Below the Belt(21)

Bad Marianne.

She took a deep breath and opened the auxiliary doors to the main gym, where the mats and conditioning equipment were—and immediately felt like the air had been sucked from her lungs.

Despite the fact that it was only seven in the morning, the heat was edging up on unbearable in the gym. With only a few windows, and high ceilings, the dark room seemed like it should be a cool haven from the summer sun. But instead, the arena turned into an oversized sweatbox in ten seconds flat. Hydration and stretching would be key, along with regular breaks. She’d have to speak to Coach Ace about that.

Several Marines were already there, stretching or chatting on the main mat. Coach Willis—who sort of reminded her of Danny DeVito with some wicked facial hair—was there, but the other two coaches weren’t around. And, because she couldn’t help but search him out, she noticed Brad was MIA. With a sigh, and with the realization she wouldn’t be able to grab him quickly before practice for a chat to clear up the night before, she unlocked her training room.

The instant she opened the door, before the lights even went on, she knew something was wrong. Flicking on the light, she sucked in a breath and immediately gagged at the smell.

Gauze wraps and athletic tape covered the room, as if the place had been TP’d by a high schooler. They hung from the ceiling, from light fixtures, wound around fan blades and chair legs. The place was a spiderweb of sticky substances. She couldn’t even walk into her training room. She’d have to hack at the stuff with scissors like a machete through jungle brush.

Heating pads and pillows lay in a heap on the floor, soaked in what she could only assume from the smell was the alcohol she diluted and used as a cleaning agent. Someone had written more than one foul word over the walls in what looked like the same permanent marker she used to mark files. And two of her exam tables had been tipped onto their sides.

And . . . Oh my God. Was that a puddle of pee on the floor?

What. The. Hell.

Marianne’s eyes started to water from the alcohol. She closed her eyes, pulled her work polo over her face to blot at her leaking eyes and to cover her nose and stepped back out of the room, only to bump into a body.

“Sorry,” she managed to mutter quickly. “Sorry.” But there was no way she was pulling her face out from the shirt until she’d wiped all the tears away and had taken several more giant steps away from the stench.

“Hey,” a deep voice said. Not one she recognized by sound. “Who’s in there?”

“Cook,” she said, then pulled away from the steadying hands and took one more step back before pulling the shirt down around her nose. With still-watery eyes, she saw one of the older Marines—his name began with an H, but she couldn’t place it just yet—watching her with concern.

“Everything okay?” He started to say something else, then his nose wrinkled. “What’s that smell?”

She said nothing, just pointed toward her room. Who could talk with that stench burning the hairs in her nostrils? She had to find a janitor, and Coach Ace, and call her supervisor. They’d have to triage what supplies could be salvaged, see if the ice machine was still functional, set up somewhere else for the time being in case—

“What the f*ck?” She heard Brad’s voice before she saw him around the other Marine’s arm. His voice was a low growl, followed by a tight, “Where’s Marianne?”

“I’m right here,” she answered, waving a hand over the other man’s shoulder. Cautiously, she lowered her shirt all the way and took a delicate sniff. No lingering burning smell. She was probably safe. “Thank you very much . . .”

“Higgs,” he offered with a charming smile. “It’s Higgs, ma’am.”

“Cook,” she returned, then smiled back.

Brad was by her in an instant. After a cursory glance at Higgs, his eyes leveled at her. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?” He took a step toward her, as if he was going to hug her, then pulled up at the last second.

Higgs, looking between them, deserted the field. “I’m going to look for Coach Ace.”

“Oh, I’ll do that,” she started, but he was already out of hearing range. The man moved like the wind. “Damn it, I’m responsible for the mess, not him. He needs to start stretching.”

“Pull off the trainer hat for a second and look at me.” His voice was so calm, so intense, Marianne followed the instruction without thinking twice. His eyes bore into hers. “Are you okay?”

“It didn’t happen while I was here. I just found it five minutes ago.” She rubbed the heels of her hands over her cheeks to wipe off the last of the tears. “Wow, that stuff’s lethal in that large a dose.”

She saw his eyes dart around, then he reached out and brushed a hand down her arm, shoulder to elbow. Just one light brush, nothing dangerous. But the support, the contact, the obvious I’m here sent an extra ounce of steel to her spine. And she felt ready to attack the situation head-on.

Nodding once, she gave him a slight smile. “Guess I’ve got my work cut out for me today.” She pulled her cell from her pocket, ready to make the first of numerous calls, when she heard a shriek. She slid the phone back in her pocket with a sigh. “And looks like Nikki’s early.”

“You’d think she saw a snake,” Brad muttered, and she gave a watery chuckle. Okay, so she wasn’t quite as composed as she wanted to be. But she’d get there.