headed out.

“I'll check here for the uniforms,” Reagan said, “and you look in the storage room with Kara.”

“She's got my key, so if she's not in there and the door is locked, search the stands or call her cell,” Marianne added. “But I don't have the uniforms.”

“I'll check,” Reagan said again, pushing Graham out of the door. “She's stressed,” she whispered. “Her intern turned into a huge flop down here. Let's not put more on her plate than necessary.”

“Got it.” He turned and jogged across the gym to where the storage rooms were. He'd helped Brad carry in Marianne's supplies the first day when she'd been setting up shop and knew which one it was.

But as he neared the storage room—door closed—he noticed a thin tendril of smoke coming from the door. Not
wanting to panic anyone if it was as simple as someone smoking in there—though the odds were low—he tried the door handle. Locked. He looked around for someone and grabbed the nearest person who looked like they worked there. “Do you have a master key?”

They stared at him, bewildered. “No, that would be Al.”

“Get Al over here. Now!” he barked when the employee just stared at him. He pointed at the door, and the man hurried to call on the walkie talkie for Al to come over ASAP.

He felt the door handle more closely now—warm, but not hot—and listened. Then he heard it. Something rustled inside. Someone was in there. “Hey.” He banged on the door. “Hey! Open up!”

He heard more scrambling, scurrying, and another noise that could have been the shriek of metal across a floor. Or a woman crying. It was impossible to tell. He tried the handle again, but it hadn't magically unlocked. “Where the fuck is Al?” he yelled, then tried to shoulder the door open. But there was no busting it down. The door was thick, and designed to open out, which meant it would be impossible to break in without a battering ram.

Al, the paunchy middle-aged site supervisor, hustled over, breathing like he'd run a marathon instead of just across the gym floor. “Let's not panic,” he started to suggest, but Graham shoved him at the door.

“Open it. Open it now, God damn it. Someone's in there.” And he had the worst feeling possible it might be Kara.

24

G
raham's entire body quivered with unreleased anxiety and the need to
do
something, without being able to. “You,” he said, pointing at the employee who had radioed to Al. “Go get a fire extinguisher. Get two. Bring help. Don't start screaming about a fire, just get help. Go!” he yelled, shoving the employee in the back when they simply stood, frozen. He scurried off, looking terrified enough to piss his pants.

God knew if he'd actually do it. Graham focused on waiting for Al to find the right key, then heard something slap up against the door. It sounded like knocking from the inside. “Jesus, get the door open. Get it open.”

“I'm trying as fast . . .” Understanding the severity now, as more smoke made its way through the opening around the door, Al's hands shook as he tried to push the key in. Finally, Graham shoved him aside and unlocked it, throwing the door open simultaneously. He felt as if he could rip the whole thing from the door hinges.

Smoke poured out in a wave, gray and thin but choking nonetheless. He bent over, sucked in a breath, then ran in.

And found Levi on top of Kara, pulling at her arms and tangling his legs with hers. A cardboard box lay over them, more scattered on the floor. And in the corner, a fire burned. His main focus became Kara. He rushed Levi, bulldozing him like a linebacker so the kid flew off his woman and several feet back, smacking into the back wall of the closet.

Graham crouched between Levi and Kara, shielding her with his back. “Baby, can you stand? Can you walk?”

She looked up at him, glassy-eyed, and coughed.

That was enough for him. He bent down and scooped her up. He made it two steps toward Al, toward the open air of the gym when he felt something hit the center of his back. He stumbled forward, balance thrown off with Kara in his arms, and went to his knees. One cracked hard against the floor as he twisted to keep from landing directly on Kara.

Levi beat against his back, kicking and punching and scratching while screaming something incoherent in a raspy, hoarse voice. Kara curled into a ball, sheltered by his arms and back, and tried to crawl toward the gym.

He heard shouting, yells, saw light and felt relief as he waited for Kara to make her way to safety. And then, he saw red. Turning, he pushed Levi off, then swung out with a fist hard enough to send him flying back. He stumbled, tripped over one of the boxes, and landed ass-first into the fire.

Graham hesitated—and for the rest of his life he would hate himself for it—then reached back in and pulled the man out, rolling him to extinguish the flames that ate at his shirt and pants. His own hands burned with the effort, and something scorched his calf. When that wasn't enough, Graham ripped his shirt off and used it to beat down on the remaining sparks until the man only smoked.

Dimly, from somewhere else in his brain, he saw others burst in with the fire extinguisher. Heard the fire alarm
sound. People yelling, thundering down the bleachers in an effort to get outside. Heard someone yell his name. Saw someone shoot white foam from an extinguisher at the fire.

And then felt hands drag him from the closet. He squinted as though he'd been living in a cave for a year as Brad and Tressler hooked him under each arm and dragged him back into the gym, then toward the nearest exit. He could walk. He
was
walking. Wasn't he? Or was he floating? And why didn't his left leg want to hold him up?

“Sweeney.” Coach Ace was on them as soon as they left the building. “Look at me, son. Look at me. Let me see your eyes.”

“No, look at
me.
” Marianne pushed the huge coach aside. For a tiny thing, Graham thought with a loopy smile, she was a bulldog.

Ha. Bulldog. Marine. So fitting.

“Hey. Hey, buddy. Woo hoo.” She snapped and brought his attention back down to her. And he sat with a thud on a curb. “Hey now. There we go. Eyes on me. Follow the finger.”

He did, though it felt like his eyes wanted to cross instead. “Where's Kara?”

“What's today's date?”

“Kara,” he said again, coughing with it.

“She's with another trainer. Look at me. Focus. Date, please.”

He just looked at her, into those blue eyes, full of concern and near tears. “Kara,” he whispered.

Marianne looked up, then said, “Bring him over to her. If he's sitting next to her, maybe I'll actually get something done.”

He felt himself be hefted back up—floating again—and let himself glide to another clump of people. Kara lay in the grass, half-propped in Greg's arms, being attended to by a man dressed much like Marianne, only wearing black and gold. Army colors. He seemed competent and caring, and Graham could kiss him.

Brad and Tressler settled him down next to her, and he immediately grabbed for her hand. It hurt, thanks to the raw burns from the fire, but he couldn't have cared less. She squeezed weakly, looking at him with those glassy, unfocused eyes again. The man held an ice pack to her temple, another at her shoulder.

She tried to say something, but he heard nothing. He leaned in, fighting when Tressler tried to keep him upright. “What, baby? What is it?”

She whispered, nearly toneless, “Did you win?”

He blinked, then looked at the trainer attending her. “What?”

Marianne sat beside him, settling an ice pack on his left knee. He hissed in at the cold.

“She's got a concussion, probably. The ambulance should be . . . there. There we go. I hear them. They're going to take her to the base hospital. You, too, sweetie.”

He watched her a moment, saw a silent tear track down her cheek. Marianne was normally so strong. So formidable. She had to be, to keep up with a group of hardened Marines. But just now, he saw the soft side. And it worried him that she was struggling to hold on to her professional, tough exterior. It meant there was something to worry about. “I'm going with her.”

Brad started to speak, but Marianne shook her head. “That's fine. I only see two ambulances anyway, and Levi's going to need the other. Go with her. Your knee will be fine. Keep this on it, and then twenty off. Ask for another one at the hospital when you get there. And have them wrap your hands with some ointment. Don't you dare argue.”

Marianne stood as paramedics raced over, one carrying a straight board.

He leaned down, near her ear as Kara watched the proceedings with wide eyes and an uncomprehending look on her face. “It's going to be fine, sweetheart. I promise. I'm
not letting you out of my sight.” He kissed her gently, careful not to move her head at all. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she mouthed back, before he had to scoot away to give the paramedics room to work.

*   *   *

KARA
awoke, for the nineteenth time it seemed like, to dark. Finally. Too many people poking, prodding, invading her personal space, shining bright lights and not letting her close her eyes had left her angry. And she was hungry. So hungry she'd morphed to “hangry.”

The thought made her smile a little, and miss Zach so much it hurt. She tried to roll to her side, but that hurt, so she turned her head very slowly. She'd made the unfortunate decision when they'd first brought her in to try and sit up too fast. That had resulted in dry heaving and more pain. Lesson learned.

The sounds of life hummed outside the curtain, but at least the lights in her own little cubicle were lowered, and the curtains seemed to help block most of the rest. There was no clock though. It could be four in the afternoon, or three in the morning. They'd removed all her jewelry when she'd come in for the MRI and CAT scans. She'd fallen asleep before they'd given her the results. Given she wasn't in surgery, or on some special head trauma floor, she could safely assume she was going to make it.

Graham sat beside her, as he had since they'd brought her in. Slumped over in an uncomfortable position for sleep. She'd tried in vain to shoo him out the door to make it to his match, which he'd laughed at. While she'd been getting an MRI, he'd been in the ER himself getting his knee X-rayed and his hands bandaged. He'd fractured his patella, alongside minor burns on his hands. No boxing for him, and likely no exercise for several weeks. The fact that he got hurt assisting her made her stomach cramp. But God . . . thank God he'd been there.

She studied him, while she had the chance. His face was slack, mouth open just a little. The man was gorgeous, and looked like a little boy while he slept. His left leg was extended straight out, and a pair of crutches propped up in one corner. His hand held hers, fingers entwined as much as they could through the gauze wrapping around them. More than once, a nurse had come by and had had to ask multiple times for him to let go before they could check vitals. He was so worried, even if he didn't say it. She saw it in his eyes. He didn't want to let her go.

“Knock, knock.” Reagan's voice came through the thick curtain, and she stuck in one hand to wave. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, but shh.” There was no way for her to make herself more presentable, so she just looked down to make sure the hospital gown covered everything it could, and smoothed her hair from her face. “Graham's sleeping, finally.”

“You're worried about him? Oh, honey.” With a tsking sound, Reagan came in and pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head. “You're such a mom.”

“Guilty.” After a moment, she asked, “Has anyone called the Cooks? Or Zach?”

“Marianne called her parents to explain, and asked them not to mention it to Zach. We figured you would want to explain what happened after you get home, when he can see clearly you're okay.”

“Thank you.” Starting to tire, Kara let her eyes close for a moment. It felt soothing to her brain. Like spreading cool aloe over a sunburn. “What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“AM or PM?”

“Wow, you really were out of it. Only PM.” Reagan's hand rubbed her forearm a bit. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted, which is ridiculous since all I've been doing for the past, I guess, eight or nine hours is lying here and sleeping on and off.”

“Hospitals aren't restful places. Even if you were asleep, it probably wasn't a good deep REM,” Reagan pointed out. “But let's ignore that. Have the MPs come to speak with you?”

“Yes, and the Feds, which shocked the hell out of me. But I guess it's looking like it might be considered a terrorist threat, in the legal sense. I don't think that's what it is, though.”

“It's crazy, is what it is.”

“No doubt about that.” Kara opened her eyes briefly, took in her friend's less-than-pulled-together look. Her skirt was rumpled, her shirt half-untucked, her hair was falling from its formerly tidy chignon, and her eyes were rimmed in dark circles. “You look like hell.”

“Hey, at least I'm wearing real clothes.”

“Touché. What's going to happen with the event?”

“It's still going on, just at a new location. The first one, most of the damage was contained in the storage room, but the fire folks don't want anyone going in there for a few days while they do a thorough check.”

“Sensible.”

“Sensible, but inconvenient. Luckily, Hood is big enough that we can change to a different gym. It's tighter, not as nice, but it'll suffice. These guys spend months in tents and little metal boxes in the desert. Competing in a boxing tournament in a second-rate gym is hardly going to stop them.”

“But he burned . . . something.” She tried to remember. They'd told her. What had they told her? “Something.”

Reagan's voice softened as she said, “He burned their uniforms. No problems there, though. The Army and Air Force teams stepped up and are loaning our guys their practice gear so they can continue.” She paused a moment, and Kara closed her eyes again to let her friend's voice drift over her. “It's interesting. There's this insane rivalry, almost like high school all over again. You know, two football teams from across town meeting up on homecoming night. Everyone's got blood lust. But, you know, the adult version of that.”

Kara smiled, but kept her eyes closed.

“And yet, the second there's trouble, when they could have said, ‘Aw, too bad, so sad, Marines. Better luck next year,' everyone scrambles to help instead. Because everyone knows how hard everyone else worked to get here, and nobody wants to win by default.”

“Brothers in arms,” Graham said in a gravelly voice, waking up in inches. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, as if worried he might have drooled. He sat up and rubbed a thumb over Kara's cheek, and she smiled at the caress. His touch erased so much pain.

“How you feeling, baby?”

“Tired.”

“We'll get you out of here as soon as we can.”

“Graham, Greg and Brad are out in the waiting room. They didn't want to come back in case she was sleeping, or not up for it. Why don't you go keep them company while Kara and I chat a bit?”

He looked at her, uncertain. But Kara knew he wanted to hear how the matches had gone on in his absence. He simply wouldn't admit it in front of her.

“Go.” She pushed weakly at his arm. “Go away so we can have girl time.”

“If you're sure . . .”

“Very. Shoo. And call Zach for me, would you? I can't handle it right now; it would give me a headache. He'd love to hear from you, though.”

“You got it.” He brushed a kiss gently over her forehead, then stood, grabbed his crutches and hobbled out.

“He is so in love with you, girl.”

Kara grinned, then dialed it back when it pulled on her bruised face. “I'm going to marry him.”

“Marianne told me,” she said. “What? She wanted to make sure I knew in case it came up while you were unconscious
or something. She was just covering her bases. But thank you for telling me.”