“Afternoon,” Derek said in his mild British accent.
My instincts prickled, which was weird. I glanced around the gym, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I didn’t sense danger, exactly. Derek’s face was impassive, his attention on taping his hands. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was up to something.
Then again, maybe he was.
“Afternoon,” I said, keeping my voice neutral, like I didn’t suspect anything. Not that I had reason to suspect Derek of anything, but my instincts were rarely wrong.
We gloved up and got in the ring without any conversation. That was normal enough. Bounced around and warmed up our shoulders. Life after forty meant both of us had to take better care of our joints.
I’d known Derek Price for a long time. We’d crossed paths when I was still an intelligence operative—he hadn’t known that at the time—and I’d looked him up when I moved to Miami. Now he was a corporate fixer, specializing in public relations and image management, especially during and after scandals. I did some work for him once in a while, particularly when he needed someone on the ground.
With our joints and limbs sufficiently warmed up, we got to sparring. Jabs, right hooks, upper cuts. Boxing with Derek was mostly a way to work up a sweat. We knew each other’s moves too well to surprise each other very often. And it wasn’t like either of us was going for a knockout.
“Did you finish up with that last job?” he asked.
“The stalker? Yeah. He won’t fuck with her again.”
He swung and I ducked. “Good. What’s next? You have something on deck?”
“No. I told you, that was the last one.”
His grin irritated me, so I swung harder.
He blocked with his gloves in front of his face. “Sure it was.”
“I’m serious, man. I’m retired.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Ellis.” He launched a solid right hook and I shifted my feet, twisting my torso so he’d miss.
“I’m not kidding. I’m done with all that shit. I just want to live a quiet, ordinary life.”
Derek scoffed. “You’ve been saying that for five years and I still don’t believe you.”
“And I still don’t care.”
“What are you going to do? Play golf?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I swung but he sidestepped.
“You don’t even like golf.”
“I’m getting better.”
He rolled his eyes and threw a left hook. “That’s not what I said, and no you’re not.”
I glowered at him from behind my gloves. He was right, I sucked at golf. And it was boring. But I was going to learn to like it, because golf was ordinary and I needed a fucking hobby.
“I don’t know why you won’t admit that you like the work you do,” he said. “Come on man, you help people. What’s wrong with that?”
“There’s nothing wrong with helping people. That’s not the point.” I stopped and lowered my arms. “Do you know how hard it is to get out?”
Derek’s smirk melted off his face. He knew I almost never talked about my time in the CIA.
“I was lucky to be able to tie up all my loose ends and walk away,” I said. “Not a lot of guys like me get to do that. So yeah, I’m going to golf. And work out with your nosy ass. And then I’ll figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. Maybe I’ll open a food truck.”
He laughed. “It’s a food truck now? What happened to starting a bakery?”
“The numbers don’t really pencil,” I said.
“So you’re sure? No more security jobs.”
“Positive.” I put my hands up and gestured for him to come at me. “That was the last one.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
I lowered my guard. “Why?”
Instead of taking advantage and landing a nice uppercut, he stepped back. “Because I have a friend who could use your help.”
“No.”
“Just hear me out—”
“No.”
“Come on, man, listen first.”
I raised my gloves and stepped closer. “No.”
“Jude—”