Below the Belt(87)

“So keep driving straight.”

She growled a little, the sound so cute and feminine he wanted to lean over and kiss the tip of her nose. But he resisted. One stupid move per night was his limit . . . hopefully.

“You ladies have a good night out?”

She smiled, which he couldn’t see so much as hear in her voice. “We were, until a few weirdos came and crashed the party.”

“Weirdos?” Ready to defend her honor, despite being too late, he sat up straighter. “Who? What’d they look like? Did they bother you?”

“That would have been you three boys,” she answered with a smug grin.

Oh. Right. He let his head thump back against the headrest. Damn. She had a wicked sense of humor on her. “How’s the job working out?”

“It’s far more action-oriented than I imagined, that’s for sure. I never thought I’d be driving out in the dark to inspect slashed tires, or figuring out who keeps vandalizing the gym. I feel like I stepped into a Nancy Drew book instead of my first real job.”

“First real job, huh?” She flushed slightly, the tint barely perceptible thanks to the street lamps. “Just graduated, I take it?”

“I did, yes.” Her voice deepened when she wanted to sound important, he noted. “Took me a little longer because I had to work full time while I went, but I’m a proud graduate and ready to use my degree.”

“Good to know.” He settled back in his seat. “You’ll turn here, then make another and the barracks will be dead ahead.”

“Gotcha.” She finished the drive and pulled into a space at the back of the lot next to Sweeney’s SUV. “I should have brought a digital camera or something,” she said, looking around her car. Her voice was tight, a little high-pitched now, telling him she was nervous. “I don’t know if I’ll need photos , but . . .” She bit her lip, and he put a hand over hers on the gear shift between them.

“Don’t sweat it. We’ve all got cell phones with cameras. Between all of us we’ll have plenty of photos.”

“Oh. Right.” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. A breath that pushed her more-than-a-handful breasts against the tight confines of her shirt. “Sorry, I’m nervous. This isn’t the sort of thing they cover in marketing class.”

“You’re fine. You’ve got it.” He stepped out, then debated going to open her door. She was, for all intents and purposes, on the job now. Would she see that as stepping over a boundary? Be angry he’d done something she could do for herself?

While he internally debated, she opened her own door and stepped into the warm night air, smoothing her dark pencil skirt down over her hips as she did so. And thank God for skirts that hugged those curve. Her body was a damn work of art; a true hourglass. He let her get a step in front of him as she walked toward the group congregated on the sidewalk in front of the building, just to give himself another minute of appreciation at the way her hips swung while she walked.

“Good evening, Marines.” Her voice deepened into a husky, sexy tone that had him fighting an erection in the parking lot. “Problems with some tires, I hear?”

She listened as the guys explained having made it home from practice with no problem, parking, then finding the tires slashed when they’d come out to get dinner. She took notes on her phone, getting everyone’s license plate, make and model, which tires were slashed and where they’d been parked in the lot.

“And nobody else’s tires were slashed? The people who’d parked next to you, for example?”

“Only tires we see slashed are from the team’s,” Tressler said, looking supremely pissed and ready to brawl with anyone who gave him a wrong look. The hothead was in for a rude awakening on the mat if he couldn’t keep himself together and shield those emotions better. “Except Chalfant. His got hit too, but he didn’t make the team.”

At Brad’s growl, Tressler’s eyes widened. “Which, I mean, he should have,” he finished, then shot Chalfant a look. “Sorry, man. That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” the tall man said quietly. “It’s okay.”

“So what you’re saying is the person who did this appears to have enough information about the team to know who to target, but not enough to know who was most recently cut,” Reagan said quickly to diffuse any potential problems. “Someone who is paying attention, but doesn’t have firsthand info.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. You’re good.” Tressler nodded and grinned, which made Greg take a protective step toward Reagan’s back. She glanced over her shoulder with a grouchy expression, but he didn’t back up.

Tressler caught his eye, narrowed his brow slightly, then shrugged. At least the kid wasn’t a total moron. He picked up on the subtle back off vibes fast enough.

After she’d gathered all the official documentation, she asked who had called the MPs. The younger Marines all looked at each other, each one shaking his head in turn.

“Nobody?” Reagan glanced between them, then fisted her hands on her hips. “Not one of you thought to report this? Your insurances alone will require that much.”

“We thought we should wait to see what these guys said,” another Marine—one of Sweeney’s, Greg thought—said. “We figured it was their call, because things are so weird right now with the gym and the training room getting trashed.”