Full Body Contact

Praise for Full Body Contact: A Thriller with some MMA Kick!

"Wow! The chemistry between a by-the-book detective and a bad boy MMA fighter was hot! I found myself questioning if I would make the same choices in Alexis' position. Stayed up late reading this one!"

Bookdiva

“Carolyn McCray is known for her ability to write taut, intelligent thrillers, but wow, she and Elena Grey have written a smart but physical thriller this time. The fight scenes are incredible and let's just say you should have a cold shower ready after the sex scene. Definitely recommend this book to anyone who likes thrillers, not just those involving the mixed martial arts”

Thrillers RockT

Book Reviewer

“I seldom read martial arts thrillers, but I couldn't resist
Full Body Contact
. The pages flew by. I just had to know. Did he do it? Was he playing Alexis or truly reformed? And the conclusion? Suspense at its very best.”

Amber Scott

Bestselling author of
Fierce Dawn

“
Full Body Contact
had me at 'mixed martial arts.' Add in a beautiful undercover cop and I was so there. What more can I say besides, I loved it and... Go read it! Now!”

Kelli McCracken

Author of
What the Heart Wants

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Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

Alexis Reed watched the grisly carnage unfold on the monitor. Bloodied and glistening with sweat, their suspect, Travis Dekker, circled his opponent in the ring. Muscles rippling, Dekker took two quad-fueled steps before landing a roundhouse kick to his opponent’s jaw. Even though the television was muted, Alexis could swear she heard the crack of bone. Blood and spit sprayed from his opponent’s mouth.

Before his opponent could drop to the mat, Dekker landed a side kick to his chest, sending him flat on his back. While the opponent lay unmoving, Dekker stomped on his knee, obviously breaking his kneecap as his leg bent at an odd angle. The body lay motionless.

With a mixture of revulsion for the cruelty and admiration for the skills, Alexis watched as the referee tried to separate Dekker from his downed opponent. Dekker’s features contorted in rage as the referee braced an arm against the mixed martial arts champion’s chest. In horror, Alexis watched as Dekker lifted the referee over his head, tossing him like a crumpled piece of paper over the ropes. The champion paced the ring, stalking the crowd, challenging anyone to dispute that he was king of all that he surveyed.

Alexis had some experience with MMA, but Dekker’s behavior was so far out-of-bounds that it bordered on criminal. Still, Dekker’s fierce stance stirred something. Something that Alexis did not want to admit—even to herself.

Lieutenant Beck paused the DVD as three men jumped into the ring, trying to subdue Dekker. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is who we’re dealing with. Mr. Travis Dekker—three- time MMA champion.”

Alexis shifted in the hard metal chair, pushing it farther into the corner. This viewing room barely fit two people, let alone four. Why was she suddenly so warm? The air felt stale. Her lungs rebelled against taking it in. She had to stifle the urge to get up and leave the room.

“Looks like a psychopath to me,” Detective Nick Logan said next to her as he leaned his chair back. His leg brushed hers. Had he meant that as an intimate gesture, or was it just a side effect of the cramped room? She hoped the latter. Two dates with the guy didn’t give him “brushing” rights.

“Wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” Lieutenant Beck responded as he flipped open a file. He scanned the cover sheet. “In and out of juvie after his father—a kickboxer, I might add, was found dead.” Lieutenant Beck held up a black and white photo of the deceased. “Broken neck in a back alley.”

Alexis studied the picture. It should have been like looking at any other crime scene photo, yet this one seemed all the sadder—knowing that the man had a boy he left behind. The two looked so similar. Father and son. So much violence in one small family.

“And the mother?” Detective Grace Richards asked from Alexis’ other side.

“Died when Dekker was an infant.”

The older detective nodded sharply, causing her short-cropped bangs to scatter across her forehead. While Alexis admired Grace for her pointed mind and thorough police work, her elder did take the “dress like a man to be accepted by a man” philosophy a bit too far. From the blocky suit to the butch haircut, Grace exemplified the old-school approach.

Grace glanced over at her. Busted, Alexis looked away, but not before Grace frowned. Alexis was used to it, though. Being the daughter of the previous police chief came with some decidedly heavy baggage. She’d felt the sting since the first day at the academy. The razzing from her peers, the disdain from her superiors.

Alexis had hoped that everyone could lay off the nepotism riff once she earned her gold detective badge, but, if anything, her promotion had intensified it. Now she had a whole new set of people who resented her and searched under every rock to find fault with her.

“So, who killed Dekker’s father?” Nick asked.

Their lieutenant shrugged. “They never found his attacker. A half dozen foster homes couldn’t contain the kid after that.”

No wonder. Mother dead. Father murdered. Alexis couldn’t help but wonder how she might have turned out under those circumstances. Maybe having a police chief for a father wasn’t the worst fate.

“According to this,” Beck stated as he ran his finger down the file, “his caseworker simply thanked God that Travis turned eighteen and was booted out of her caseload and onto a parole officer’s desk.”

Grace, not exactly living up to her name, snorted. “Once in the system, always in the system.”

Alexis didn’t say anything. She always just got grimaces when she did, but was that really the kid’s fault? Or was it the system’s? No kid she knew went into foster care willingly.

Beck looked up from his file as he finished, “Simply put, he
was—
and still
is—
a loose cannon.”

Glancing to the still frame on the monitor of Dekker’s mouth contorted in rage as his opponent lay bleeding, Alexis really couldn’t argue with that.

“Believe it or not, the opponent survived and refused to press charges. Same with the ref,” Beck said as he flipped to another page. “Dekker did some short stints as a kid for fighting and vandalism, but after that he learned to stay off our radar.”

Nick still didn’t seem able to accept the fact. “He didn’t get punished at all for that beating?”

“I didn’t say that,” Beck replied. “He was fined over a million bucks, lost his belt, and got booted from the ring. Now he makes his money legally, teaching people how to beat the crap out of other people.”

Grace tilted her head. “He’s got his own dojo, then?”

“Gym,” Alexis corrected before thinking. All eyes turned to her. She glanced down at her hands. “A dojo is a Japanese term.” Even though she could feel Grace glaring at her, Alexis continued. “Mixed martial arts are just that. Mixed. Some Japanese, Brazilian, even Thai influences. They call their training facilities gyms.”

Nick whistled. Was that appreciatively, or sarcastically? Wait, it was Nick. Of course he thought he was supporting her. “Round one goes to Reed.”

“Fine,” Grace snapped. “Dekker has his own
gym
?”

In vivid Technicolor, Dekker shook off two of the men trying to restrain him. He punched one so hard in the nose that the security guard dropped like a dead weight to his knees. Six more men swung over the ropes, slamming into Dekker’s body, pinning him to the mat. Still he bucked and flailed.

Beck stopped the video. “Several bodies have turned up around town beaten to a bloody pulp. They seemed random. We assumed they were gang related. No leads. Nobody talking. The usual for that part of town.”

Nick said what they were all thinking. “Then why brief us on Dekker?”

“Ah, so glad you asked,” said Beck as he pulled one last photo out. “Suddenly, we realized that these cases might be related—once Mr. Dekker’s girlfriend showed up with her neck snapped.”

Alexis scanned the new crime scene photo. The woman was young, early twenties. And stunning. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Truly, there weren’t enough adjectives to describe exactly how striking she was. Even in death, her platinum-blonde hair spilled around her face, framing the high cheekbones and gently sloping nose. Those green eyes still shone pure. If Alexis didn’t know better, she could easily have guessed this was one of those artsy photo shoots in
Vogue
.

“I’m confused,” Grace said. “So, Dekker is under arrest?”

“Brought him in for questioning,” Beck explained. “And let’s just say he was more distraught about missing practice than the fact that his girlfriend was faceup in the morgue.”