“Let’s go to the gym.Now.Before I start breaking office equipment.”
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a converted warehouse that smelled of sweat, determination, and sterile cleaner.The familiar sound of gloves hitting bags echoed through the space.
Alika, her ex and Momi’s father, looked up from wrapping a fighter’s hands.He smiled when he saw Sophie.“Soph.Good to see you.”
“Just need a little workout.”She kept her tone upbeat, neutral.Their history was too complex for small talk, and co-parenting Momi had no place here.“Mind if we use the ring?”
“You never have to ask.”He gestured to the equipment wall.“Gear’s where it always is.Try not to hurt your new recruit.”
Feirn bristled, but Sophie was already heading for the lockers; she pointed to the men’s area for his benefit.
Once in the locker room, she changed into workout clothes she kept in her go bag, wrapping her hands with the methodical precision of muscle memory and slipping them into padded gloves.
When she emerged, Feirn had changed too, looking slightly uncomfortable in borrowed shorts and gloves.“You sure you want to fight me, Sophie?I’ve had extensive combat training with the Yam Khûmk?n ...”
Sophie slipped through the ropes.“Let’s just see how we go.”
They put in mouth guards, bowed slightly, and began circling.Feirn moved with the kinetic grace of someone who had spent years training in martial arts.Sophie’s heart rate went up.She was rusty, but she’d once been a Mixed Martial Arts women’s champion.
“Just like riding a bike,” she muttered, an American saying Marcella liked.
Feirn moved in with a choreographed series of kicks and jabs that telegraphed hesitancy; Sophie evaded all contact and countered with a hook that tapped his jaw.
The young man’s eyes widened as Sophie backed away, bouncing on the balls of her feet.“Come on, Feirn.Give me what you’ve got,” Sophie said around the rubber between her teeth.
He came at her harder, throwing combinations that would have dropped most opponents.But Sophie had learned MMA fighting under Alika’s tutelage.Years ago, she had found an outlet in the ring for rage against her violent first husband.
She flowed around Feirn’s attacks and landed pokes, jabs and kicks that could have been knockouts if she’d followed through.
Sophie worked out her frustration with each sweaty, whirlwind round:last night in jail.
Connor’s abandonment.
Her son’s nightmares.
Yoshimura’s betrayal of Hawaiian culture.
She channeled all of it into the pure physicality of combat.
Finally, she caught Feirn’s arm, pivoted, and executed a perfect hip throw.He hit the ground hard but clean, and she followed him down into an armbar position, stopping just short of hyperextension of his joint.
“I yield,” he gasped against the rubber mat.
Sophie released him, sitting back on her heels.Sweat dripped down her spine, and her muscles sang with exertion.
She felt like herself again.Herrealself, not just the roles of mother, investigator, and CEO that seemed to consume everything these days.“I don’t get enough of this lately,” she said, rising to her feet.“Maybe we can make this a regular thing.”
Feirn accepted her hand up.“Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“Here.”Sophie grabbed a water bottle from the cache on the side of the ring, catching Alika watching from across the gym.She pointed the bottle at her ex, once her coach.“From him.But enough playtime.We should go; time to get ready for that meeting with Waxman and Marcella.”She punched Feirn lightly on the arm.“Had to see if you were good enough to be my bodyguard.”
Feirn’s brown eyes gleamed.“I hope I passed the test.”
“You’ll do.”She smiled.They touched water bottles and drank.As they exited the ring, Alika approached.“Sophie.Momi told me you’re helping with the stolen artifact case.Something about endangered birds and feather capes.”
“Yes.But I’m sorry—I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”
“It’s fine.I just wanted to say—these sacred items belong here in Hawaii, with the people.I hope you get them back.”Alika rubbed the stump of his missing arm, gone just above the elbow.He’d lost that limb in one of her cases; a final wedge that drove them apart.“You look good.Fighting, I mean.Haven’t lost a step.”
