LITMIR.BIZ

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memory and form were all in her favor. Now it was just a question of stamina.

      But he could tell she was only going to make one mile. It was enough. Besides, they still had some maneuvers to get through at the gym, so he geared it down. “Okay, Christie. Slow her down.”

      She took him a little too literally, shifting to a walk, her hands on her hips, her chest heaving. Milo, who’d had himself a great run all over the grass, looked to her for a pet, but she didn’t have the energy.

      Boone, who hadn’t even broken a sweat, moved to the two of them, wishing there were more time for him to really get in a decent run. “You did great,” he said. “Got your heart pumping, just like it should.”

      “Right,” she said, still struggling to calm her breathing. “I’ll fall over dead, and then the problem is solved.”

      “Come on. You’re doing great.”

      “Milo,” she said, waving her hand in Boone’s direction. “Kill.”

      Milo did come, but it was to lick Boone’s hand.

      “You traitor,” she said.

      “He knows who his friends are.”

      “Oh, please. You gave him a giant rawhide bone. What’s not to like?”

      A smart-ass answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he kept quiet. Instead, he headed toward the truck, watching the park for anyone who looked at all hinky.

      He’d brought her back to his neck of the woods. He knew Pasadena. Where the restaurants were, where to get the best price for his Goldwing tires, and he knew where the dark alleys were, where a man could disappear.

      He’d chosen the grassy area in front of Cal Tech, and while he saw several student types wandering around, it was mostly empty this time of day. He’d parked where he had an easy out, and despite his workout gear, he was armed.

      He doubted the stalker would show in such a public place. If something was going to go down, it would be at Christie’s, where the geek would have some measure of control and containment. Boone knew for a fact the geek wasn’t getting into the gym.

      Christie was breathing better when they got to the truck, and although Milo looked sorry to leave, he jumped into the backseat with his typical enthusiasm. Damn great dog.

      Boone climbed behind the wheel, his gaze running over the length of her exposed legs. Despite her current circumstances, she still had some muscles in her calves and thighs. A few weeks with him and she’d be ready for anything. Given the time he’d allotted for this mission, he could still get her into pretty decent shape. All he had to do was keep his focus. They headed off to the gym, which wasn’t far.

      “I need a drink,” she said, leaning her head against the side window.

      “There’s a water bottle in the back.”

      “There’s a root-beer float at the Dairy Queen.”

      “You can have one later. After the gym.”

      She lifted her head to give him a dirty look. “You’re not short enough to have a Napoleon complex, so, what, you used to be a drill sergeant?

      “I can’t believe you’re bitching this much when we haven’t done anything yet.”

      “Believe it. You don’t seem to get that I haven’t slept in months. How am I supposed to do all this gym crap when I can barely keep my eyes open?”

      He stopped at a notoriously long red light on Colorado Boulevard. “You don’t think he knows you’re exhausted? That every day you don’t rest, you’re more vulnerable?”

      She winced, then turned to face the street.

      “You’re going to get plenty of sleep tonight,” he said. “I’ll be there, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

      Christie nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

      “I know,” he said. It would be so easy to coddle her now, to give in to those big, dark eyes. Maybe offer the kind of comfort he gave best. He just watched the traffic, front and back, making sure they weren’t being followed.

      After a few minutes, she reached behind his seat to get a bottle of water, her hand resting on his shoulder. The touch wasn’t sexual at all. But try telling that to his dick.

      THE ODOR IN THE GYM WAS a combination of testosterone and dirty socks. Christie saw one other woman inside, and she was enormous. Huge muscles, the thickest thighs and back on any woman Christie had ever seen, and a really cute hairdo. The woman was curling a barbell the size of a refrigerator, and she seemed pretty damned determined to make some portion of her body explode.

      Boone didn’t even blink as he led her and Milo toward a giant mat lying in an otherwise empty room. Once there, he turned, put his hands behind his back, spread his legs, and looked at her as if he were going to tell her to drop and give him twenty. Milo, the chicken, curled up by the wall, his head comfortably cradled in his paws. Christie turned to check out the quickest exit. No one was blocking her way, but there were at least four guys out there who could lift a VW without breaking a sweat, so she didn’t run. Yet.

      “You’ve never had any hand-to-hand training? Any kind of self-defense?”

      “I kneed a guy in the groin once,” she said. “But it wasn’t on purpose.”

      “You remember what he did when you kneed him?”

      “I believe he cupped himself and wept like a child.”

      “Sounds about right. Now, remember what you did to me when I had you?”

      She nodded. “I hyperventilated and passed out.”

      He gave her an almost-grin. “Before that.”

      “I kicked at your leg, and hit you with the back of my head.”

      “Exactly. The head butt was a good move, one that could have worked, at least in part. But kicking my leg with your bare feet wasn’t very effective.”

      “Milo was supposed to attack.”

      “You can’t depend on Milo or me. For the purposes of this lesson, you’re on your own, and this guy means business.”

      The reassurance she’d felt being with Boone all morning fell away as her situation came home once more. She wasn’t safe, not even a little. And this might just be the most important lesson she’d ever learn. “All right. Tell me what to do.”

      From his parade-rest position, Boone looked past her and nodded. She turned to find a hulk of a man encased in rubber so thick he couldn’t put his arms down. He wore a football helmet and huge handguards. She doubted he’d feel a cannonball hit at fifty feet.

      “This is Josh,” Boone said. “You cannot hurt him, but I want you to try.”

      “Okay. How?”

      “Come behind me and try to choke me.”

      “I thought Josh and I were going to mix it up?”

      “You will. But not for a while. He has somewhere to be.” Boone turned toward the man. “One hour.” Then he faced her again. “Okay. Take me out.”

      She walked around to Boone’s back, feeling the flex of the mat underneath her sneakers. Not sure if she was supposed to try and surprise him, or strangle him, or just put her arm around his neck, she went for the full court press. The second she had her arm in place, it was swept away, she was spun around, and her arm was pulled uncomfortably high up behind her own back. That was only the beginning.

      Boone made her try every kind of attack she could imagine. From the front, from the side, from the top as if he were sleeping, when he was walking, when he was running. And he defeated her with such ease tears came to her eyes. Not because she was hurt, although she was sore, but because her own uselessness hit her harder than

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