“Don’t worry. Just keep working hard, and she’ll come around.”

I snort. “Yeah, right.”

“She’s tough, but she’s not stupid. She’ll see you’re a good addition to the team, and she’ll lighten up.”

“What makes you so sure I’m that? A good addition?”

“You got the drop on me twice. On Toni once. No one’s ever gotten you yet.” He shrugs. “And like I said before, you have the perfect cover. You’re a chameleon.”

My words come out mumbled. “I prefer that nickname to stupid Bo Peep.”

He laughs, chuckling all the way into the used car lot with ten minivans parked right up in front.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Two hours later, after browsing, test-driving, and dickering over prices, I pull into the warehouse in my gently used work vehicle: a gold Toyota Sienna. Ugh. I hate this thing. I feel instantly ten years older when I’m sitting behind the wheel. I should probably go trade Felix in for a golden retriever and round out the look.

When I see him racing across the warehouse toward me, so excited he’s curved in the shape of a comma, I decide that’s a stupid idea. Felix is my little man. Maybe I can get him a little doggie seat to strap into the back. If I’m going to look like a soccer mom, I might as well have a baby seat too, right?

Ozzie comes down the stairs and shuts the driver-side door for me as I bend down to get Felix into my arms. I revel in the happy puppy love for a few seconds, using it to calm my racing heart. Ozzie is trying not to smile at my arrival—I know he is. His face is twitching.

“I like your new ride,” he says.

“I hate it.”

When I catch the look on his face, I hurry to amend my statement. “I mean, I don’t hate it. I just don’t like it.” Wow. The guy gives me a company car, and I tell him to suck it. Nice.

He raises an eyebrow at me.

I sigh. “I hate looking like a soccer mom when I’m not a soccer mom. I never pictured myself as that person, I guess.” The pout that comes out is not faked.

He pats me on the back and takes Felix from me, playing with his tiny ears as the mutt tries to lick him to death. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. My heart calms and starts to go all gooey. He’s forgiven for making me drive a minivan.

“It’s just a work vehicle. If you don’t want to drive it after hours, that’s up to you. But I’d rather you stuck with the van for now, just until we’re sure it’s all clear at your place.”

Dev climbs out of his car and walks over. “You up for the training session, Bo Peep?”

“I guess. I just need to walk Felix first.” I reach for the dog, ignoring the thought that driving my red car might be dangerous. I don’t want to believe that.

“Already done,” Ozzie says, turning so I can’t take him. “Go on with the training. I’ll join you guys in a few.”

I move slowly over to the area where Dev has mats on the floor as Ozzie walks away and puts Felix down by his girlfriend. The two canines trot off to another part of the warehouse, leaving us humans behind.

My body is in full protest over the activity my brain imagines Dev and I are about to engage in. Enough is enough, it’s telling me. No more fighting for today. But Ozzie’s watching, so I can’t wuss out. Besides, if I ever want Toni to trust me and stop being a pain in the butt where I’m concerned, I have to do this. I have to do whatever she would do in my situation, and I’m pretty sure Toni would fight until she was collapsing with exhaustion.

Dev picks up some arm pads. “Put these on.”

I’m grateful for the protection. “What about you?” He’s just standing there doing nothing.

“I don’t need them.”

I snort. We’ll see about that.

He turns to a table behind him and takes two singlesticks from the top of it, handing one to me.

“Okay, so first thing you need to know is you hold it here, on this end, behind the leather hilt.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, as if I couldn’t figure that one out for myself.”

“You’re a lefty? Okay, fine. Put your right hand behind you. Rest it on your lower back.”

I copy his moves, feeling more vulnerable with just one arm out.

“Why like this?” I ask.

“Helps you build your muscles used for balance, and it keeps your other arm from being broken with the stick.”

“Oh.” Broken? Is he crazy? “I think I’m going to just stop asking questions from now on.”

“Scared?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.

I lift my chin. “No. Are you?” I jab at him with my stick a couple times. Even to my unpracticed eye, it looks less than smooth.

He laughs. “Hardly.”

I hold the stick up in front of my face.

“Move your hand up farther. You want some stick exposed at the end so you can use it to butt into someone who gets too close.”

“I thought I was going to whack someone who gets too close with the long end.”

“It’s not always that easy,” he says wryly.

I move my hand up the stick a bit.

“Don’t hold it too tight. Your hand will cramp.”

“Okay, not too tight.” The stupid thing sags in my hand.

“Tighter than that, though. Just enough that you can hold it steady. Too tight and you’re going to telegraph your moves to me, and you don’t want to do that.”

“No, definitely not.”

“Okay, first rule: Keep your stick moving.” His starts swaying around his face, his shoulders, and then his lower body.

My moves are decidedly less graceful. “Why?”

“Because. It’s better. You don’t want to be caught off guard. Plus your strikes can come faster.” He moves his feet a little. “Keep that body moving too. I don’t want you falling asleep on me.” He reaches out and smacks my stick hard enough to almost knock it out of my hand.

“Hey! I wasn’t ready!”

“Always be ready.”

He’s practically staring holes in me right now, and I’m really glad I have the arm protectors on.

“Remember the acronym B-E-D-S,” he says, taking some steps to the side.

I counter his moves in the opposite direction. “Beds?”

“Yes. BEDS. Those are your defensive options. Block. Evade. Deflect. And Strike.”

I say them a few times in my head. “Okay. Got it. Beds.”

“Readdyyyyyy . . . block!” He comes at me with his stick overhead.

“Ack!” I duck down and hold my stick up horizontally without conscious thought. His stick cracks down on top of it, rattling my arm bones.

“Good! Do it again! Block! ” His stick comes at me once more.

I block him again, only without screaming this time.

“Excellent! Evade! ” He swings the stick at me sideways and I jump out of the way. He’s moving too fast for me to think and decide what to do next. I’m just functioning on instinct right now.

“Perfect! Here I come again!”

I jump again but put the stick down too. His weapon hits it hard.

“Hey! That would have hurt!” I yell, getting mad that he’s playing so seriously.

“Better not get hit, then.” He’s prowling around the mat, looking for a chance to come after me.

My heart is beating like crazy as I wave my weapon around. Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving. A part of me wants to run out of the warehouse screaming, but the rest of me wants to teach him a lesson. How dare he teach me like this? What happened to the wax-on-wax-off method? The karate kid didn’t start off kicking people on his first day.

“What’s deflect!” I yell, trying to distract him from the kill.

“A mix of evade and block. Meet the stick but send it off in a nonlethal direction with its own force.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. The panic is rising up in me. I’m sure he’s about to attack again. If I vomit on my opponent, do I win?