The Girl Who Cried Murder. Пола Грейвс
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Charlie walked with Kim out of the locker room into the gymnasium, where about half the number of their Monday classmates were already waiting. Today, the gymnasium floor was covered nearly wall-to-wall with padded floor mats. Apparently they were going to do more than just take notes today.
Thank goodness.
Mike Strong stood against the front wall, flipping through papers secured on a clipboard, his brow furrowed with concentration. The light slanting in from the east-facing windows bathed him in golden warmth.
Beside Charlie, Kim released a gusty sigh. “Lord have mercy.”
Mike put the clipboard on the floor beside him and looked up at the students gathering in front of him. His gaze settled on Charlie for a moment, and he smiled at her. To her surprise, her stomach turned an unexpected flip.
“Oh, wow,” Kim murmured. “Probably not gay, then.”
“This is crazy,” Charlie muttered, as much to herself as to Kim.
Mike checked his watch, the movement flexing his biceps and sending her stomach on another tumble. “It’s time to get started. Everybody remember the stretches?”
Charlie’s heart was beating far more quickly than her exertion level warranted. She forced herself to keep her gaze averted from Mike Strong’s lean body and focused instead on maximizing the flex of her muscles.
But when she looked up again, Mike was walking slowly through the small clump of students, observing their efforts. He stopped in front of her and crouched, his voice lowering to a rumble. “You’ve done this before.”
“High school gym,” she answered, trying not to meet his gaze.
“Not college?”
Her gaze flicked up despite her intentions. “College, too. Core requirement.”
His lips curved. “So I hear.”
“You didn’t have phys ed classes in college?”
“I went straight from high school to Parris Island,” he said with a smile. “Lots and lots of phys ed, you could say.”
She dropped her gaze again, but it was too late. Now she was picturing him in fatigues, out in the hot South Carolina sun, sweat gleaming on his sculpted muscles and darkening the front of his olive drab T-shirt...
When she risked another peek, he’d moved on, walking from student to student, offering suggestions to improve their stretches. She let go of her breath, realizing her exhalation sounded suspiciously like the gusty sigh Kim had released earlier as they entered the gym.
“All right,” Mike said a few minutes later, “I’m going to pair you up and we’re going to talk about some of the basic escape moves. This really shouldn’t be the first thing we do, but I can tell by the low attendance today that maybe you want a little less talk and a lot more action.”
A few laughs greeted Mike’s words, along with a few murmurs of agreement. Then everybody fell silent, watching with interest as Mike paired them up.
He left Charlie for last. There was nobody left to pair up with, she realized with a flutter of dismay. It was fifth-grade kickball all over again.
“You’re with me,” Mike said bluntly, nodding toward the front of the pack. She followed him with reluctance, revising her earlier thought. It wasn’t kickball. It was Public Speaking 101, and it was Charlie’s turn at the front of the class.
Heat flooded her cheeks, no doubt turning her pale skin bright red. Her hands trembled so hard she shoved them in the pockets of her sweatpants and tried not to meet the gaze of anyone else in the gym.
“If you’ve read any books or watched any movies or TV shows, you’ve probably heard of the vulnerable spots on an assailant and some of the ways to target them. Knee to the groin. Foot to the instep or the knee. Fingers to the eyes or heel of the hand to the cartilage of the nose.” There were soft groans at the images those words invoked. “Those are all vulnerable targets on an attacker, true. But how easy is it for a small person to do damage to a larger person, even targeting those areas? That’s what we’re going to experiment with today.”
Charlie realized he’d paired people up by size, small with large. At the moment, most of the larger people in the pairings were looking around with alarm.
Mike nodded toward the side of the room, where a man stood in the doorway next to what looked like a large laundry bin. “This is Eric Brannon. He’s a doctor. I thought y’all might want him to stick around for this.”
Eric grinned. Charlie’s classmates didn’t.
“He’s also got some equipment to hand out.”
Eric reached into the bin and pulled out something that looked like a cross between a life jacket and a catcher’s chest guard. He handed it to the man standing closest to him and continued through the other students, passing out padding to the larger of each pair.
Eric stopped before giving anything to Mike. Charlie looked up at the instructor, one eyebrow arched.
Mike grinned back at her, then turned to the class. “We’re going to start with the first thing you need to know how to deal with—someone grabbing you.”
Without warning, he reached out and wrapped his arm around Charlie’s shoulders, pulling her back hard against his chest.
She gasped, caught entirely flat-footed, and began struggling on instinct. His grip tightened and he lifted her off her feet.
Her vision seemed to darken around the edges, sight becoming a single pinpoint of light as anger fought with panic.
Damn it, Charlie. Do something!
She was back in a darkened alley outside the Headhunter Bar. The world was tilted and spinning, like she was stuck on a merry-go-round twirling at an impossible rate of speed. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
She kicked her heel backward, hitting his shin with a glancing blow that didn’t even elicit a grunt. His grip tightened. Clawing at his rock-hard arms with her fingers had no effect at all. She stamped her heel down on his foot, but his boots were hard and her foot glanced off, which was probably the only thing that saved her from a broken foot of her own.
I’m sorry, Charlie, but I have to do the rest of this by myself. Alice’s whispered words rang in her ears, clarity in a world of insanity.
She stopped struggling, and the grip on her shoulders loosened. The world seeped back in brilliant light and color, and panic won over anger. She dropped her whole weight downward, slipping from his grip, and rolled as hard as she could into his knee. The move sent Mike sprawling to the mat, and Charlie scrambled to her feet and ran for the door, her whole body rattling with the need to escape at all costs.
Eric Brannon caught her arm, pulling her to a jerky halt. She was about to fight when she realized he was smiling at her.
She made herself stop running. It was just a class. Just a game, really.
No dark alley. No woozy world. No whispers in her ear.
“Nice job,” Eric murmured, his blue eyes bright with amusement.
She looked at Mike, who was back on his feet. Unlike Eric, he wasn’t smiling. Instead, he was watching her with a knowing wariness that made her stomach twist. After a moment, however, his expression cleared and he motioned her over. “That was actually a pretty good example of one of the things we’re going to talk about today,” he said as she walked with reluctance to his side. “What Charlie did was to use deception to change her circumstances. The more she struggled, the tighter I held her. When she seemed to give up, to stop struggling, I loosened my grip. It’s a natural response—assailants can tire of the struggle as well, even if they’re considerably stronger and larger than their targets.”
Charlie slanted him a skeptical look. He didn’t look as if he’d tired at all. She was pretty sure he could