Chapter Thirteen
Isaac wrapped his hands and started warming up. Shadowboxing, loose and easy, working the rust out of his shoulders while Ryder stretched on the other side of the mat. The training facility Zodiac was renting in Austin was smaller than headquarters, a converted warehouse space with mats on the floor and bags along the wall. It was just as crappy as the temporary office, but it had everything they needed.
Isaac’s mind drifted while his body moved through the warm up patterns. Last night. That phone. His watch.
I was wrong, you are good at your job.
He’d stood in that emptying ballroom for a full minute staring at it. Then he’d typed back something about how she wasn’t so bad herself, given she’d managed to plant a phone on him without him feeling it.
He’d wanted to say more. Wanted to demand to know what the fuck had actually happened at the gate in that maze. Why she’d done that to her shoulder. But that would’ve done nothing but spook her. The phone was a tether. He didn’t want to sever it. So he’d kept it light.
They’d gone back and forth a little longer, neither saying anything of substance, before he closed withGoodnight, Fallon.We’ll talk tomorrow. She hadn’t replied to that. A thread pulled taut and then set down carefully by both of them.
The burner phone was sitting on top of his gear bag on the bench along the wall. He’d brought it to training even though there was no operational reason to have it on him.
It buzzed.
He stopped mid-warmup and crossed to the bench to check it.
So, how’s your morning going?
She was continuing the conversation. Not a taunt, not a clue, not a chess move. A woman asking about his morning.
About to get punched in the face. Yours?
The reply came fast.
Already had coffee. Already winning.
That’s a low bar.
Says the man about to get punched. What kind of punching?
Training. Sparring with a friend.
Are you any good?
I’m excellent.
Humble, too.
It’s not arrogance if it’s accurate.
He caught himself smiling at the screen and put the phone back on the bag. Ryder had finished stretching and was standing at the center of the mat, gloves on, bouncing lightly on his toes.
“You ready, or do you need another minute with whatever has you grinning like an idiot?”
“I’m ready.”
They squared up and got to work. Ryder was fast and aggressive, always pressing forward, always looking for the angle. Isaac was more patient. He let Ryder come to him, read the patterns, and made him pay for the ones that repeated.
They’d been doing this long enough together that the competition was real but the trust was absolute. Ryder wouldn’t cheap-shot him. Isaac wouldn’t escalate past the point.
Ryder threw a jab that Isaac slipped without thinking, followed by a cross that Isaac picked off with his rear hand. They reset. Circled.
“You’re telegraphing,” Isaac said.
“I’m setting you up. There’s a difference.”
