Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(51)

That pulled her up short, and she sat on the edge of the bed, not touching him. “Was that part good?”

“Yes. So let’s take our medicine now so we can have our treat as a reward after. You first.”

She shook her head, and he sensed she might need a little more distance before she was ready to go into it. “You first, please. I’m . . . I need a minute.”

“Okay.” Lacing his hands behind his head, he settled back. If he had his way, she’d ask him to stay the night. Had, in fact, packed a bag so he could run straight to practice in the morning. But being the smart man he was, he’d left it in his car. “My car was vandalized today. No, not quite right. My car was attacked.”

She stilled, all motion halted, not even a blink. Then she was beside him like a shot, cupping his cheeks in her palms. “Oh my God. Graham. Please tell me you’re okay. Are you okay?” She ran her hands down his shoulders, his arms, his torso. “How fast were you going? Where was this? Was anyone else hurt?”

“Not a wreck, I wasn’t driving. I’m not hurt.” He didn’t mind her stroking and searching hands, though. She could keep that up all night. “It was in the gym parking lot. Someone heaved a brick through my windshield. Badly, at that.”

That made her rear her head back to stare at him funny. “How does one throw a brick through a windshield badly? Isn’t it always bad?”

“It didn’t go through. The result is the same, I guess, in that I had to have my car towed so the damn thing could be replaced, but overall the interior was saved.”

“Who would do something like that?” Fire heated her eyes, and her hands fisted against his chest. Gone from memory was the woman fighting to maintain composure. “What kind of sick person throws a brick?”

“Good question. We’re still trying to figure that out. Any ideas?”

“It fits with the same profile of the vandalism from the gym.” She tapped her lip a moment, then scooted around to sit beside him. “Was yours the only one hit?”

“Yes, which only adds to the confusion. When the guys’ tires were punctured, it was everyone’s car who was parked at the barracks. Why only mine? Simpson’s car was there, too. Was it an attack on me, personally? Or was it another act of vandalism by the same person or people who have had it out for the boxing team from the start?”

“Pissed anyone off lately?” she teased.

“No, I—damn.” He beat his head against the headboard a few times. “Nikki.”

“Nikki’s a child. And I thought she gave you three team captains a wide berth.”

“She does. But I caught her making another teammate uncomfortable, and she wouldn’t stop. Even after I gave her a quick, not-so-friendly hint to move along, she kept after it. So I gave her a set down, and talked to Marianne about it. She needs to be disciplined, though I’m not sure that falls under Marianne’s jurisdiction.”

“She’ll handle it.”

“She will. She also had a mouthful to say about my car being bricked and keyed.”

“Keyed?” At that, Kara straightened. “That’s different. You didn’t mention that part.”

Graham shrugged. “Sort of seemed like a distant second to the whole brick bit. Doesn’t tell us anymore than what we already know.”

Kara’s smile was slow, and a little devilish. “I beg to differ. The brick? Anyone can pick up a brick and toss it somewhere.”

“Anyone can pick up a set of keys and scrape it down paint.”

“They can. But would they? Think about it. What would you want to bet that ninety percent of cars that get keyed like that are by females? It’s such a petty, sissy thing to do. That might be an assault on my own gender, but I think the odds are probably in favor of my theory. A guy might slash tires, or do the brick thing. But I’d bet dollars to doughnuts it was a female who keyed your car.”

That had him thinking. “Huh. I guess I didn’t think of it like that. So you think, what, it’s a pack of teenage girls doing the vandalism?”

“I think, at least as far as this specific instance goes, you’re looking at a female. And though she might not be a teen any longer, age-wise, her maturity hasn’t quite caught up with her yet.”

“Nikki,” he breathed out. “You think she left the gym after I gave her the set-down, found the brick by the pile of construction materials in the back, tossed it at the windshield, and when it didn’t do as much damage as she thought—because she’s got chicken arms—she keyed it and took off.”

Kara’s arms crossed over her chest, and she nodded with a self-satisfied smile. “How did she look when she came for afternoon practice?”

“She didn’t,” Graham said slowly. “She was a no-show. I didn’t have time to ask Marianne what happened, since I had to haul ass to the shop and my ride was leaving ASAP after practice. I just figured Marianne gave her the afternoon off to think about things. Or maybe asked her to not come back. I don’t know.”

“I think she was scared after her little hissy fit, and knew it couldn’t be undone, and now she’s hiding like a three-year-old who spilled grape juice on the white carpet.” Her smile wobbled a little, as if the reminder of something a child might do brought back the problems she had with Zach.