a rowing machine. All those would get her blood pumping, but they seemed too passive for the emotions roiling in her.
Turning, she scrutinized the weight machines, free weights and kettlebells. Too tempting to throw the kettlebell like a shot put. In the opposite corner were yoga mats, exercise balls of all sizes, elastic bands for stretching, jump ropes and step boxes.
This was a totally tricked-out space, but it didn’t have the one thing that would make it perfect—a heavy bag. She wanted—no, she needed—to pound the fuck out of something. Feel her fists connecting with a solid object, imagining it was the shooter’s head. Feel her kicks connecting with a solid object, imagining it was the shooter’s body. When she noticed the speed bag dangling from the extended arm of the weight machine, she was somewhat mollified. She’d use a cardio workout to get her blood pumping.
During her time on the treadmill, images of Devin’s bullet-riddled bus kept up a constant loop in her head. What-if scenarios bogged down her mind, even when she knew it was counterproductive.
How could she live with herself if something happened to him on her watch?
She couldn’t. Because she’d fallen in love with him.
Would she have to tell Garrett that? So he could find a replacement for the last three weeks?
She ended her run at the forty-five-minute mark and headed to the mat. Although her lungs labored, she did push-ups and abdominal-strengthening exercises. After slipping on her modified boxing gloves, she dragged her sweat-soaked body to the speed bag.
When her arms finally got tired, she took a break and sucked down several mouthfuls of cold water at the drinking fountain.
The door lock clicked and she whirled around, half expecting to see that Devin had tracked her down.
But Paxton Wright paused just inside the door, looking as startled to see her as she was to see him.
Liberty recovered first. “Hey.” She dropped to the bench, next to her duffel bag.
“Hey, yourself. Didn’t expect to find anyone here at four in the morning.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me either.” Paxton sat on the bench, keeping the duffel bag between them. “Were you haunted by a melody that kept you up?”
She shook her head.
“Freaky stuff that happened tonight, huh?”
“You were here. Did you see anything? Random people hanging around the buses?”
“No. Flynn and I were arguing about some dumb shit, and we argue loudly, so we didn’t hear the gunshots.”
“Makes me wonder if the shots were silenced.”
“Like a sniper or something?” He frowned. “I thought the cops said it looked like scattershot.”
“Or someone wanted it to look random.” She felt Paxton’s probing gaze and knew she’d said too much. “But what do I know?”
“More than you’re letting on, that’s for damn sure.”
Don’t look at him.
“Is Devin freaked out? In addition to all the protestor shit, I heard rumblings that he’s dealt with some stalker-type things.”
She shrugged. “He’s not too freaked out. He’s sound asleep in the room.”
“And you’re not. You’re in the fitness room, and judging by the sweat and exhaustion, you’ve been here at least an hour.” He paused. “Interesting.”
Liberty faced him. “Why’s that interesting?”
Paxton tipped up his water bottle and drank, keeping those assessing eyes on hers. “Because if I ask for the truth, you’ll lie. And if I hazard a guess on why there’s a stun gun in your duffel bag, you’ll hedge. So I won’t insult my intelligence or yours by saying anything other than I find it . . . interesting.”
“I knew you were smarter than you looked.”
He smirked. “I’ll sidestep that. Anything I can do?”
She eyed his workout clothes—a long-sleeved T-shirt and baggy cotton pants—martial arts pants if she wasn’t mistaken. “I don’t suppose you grapple?”
“Mostly I concentrate on tai chi these days and not the combat side of martial arts.”
“Pity. I’m in the mood for some ground and pound.”
“You any good?”
“Only one way to find out.” Then, because she’d obviously lost her mind, she taunted him with “Unless you’re scared to fight a girl?”
Paxton set his water bottle aside. “Them’s fightin’ words. Bring it on. But I’ve got a couple of rules. Grappling only, no kicks or strikes. And no choke holds. I can’t take the chance on fucking up my voice.”
“Deal.” She rooted around in her bag until she found a long-sleeved shirt and slipped it on.
As they faced each other on the mat, Paxton casually asked, “What discipline do you study?”
“Mostly Muay Thai. You?”
“Formerly aikido.”
Liberty rushed him.
Obviously, he wasn’t expecting it. He hit the ground hard but bounced back. “Why aren’t I surprised you’re the strike-first type?” he complained.
“Gotta take my openings when I see them.” Then she faked a grab, and when he went to counter the move, she dodged, knocking him to the ground. Her takedown netted her zero gain when he rolled out of it.
She’d missed this physical test of her skills against an opponent’s. Chances were slim she’d score a victory; Paxton Wright was lumberjack sized. Six foot five with biceps the size of her head and massive shoulders and thighs. Plus he had a keen eye for detail, so chances were he’d already cataloged her few moves and come up with countermoves.
“You sure we can’t kick and strike?”
“No need to.” He swept her legs out from under her; then she found herself in guard with no way to escape.
Shit. She tapped.
They went another round, with her managing to get the jump on him just one time. She figured he was just about to flip her on her back again when the door slammed open.
Devin demanded, “What the fuck is goin’ on?”
Paxton released her and offered a hand to help her up.
She was flushed and breathing hard when Devin approached her. “We were grappling.”
“Why are you even in here?”
“Paxton has experience with a different martial arts discipline, so we wanted to test our skill against each other.”
“Awesome. Not only do I wake up at four thirty in the fuckin’ morning and find your side of the bed empty—no note, no nothin’—then I find you rolling around on the floor with another guy who’s damn near twice your size.”
Liberty studied him, matching his icy stance and tone. “What are you insinuating?”
“Nothin’. I’m asking why’re you’re here.”
“And I answered.” She looked at Paxton. “Maybe he’ll believe you. Tell him this wasn’t foreplay.”
“Liberty—”
“Tell him.”
“She was working out when I got here. We decided to grapple. Probably not the best idea at four in the morning. But I’d never disrespect you by making a move on her.”
Devin inhaled. Exhaled. Rubbed the furrow between his brows. “I know that.” He looked at Liberty. “Just because we’re”—he gestured distractedly—“whatever. Your life is your own. But after what happened tonight, when I woke up alone, I was worried about you. But now that I know where you are, I’ll leave you to your grappling.” He walked out the door.
Paxton said, “So you just going to stand there, or are you going after him?”
“Shit.” Liberty followed Devin and caught him just as he turned the corner to the elevator.
The elevator? What the fuck?
“Where do you think you’re going?”
The security guard discreetly walked down the hall, away from the impending explosion.
Devin jammed his hands through his thick, unruly curls. Even sleep deprived and pissed off he looked like a damn rockstar. “Downstairs for a drink.”
“There’s a minibar in the room.”
“D
oesn’t have what I want.”
“Fine. Hang tight for a sec while I get my bag out of the fitness room and I’ll come with you.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said no. The reason I’m goin’ to the bar is to be alone. So go back to grappling or to the room, but you’re not comin’ with me.”
Liberty got right in his face. “Wrong. Where you go, I go. Remember?”
“Don’t push me on this. I need some time to sort some shit out.” His gaze zoomed over her. “Apparently, you needed time alone too. At least I’m givin’ you the courtesy of telling you, unlike you just leavin’ me in the middle of the goddamn night.”
“Totally different situations, Devin.”
“Oh yeah? So if you’d awoken to find me gone?”
She would’ve gone out of her fucking mind. “It’s not the same,” she said stubbornly.
Devin’s eyes searched hers, and whatever he saw—or didn’t see—caused him to take another step back. “You’re right. But that doesn’t change anything. I’m still goin’.”
She shook her head.
“Here’s how this plays out. I head downstairs for a drink. You leave me be and know I’m safe in the hotel. Or I head downstairs for a drink, you follow me and I’ll get in a taxi. I’ll be out of touch completely until sound check tomorrow afternoon. Your choice.”
He was threatening her? “You’re bluffing.”
“I don’t bluff.” His voice dropped. “Ever. So go ahead and push me on this, Liberty. I’ll show you how uncooperative I can be when I set my mind to it.”
“Why are you doing this?”
The elevator dinged and the door slid open.
Devin stepped inside and immediately slumped against the wall, focusing on the digital panel rather than looking at her. Or answering her.
Then the doors closed in her face.
Immediately, she had a deep sense of loss.
This had gone beyond Devin being upset with her. But what had tipped him over the edge from concern to fury? Her retreat into professional mode once she’d learned of the bus being shot up? Her refusal to take solace for herself or offer it to him by having sex with him? Waking to find her gone? Walking in on her grappling with Paxton Wright?
Paxton. Dammit, she’d just run off and left him with her stun gun.
When she stood in front of the glass door, she wondered how long Devin had watched her and Paxton before he’d barged in. She realized she’d forgotten her room key in her duffel bag, and she’d have to interrupt Paxton’s tai chi workout to get back in.
Right after he’d opened the door, she said, “Sorry. I’ve gotta go . . .” Where? Chase after Devin and watch him seize the opportunity to elude you?
“Maybe you oughta take a breather before you race off.”
“God. This is so fucked up. I never meant . . .”
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I do recognize when a guy has been pushed past his limits. I saw that in Devin just now.”
“When you’ve reached that point, what do you do?”
“Tell everyone to fuck off and find a bar.”
She sighed. “So that response is a gender thing?”
Paxton’s eyes turned shrewd. “Devin went looking for a bar?”
“I don’t think he’ll go out of the hotel. Unless he sees me, and then all bets are off.” She released a frustrated burst of air instead of yelling, Fuck! “Even if the bar is closed, he’s Devin McClain. They’ll open it up for him.”
“True. So are you headed down there?”
Liberty shook her head and reached for her duffel bag. “I’ll hole up in the room and hope like hell he comes back.”
“He will. Might be a few hours. He might be drunker than hell, but he won’t be able to stay away from you.”
She paused before she opened the door, wanting to ask him how he could be so sure of that, but she said, “Night,” instead and fled back to the room.
Chapter Twenty-two
Devin bribed the night concierge to let him sit in a booth in the corner of the bar.
Although the bar was closed, the concierge brought Devin five little bottles of Jack Daniel’s, two cans of Coke and a large water glass filled with ice.
As soon as he had the booze and the solitude he thought he needed, he didn’t want either. He cracked open the Coke and watched the thick brown bubbles forming over the ice before settling into fizzy liquid.
What a totally fucked-up night.
He heard footsteps and looked up. Paxton Wright scooted into the bench seat across from him. Devin sighed. “Hope you didn’t pay the dude at the desk more than a hundred bucks, because he’s lousy at keeping secrets.”
Paxton cocked his head. “Tickets to tonight’s sold-out show are worth more and don’t cost me a thing.”
Devin snorted.
Paxton pointed to the minibar-sized bottles. “Having a pity party?”
“Yep. Hitting the hard stuff.” Devin rattled the glass. “Coca-Cola. Straight up. So why’d you track me down? To try to convince me nothin’ happened between you and Liberty?”
“You know nothing happened. You trust her. You trust me. Finding her grappling with me wasn’t why you were pissed off at her.”
He sipped his soda and waited for Paxton to elaborate.
“Liberty isn’t just your personal assistant.”
“What makes you say that?”
Paxton rested his arms on the table. “Besides the fact I haven’t seen her do anything that most PAs do—like fetch food and drinks for you, or coordinate your wardrobe, or deal with media demands—yet she’s constantly by your side. I could chalk that up to infatuation on both your parts, but that’s not all of it. I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly. Knowing you for a few years and that your taste in women runs to the trashy side, I figured maybe you’d hired her because you weren’t attracted to her.”
Devin’s cheeks grew warm. He’d always feel like a tool for what he’d said—and thought—about Liberty the first time they’d met.
“But after watching you with her, the attraction between you two is mutual. It’s been mentioned in passing that you work out with her almost every day. So when I showed up at the fitness room because I couldn’t sleep and saw her working out, I watched her through the door before I entered the room.” He paused. “She doesn’t train like a girl. She doesn’t fight like a girl. Hell, most women outside of the martial arts community wouldn’t know what grappling was. She not only knows her way around submissions and takedowns, she would’ve forced my submission if I hadn’t defined the parameters ahead of time. She carries a stun gun in her duffel bag, and I suspect I never see her in the skimpy clothes most PAs prefer because she’s always carrying a gun. I won’t put you on the spot and ask you to define her real job title—I can guess well enough.”
“So why are you here?”
“I figured you might need to talk to someone that ain’t her or Crash. I know how damn isolated this job can make you feel.”
He traced the rim of his glass. “Is Crash sitting in the lobby by the doors?”
“Yep. He warned me not to try to sneak you outta the building. Why would he say that?”
“I told Liberty if she followed me down here, I’d leave. But she knows Crash can keep me in line.”
“Always good to have one person like that. Sucks when I’m that person for all three of my brothers. You have siblings?”
He thought of how he’d opened up tonight about Michelle. Why had he been able to do that with Liberty and not Renee? “An older sister.”
“She whip your ass when you were kids to keep you in line?”
Devin tried to remember. Renee had been more the mother-hen type than the cracking-skulls type. “Not really.”
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