The young Marine gripped his forearm so hard, Greg thought he’d have a bruise in the morning. “Yeah? You would? Please say yes.”

“If they let me,” Greg answered by way of promise.

“Garrison, Christopher,” one of the MPs called as he stepped out of Coach Ace’s office. “Christopher Garrison, please.”

“Okay. Here we go.” Greg walked with him to the office and stood by the MP as Christopher took a seat inside. In his most quiet voice, he said, “The guy’s scared shitless. I said I’d sit with him. I won’t say a word.”

“Name?”

“Gregory Higgs.”

“You’re next anyway. Just stay quiet and don’t say a word while he’s talking.” The MP headed inside, leaving Greg to follow.

Greg waited while they questioned the younger man, paying more attention to the MPs than to his teammate. If they were all that interested in Christopher as a suspect, they damn sure hid it well.

But Greg was pretty sure they didn’t suspect anyone from this team. If anyone, it would be auxiliary at best. Maintenance staff or something like that.

They finished up their questions, then freed him to go. Greg shifted into the chair Christopher had vacated and crossed his fingers over his belly. “Second verse, same as the first?”

“We’ll ask the questions,” one of the two older men said in a biting tone.

The other rolled his eyes.

Greg decided he liked the one with a sense of humor more.

“Seen anything suspicious lately?”

“Other than threats on walls, paint balloons and slashed tires? Nah.”

The first looked unamused. The second fought off a lip twitch.

“Is there anyone who you believe would have a vested interest in this team failing?”

“Army’s team, probably.” When the first one’s eyebrows snapped together, he shrugged. “We’re a boxing team. It’s fun, it’s a diversion, but we’re not really out there solving world hunger or creating a crisis. So no, not really. I can’t think of anyone who would want the team to fail.”

“Anyone with a personal vendetta then, against you or a teammate?”

That was an interesting question. He considered for a moment, but came up empty. “Not that I can think of.”

“Do you have a key to the gym?”

“No, I don’t. And I have no clue who all does. I could guess, but that’s all.”

The first MP stood, nodding curtly by way of dismissal. Greg stood and gave the second MP a quick smile. “It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen.”

“Be careful, Marine. They might stop at pranks, or they might push further. It’s not possible to tell.”

The warning from the older MP chilled him, but he gave them both his best I’m-good grin. “Bunch of fighting Marines? Let ’em try.”

*   *   *

LIKE a chicken with its head cut off.

The expression finally made sense to Reagan. She’d been running nonstop since four that morning. The bus had to be checked, then rechecked. She’d called the MPs out to do an inspection of the vehicle because, well, better safe than sorry. And she’d left Marianne’s two interns in the bus in the parking lot as a deterrent against any mischief.

But making sure that was completed, along with the host of other issues that cropped up as you were about to leave for a three-day trip, was insane. She’d been putting out spot fires all over the damn place, and she felt like she hadn’t even had a chance to breathe yet.

Now the Marines were loading on the bus, each standing there in his matching windbreaker outfit looking like a solemn troop ready to head off to war. Maybe that’s how the coach wanted them. To her, it seemed unnecessarily tense.

Coach Cartwright walked up to stand with her as she ticked the Marines off the list. No man left behind. “How’s the prep coming?”

“Fine, thank you. Do you have everything with you, Tressler? Okay, good. Is there something I can help you with, Coach?” she asked as she checked another Marine off the list.

“No, just making sure you’re aware we can’t afford any mistakes on this trip.”

She looked at the tall, string bean of a man, and shot him her best I’ve-got-this smile. The one that said I’m so professional and competent I won’t even pretend to be offended you asked that. “Everything is wonderful. Looking forward to getting to Paris Island.”

“Not sure why,” he grumbled as he walked off. “Hellhole of a place.”

“Oh, goodie,” she said under her breath. “Costa, got everything?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bradley gave her an encouraging smile as he walked onto the bus.

See? Not every man was out there, determined to make her look like an idiot. Just certain ones.

Greg was the last Marine to load, though she wasn’t sure if that was by choice or by luck. He paused while she did a quick run-through on her clipboard. Then when she glanced up, she found him a tad too close. “Hello, Greg. Got everything?”

“Are you coming?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ve got everything.” He winked at her, and it was a wink designed to say something akin to If we weren’t in public, I’d have my mouth all over you.

Winks could talk, you know.

She shivered, checked her list twice, then halted. “Where’s Garrison?” The parking lot was empty. She climbed on the bus, which was like a noise explosion. She cleared her throat, but that did nothing. She shouted, “Hey!” but only two people turned around, decided she didn’t mean it, and went back to talking.

With exasperation, she turned to Coach Willis. The man was basically half her size, but she’d heard his lungs before. The man could do some damage with those pipes. “Coach, could you please?”

He nodded, stood on his seat, and let out a deafening roar so loud it vibrated off the walls of the bus. Reagan covered her own ears just in time to be spared the worst of the blowback. When all eyes were up front, she nodded. “Thank you, Coach. Gentlemen, I’m missing Garrison. Christopher Garrison. Is he in here?”

They all turned and twisted in their seats, but no Garrison popped up.

“Not here,” said one Marine from the back.

Greg stood. “I saw him earlier. Probably still in the bathroom. I’ll grab him.”

“Thank you,” she said, grateful she wouldn’t have to go pull him out of there herself. Because, well, ew.

Five nerve-racking minutes later, Greg emerged from the gym with a slightly-green looking Garrison in tow. He said nothing, just pushed the man to the middle of the bus, got him settled in his seat, sat down and shot her the okay sign.

“Driver,” she said, taking her own seat in the front, “let’s roll!”

*   *   *

TRAVEL, Greg decided, was basically no different whether it was for a training operation or for a boxing match. Bunch of sweaty, smelly Marines on a bus, singing stupid songs or laughing about the same five jokes they’d been telling each other since the beginning of time. A few humble brags, a few not-so-humble brags. Some talk about friends everyone had in common, some gossip—oh yeah, Marines could outgossip a granny.

It wasn’t that bad, all in all. But the worst was . . . he couldn’t sit next to the one person he wanted to.

Reagan.

Reagan, who looked so proper in her business suit and neat ponytail. Who wore heels that were completely impractical for travel and a suit that had to be stifling and uncomfortable as she sat up there with the coaches and Marianne. Reagan, whose voice was so deep and husky while she was in her professional mode, it gave him the most untimely boner of his life.

Nothing said awkward like popping wood in the back of a bus with a dozen other guys.

“How’s Garrison?” Sweeney leaned over the top of his seat, arms folded. “Was he booting in the head?”

“Oh, yeah.” Greg wrinkled his nose. “Not cool. He’s an okay guy, but man, his nerves aren’t really where they should be.”

“Or maybe he’s just that bad outside of the ring, and once he’s in the ropes, he’s got nerves of steel.”