Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(24)

“They’re babies,” Graham reminded him. “They can’t think straight with all the testosterone flowing through their veins, combined with the competition. It’s someone’s locker, so let’s find out whose, give them the ass chewing of a lifetime, and make anything that could start a fire off limits from here on out. No more prematch ritual candle or incense.”

“Guys,” Brad said quietly, looking at the name written on the waistband of the shorts. “This wasn’t an accident. These were Tressler’s. He’s not the candle-lighting type.”

“Tressler?” Greg’s jaw ticked. “That little pencil dick . . .”

“No.” Brad shook his head and slapped a hand down on Greg’s shoulder to contain him. Greg and Tressler had had an . . . altercation a few weeks ago after the younger man had made some inadvisable comments about Reagan. It wouldn’t take much to have Greg’s anger running loose where the young Marine was involved. “This wasn’t him. Think. Is Greg the kind of guy who would light a freaking Bath & Body Works candle in his locker?”

Graham and Greg both blinked at each other, then stared more closely at the candle still cooling in the bottom of the locker. Sure enough, it wasn’t the plain grocery store candle most guys would have picked out. It was a pink confection of a candle, with a gingham-style bow for a label and a froufrou name. No guy would have selected it and intended to burn it in public.

“So . . . what? How the hell did it get there?” Graham thought for a moment. “Did someone else . . . shit.”

“Yeah,” Brad said quietly. Greg’s eyes narrowed as he caught on. “I think our vandal has just upgraded to arson.”

“And with something that smells like a perfume counter,” Greg added with a sneer. “Could the guy not even pick a manly candle to try to burn the locker room with?”

“Who said it’s a guy?” Graham waited while they both turned to look at him, stunned expressions on their faces. “What? So far, nothing that’s happened has been anything a female couldn’t have pulled off. I’m not saying it is a woman, but we can’t discount it.”

“Whoever it is can’t be all that brilliant. I mean, I’m no genius, and even I know you can’t light wet shit on fire, and those clothes are obviously soaked.” Greg scoffed as he toed the shirt, still on the ground.

“There’s an entire building full of people. I wonder if they hoped the clothes would dry, and later on, they would catch more fully. After everyone was out of the building. A poor man’s long fuse.”

Brad’s idea made sense. “God. Just . . . God. We have to do something.”

“What, check every guy’s locker for the matching lotion scent?” Greg rolled his eyes.

“No.” With the finality and calmness that made him the team’s captain, Brad straightened and shut the locker door. “We handle this as a team. In-house. We don’t tell anyone about this. The MPs will get this program shut down. Or we’ll lose our practice space. Either way, it’s no good for anyone. We all meet here, Monday night, ten o’clock. Tell your squads. Nobody else.”

He didn’t have to specify the squads were the guys they’d been assigned to watch over during tryouts. Though the squads were no longer in play, it worked as an efficient sort of phone tree. Each younger Marine would trust them, and subsequently would show up when asked.

“I just want to get out of here. I’m done with this shit.” Graham slammed his own locker shut, rubbing a towel over his head before chucking it into the laundry bin in the corner by the door.

“And to think, a certain hot yogi and her son came to see you. Guess you won’t be finding them after the match, huh?” Greg laughed when Graham growled. “Get over your bad mood. You won. The woman you want came to see you. Her kid’s basically president of your fan club. Other than almost getting burned out of the gym, it’s been a pretty good night.”

“Yeah.” Locker room candle aside, it hadn’t been a bad day. Maybe he could even convince Kara to let him take them out for a celebratory ice cream . . . if Zach could have any. He’d have to check with Kara on that.

The rest would level itself out. Brad was right. It was time to stop dicking around with the MPs and handle their business in-house.


*

KARA let Zach greet a few of the boxers, knowing he’d be safe with them while she spoke to Marianne. She didn’t know the whole team as well as she did Brad, Greg and Graham, but they were all a decent bunch of guys and didn’t mind playing up the superhero card for Zach. Having a young boy idolize them was right up their alley.

“This is insane,” Kara said as she hugged Marianne. They were bumped from behind by another hugging duo, and scooted over a bit. “Like high school graduation or something. The crowd is all over the place.”

“Welcome to the world of boxing, where first you throw a punch, and then afterward you grab a beer with the guy you just punched.” Her friend grinned, face flushed with excitement, baby-fine blonde hairs sticking to her sweat-dampened temples. “I’m going to need Brad to give me a two-hour-long hand massage, after wrapping so many wrists, fingers and ankles, but this was great.”

Marianne was in her element, that was for sure. Caring for athletes, and being a part of the team, had always been her dream. She was living it. “Well, go you.”