Undercover Bride

Turning on her heel she strode to the entrance and pushed the door open. Carpenter hadn’t been exaggerating, she discovered. The building was fully outfitted with top-of-the-line equipment. No expense had been spared training the men and women of The Brotherhood how to fight for the dogma they were dedicated to.

Despite the use for which it was intended, she had a grudging admiration for the equipment itself. She’d never worked out in such a well-maintained gymnasium outside of the agency’s training facility.

She walked about the place, openly watching the drills going on in some of the rooms. And when she found a gymnasium empty, she lost no time entering. It was too much temptation to merely look at the various stations. Soon she was slipping out of her shoes and hoisting herself up on the balance beam to run lightly across it and back several times. Then spying an electronic sparring machine in the corner, she went to examine it. She was only peripherally aware of the moment when Raymond slipped away, probably to report to Sutherland.

“I see you’re interested in our machine. Do you train?”

Rachel whirled around to see a red-haired woman about her age crossing the gym toward her. She was dressed in the customary black fatigues.

“I do, but I rarely have the opportunity to use equipment like this. You’re very lucky. I’m Rachel, by the way.”

“My name is Kathy.” The woman surveyed her curiously. “I hope you fare better than the last two applicants. General Carpenter takes his responsibility to The Brotherhood very seriously, and his standards are quite high.”

There didn’t seem to be an appropriate answer for that statement, so Rachel didn’t offer one. “The general invited me to use the facilities and I’m going to take him up on it. Is this gymnasium going to be free for the next hour or two?” As she spoke, she unbuttoned her shirt and shrugged out of it. Clad in a tank top and shorts, she sat to pull off her shoes. She always preferred to work out barefoot.

“There isn’t a session scheduled for this hall until this afternoon. I’ll be leading it myself.”

Rachel bent her knee and lunged forward to loosen up. “Oh, so you’re a trainer here.” She switched legs. “I was an instructor myself in the organization I came from.”

The woman looked pleased. “Really? Would you like a sparring partner? It’s not often that I can find a worthy match here.”

“Sure.” She welcomed the opportunity. It was imperative to stay in shape during the assignment. It was impossible to tell when she would be called on to defend herself.

After a warming up for a few minutes, the women stepped into the middle of a ring drawn on the mat. For the first few minutes they circled each other, feinting a few times, gauging the strength and agility of their opponents. Watching Kathy’s eyes, Rachel was able to estimate when her intent changed to something more serious, and easily dodged the first spin kick, dancing gracefully out of reach.

Kathy’s face hardened. They circled again, and Rachel rushed in, landing a blow lightly in the woman’s midsection. The other woman feinted left, and kicked out. Too late, Rachel moved away. The kick caught her in the shoulder with enough force to stagger her. If she hadn’t moved at the last minute, it would have taken her down.

Her eyes narrowed. This was no ordinary sparring match, one to test speed, endurance and agility. Kathy wasn’t checking her blows. From the look of determination on the other woman’s face, she wouldn’t be satisfied until Rachel was lying on the mat.

She had no intention of indulging her.

Rachel began to spar in earnest, determined to put an end to the competition. Again she watched Kathy’s eyes. That’s where the purpose would show, a split second before the hands or feet moved. She dodged a blow that would have rocked her chin back and waited for the next kick. When it came, she caught the heel of Kathy’s foot and used her momentum to pull the woman off balance. She landed hard on the mat and Rachel followed her down, her knee to the woman’s throat in a final demonstration of victory.

“Ah…an interesting exhibition.” Rachel’s head jerked at the sound of Carpenter’s voice, and Kathy took advantage of her distraction to roll away and rise.

Rachel stood, her brows arched. “I wasn’t aware we had an audience.” Several men, including Sutherland and Raymond, were gawking from the doorway. Her attention, though, was focused on Carpenter, trying to gauge his reaction. He was, she decided a moment later, mildly amused.

Carpenter looked around him. “Dismissed, men.” When it took a few moments for them to begin to disperse, he repeated himself, a thread of steel entering his voice. “I said, you’re all dismissed. Back to your stations.”

They exited quickly, and Kathy slipped out a side door, leaving Rachel and Caleb alone in the gym. Rachel went over to retrieve her shirt and shoes, and Caleb strolled after her. “Here.” He tossed her a towel from shelf against the wall. “Not that you seemed to work up much of a sweat. Are you finished with your workout?”

“Actually…no. I had just started when Kathy offered me a match.” She studied him carefully. “You told me I could use the facility.”

His hands in the pockets of his trousers, he meandered over to her and leaned against the wall. “And I meant it. I just hadn’t been prepared for the sight of my fiancée dumping the colonel’s daughter on her behind.” He shook his head, as if the memory of the sight still amused him.

Her attention fragmented. It was the first time the term fiancée had been used without a qualifier—like applicant or candidate. Another thought occurred. Stilling in the act of retying her shoes, she looked up. “Daughter. Kathy is…”

“Sutherland’s youngest,” he affirmed, eyes gleaming. “One of our better instructors, too. You minimized your talents in this area.”

The minimization, she was sure, had existed only in his presumption. She surprised them both by offering, “Maybe you’d like to get a closer look at my talents.”

Her words seemed to have left him momentarily speechless. She must be a little shell-shocked herself, to have issued the impulsive invitation. Maybe it had been his amusement, as if the talents he’d spoken of had little more than entertainment value. Perhaps she was seeking to solidify their relationship as it was; that of adversaries.

At any rate, he was about to demur; she saw it in his eyes. With a pitying look, she promised, “I won’t hurt you. I usually take it easy on a match opponent.”

The verbal blow landed square on his ego. His gaze narrowed. “I don’t.”

She shrugged, smiled at him. “Then I won’t either.” She kicked her shoes off again and waited, as he moved more slowly to do the same. While he was getting prepared, she moved to the corner and worked off some of her nerves by pounding on the body bag suspended from a chain.

“Hopefully you’re taking out your frustrations on that bag, and won’t have much energy left for me.”

She whirled and the bag swung back and bumped her hip. She didn’t notice. He was barefoot, had divested himself of his shirt and had rolled up his pants. Her gaze followed the line of his leg to the hint of calf muscle showing below the hastily rolled cuffs. Her eyes traveled upward to linger over his flat belly before fixing fascinatedly on his bare chest.

She swallowed. His tall body was rangy rather than broad, sinewy rather than bulky. A perfect V of black chest hair covered lightly padded muscle. It was impossible not to appreciate the picture he made. Objectively speaking, of course.

Her objectivity fled when her gaze landed on his face. The slightly amused smirk on his lips might be considered cute by some. She longed for nothing more than to knock it off.

He made a come-and-get-me gesture with his hands. “I’m ready if you are.”

She strolled over to the ring, and waited for him to follow. “Oh, I’m ready, all right.”

She eyed him as they circled in the ring, as each tried to detect the first hint of weakness in the other. In hand-to-hand warfare she had to use her weaknesses, as well as her strengths. If the opponent outsized her, she would have the advantage of speed. Against superior strength, she would still have agility. The only rule of combat was to never, ever fight battles she couldn’t win.

She was determined to win this one.

He moved in with a right jab aimed for her stomach. She ducked under his arm and spun, delivering a kick to his kidneys. She didn’t temper the force and knew it stung, even without the reproachful look he fixed her with as he rubbed the spot. “That hurt.”

This time it was she who smirked. “It was meant to.”

There wasn’t a smile on his lips, but his eyes gleamed. “Something tells me that you think you’re pretty hot stuff on the mat.”

“Something tells me that you’ve spent your share of time stretched out on top of it.”

He shook his head, a flicker of humor crossing his face. “Baby, I’m going to make you pay for that one.”

With a mask of renewed resolve on his face he kept moving, blocking her feint and right cross, jabbing out, catching her firmly in the shoulder. “Ready to stop yet? I’d hate to really hurt you.”

She bared her teeth. They continued to circle each other warily, waiting for an opening, searching for a vulnerability. She landed one more kick to his belly, and was almost downed when his foot shot out behind hers and he gave her a push that should have toppled her. She held on to his arm to regain her balance, then wrested it behind him. It was a trap. She knew it as soon as she moved; she didn’t need his husky laugh to tell her so. She should never have gotten that close to him. Nearness dissipated her advantage. Her mobility was threatened. She released him, clasped both hands, and drove her elbows into his rib cage.

Although his breath released with a satisfying whoosh, he had the presence of mind to grab her before she could spin away, and used his greater strength to wrestle her to the mat. Where he landed smack on top of her.

She used her elbows to wedge some breathing room for herself and forced herself to meet his laughing gaze.

“I didn’t dare tell you this while you were intent on knocking my block off, but I have a confession to make. I have to admit to experiencing a certain, ah…fascination at the sight of two scantily clad women fighting.”

“Sparring.”

“Whatever.” His teeth flashed and there wasn’t a hint of contrition in his smile. “I guess that makes me a pervert.”