Trial by Fire (7 page)

Today, Nate drove the bike like a maniac. He knew the price of stress and he knew what worked for him. From his teenage years as a hotshot basketball star, under the watchful eye of Chief Roberts, his surrogate father, he learned the value of hard physical exercise to create a mind that was as powerful as his body. For thirty minutes he pumped the bike as though the hounds of hell were at his heels. And in essence they were. Unable to erase the murder scene from his mind, he let it float through his endorphin charged brain. He was missing something. That was clear. He let the scene float, didn’t try to force the answer. He had faith in his memory. Sure as hell the pictures would always be there. He just had to visit them often enough to let the elusive details emerge when they were good and ready. Gallons of sweat pouring down his body was often the trigger.

Glancing around the gym, his eye caught an unusual sight. Chicadia Falls wasn’t lily-white. At least not totally. Hell, they had their token minorities like most Northern Minnesota towns. Native Americans were commonplace, especially with the nearby reservation, and Hispanics were no longer an unusual sight. Hell, even Asians were beginning to filter in discovering the advantage of water, trees and endless blue skies as long as you could handle the four months of 30-below weather. The Midwest was known for its acceptance of different races, more by ignoring the outliers than inviting them in.

So yeah, a little color wasn’t that unusual, but a black guy? Nah, not so much. And in the police gym? Never.

From under the curtain of sweat that poured off his face and body, Nate took in the unusual sight. The guy was a piece of work. Short-cropped back hair and an unusual fringe of facial hair framed a square-jawed young Denzel Washington lookalike. In fact the damn dark brown Adonis was even better–looking, if possible. Even in gym shorts and a tank he gave off a ‘distinguished’ vibe. Clearly this guy didn’t hail from the streets. But it wasn’t his movie star looks or even his whipcord cut body with lean, defined muscle from head to toe that caught Nate’s attention. It was his knowledge of the gym.

He watched the guy, dripping with sweat, work the circuit. While he didn’t lift at Nate’s weight, given the difference in their bodies, his weights were damn impressive. But the dude really caught Nate’s attention after he finished the circuit and donned a pair of hammer fist gloves. Clearly the guy knew what the hell he was doing. He attacked the bag like a pro but it was the addition of a series of impressive taekwondo high/low kicks that had Nate climbing off his bike to take a closer look.

Wiping off a layer of sweat from his head and chest, Nate tossed a towel around his neck and ambled over to get up close and personal. The guy ignored him for a few minutes finishing a pattern that Nate recognized. When he was done, he stripped off the gloves and tossed them in a pile of his equipment and grabbed a towel from the shelf. Swiping at his glistening body he moved toward Nate.

Nate arched a questioning brow. “MMA?” When the guy nodded, Nate pushed, “UFC?” referring to the gold standard competition of the Mixed Martial Arts circuit.

The man shrugged as though competing in the world class competition wasn’t a feat achieved by only the most select fighters in the world.

“Yeah, didn’t get very far. It was a while back.”

Nate guffawed at the guy’s understated response and pressed. “If it was a while back you seem to have hung on to those skills.”

The guy shrugged again. “I work at it.”

Nate eyed him for a long moment, then held out his hand. “Name’s Nate Stryker.”

The man shook his hand and replied. “Sam Carter. Good to meet you.”

Jerking his head at the ring in the center of the gym, Nate queried, “You wanna go a couple rounds?”

Sam looked him over and shrugged again. “Hell, why not. You have a few pounds on me but people say I’m quick.”

Nate chuckled. “Bet you’re modest, too.”

A smile lurked at the corner of Sam’s mouth. “Probably about like you.”

Nate grinned. Already a handsome guy, Sam’s responding grin had the power of a thousand watts. Nate grabbed a pair of gloves from the rack and motioned to the headgear as he took one off the rack and strapped it on.

“I always insist my men wear it. Your call.”

Sam raised a brow and grabbed the protective gear. “Are you joking? I plan to use my brain long after this body wears out.”

Nate’s appreciation of the cultured, understated guy ratcheted up. As they climbed into the ring, he asked, “For blood or show?”

Sam laughed, a pleasant confident sound. “Hey, blood scares the hell of me. Always for show.”

They shared a laugh as Nate held down the ropes, a courteous gesture that Sam acknowledged with a pleasant nod.

It didn’t take Nate long to recognize a military trained fighter. Basic close quarter combat training was required of all soldiers. As opposed to the hard core MMA fighters, CQC relied on basic takedown and escape moves. But Sam, like Nate, had taken it to a high art going well beyond the basics required in the Army. His admiration growing, Nate would put money on the fact that the guy who was matching him kick for kick and strike for strike had been Special Forces. Both of them had a stand up style that relied more on the traditional martial arts. Nate saw elements of Taekwondo and Muay Thai in Sam’s fighting along with basic grappling techniques. For the most part they were evenly matched except that Nate held back on submission holds, knowing instinctively that was where he would take Sam if he chose. For the moment they both seemed to enjoy showing off a wide range of flashy kicks and strikes that soon had an admiring audience circling the ring. Finally no longer able to avoid a takedown, Sam conceded to Nate’s clear ground control mastery and raised his hands in acceptance.

A round of applause rang out from the cops and firefighters standing four deep around the ring. Nate agreed. It had been a long time since he had fought as talented a fighter as Sam Carter. If it hadn’t been for Nate’s superior strength, Sam could have taken him on technique alone. Nate bounced to his feet then extended a hand. They exchanged a fist bump then acknowledged the reaction from the crowd.

Nate grinned at his buddies. “You thought I was hardcore, guys. This guy could teach all of us a few things. He’s good. Damn good. Glad he let me win.”

Sam smiled at the obvious lie and nodded, then turned to head to the showers.

Nate caught up with him.

“Not so fast, Sam. First off, thanks. I’m not used to having to reach inside—nice to have genuine competition. Tell me about yourself. Which branch are you?”

Sam didn’t ask him how he knew he was Special Forces, simply answered, “Delta. You Ranger?”

Nate nodded in confirmation. “Where did you train?”

“I was a master MAC trainer at Benning.”

Nate put up in hands in mock defeat. “Hell, no wonder you’ve got better technique than I’ve ever been up against. Shows in your discipline. Me, I couldn’t handle the regimen. Too much of a rule breaker. Plus I spent time in the Philippines which made me persona non grata in MAC training.”

Sam threw him an admiring glance. “Thought I recognized some Eskrima moves. Sure hate to meet you in an alley. What knife do you carry?”

Nate frowned, “The basics. Don’t go very many places without a balisong.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Although in a pinch I’ve resorted to box cutters, screwdrivers and on more than one occasion, a broken whisky bottle.”

At that moment Dan Coulter came around the corner, an anxious frown pinching his worried face.

“Damn, Nate. Been looking for you. Eric’s been trying to reach you. Thinks he’s found a savvy enough accountant to serve our purposes, and Doc’s pinned the time of death. And buddy, the Chief’s been poking his head in every office door. Said to tell Stryker to get his ass over to his office… PDQ.”

“Comin’, Dan. Give me five minutes in the shower and I’ll be right out. And if you see the Chief, tell him he’s third on my list. I’ll get there when I can.”

Nate turned to introduce Sam but the locker room door closed on the tall man’s back before he could. He shrugged. Strange guy. Obviously protective. Probably comes from being the only black guy in a lily white room. But shit, he must realize that being Delta Force allows you to be purple with green stripes, and two-hundred-pound men will go down on their knees and beg to kiss your ass in admiration.

Chapter 7

“Stryker!”

The Chief’s trademark bellow echoed down the hallway. Nate turned with a grin.

“Been looking for you, Chief.”

The tall man strode toward him, his stern expression and the deep furrow between his brows told him that as usual the Chief was hovering between annoyance and fury with him.

“The
hell
you have, Stryker. If you had been, you would have found me since I’ve been chasing you since 5:30 this morning. Don’t you ever answer your fucking phone?”

Nate winked at him. “Hell, Chief, that’s what caller I.D. is for.”

The Chief made an effort to suppress his smile but gave up.

“Damn, Nate, I need to talk to you. Privately.”

Nate frowned.

“Problem?”

Rather than responding, Chief Roberts glanced in the doorway of the conference room then motioned to Nate to follow him into the empty room.

“Let’s go in here, Nate.”

Nate followed his mentor into the conference room, knowing full well what he wanted to talk to him about. He’d listened to the Chief’s escalating messages and knew that a face to face was the only way to deal with the brusque man. Chief John Roberts was the single most important man in Nate’s life. As a young police detective, Roberts had kept a talented kid from falling off the ledge between good and bad. He’d turned the hooky playing, small-time thief and big-time hoodlum into a college all-star basketball player. It was the Chief who convinced him to join the U.S. Army, and the Chief who inspired Nate to follow his path into special operations. Nate more than surpassed his mentor’s aspirations when he became a Ranger team leader. Then to the Chief’s chagrin, Nate had insisted on coming back home to his job as a cop. He could have had a job anywhere in the country, but the draw of the harsh winters and glorious summers and falls drew Nate back to Northern Minnesota, and not incidentally to the police force that Chief Roberts headed. When the Chief insisted that Nate could be Chief on any force in the country, Nate just grinned his cocky smile and told him, someone needed to be groomed for the Chief’s job. May as well be him.

Closing the door behind them, neither man bothered to sit. The energy in the room was electric.

The Chief pinned Nate with a hard glare.

“Be straight with me, Nate. Are you okay?”

Nate sighed in mock dismay. “Hell, Chief, the last time I wasn’t straight with you I was fourteen years old and you made me clean your fucking brick sidewalk with a toothbrush. Damn, after living with you, Ranger training was a church picnic!”

The Chief’s eyes momentarily twinkled at the memory then his frown quickly deepened.

“Look, Nate. Let’s cut through the bullshit. Peterson’s murder is going to be the biggest fucking case we have in decades, if not centuries. I’ve already had calls from CNN for fuck’s sake, along with every Minnesota television station. They all want to interview me. When they find out that the golden boy, Nate Stryker, is leading the case, we’re gonna be overrun by reporters.”

Nate turned away running his hands distractedly through his hair, then huffed in disgust, “Don’t suppose those reporters were tipped off by a certain blonde former lingerie model? Or her press assistant?”

Chief Roberts gave an audible sigh.

“Nate, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the press or anything else on this case. I’m only concerned about you. I know how bad Laura hurt you and now to be thrown—”

Nate put up his hands stopping him.

“Chief, listen to me. As I said in my call to you at 3 a.m. this morning, I’m fine. It is the same thing I’ve said to Erin, to my worrying cousin, ConnorfuckingFreud, to Dan and everyone else who’s asked. I repeat, ‘I’m fine!’”

The Chief’s face darkened.

“You and I both know the potential damage that woman could cause. She’s vicious, Nate. Hell I wouldn’t put it past her to go after you again now that she’s got what she wanted from poor dumb Mike Peterson. She’d never believe that you aren’t secretly still in love with her.”

Remembering Laura throwing herself on him in the middle of her ‘hysteria,’ Nate turned to avoid the Chief’s probing gaze. Damn, Chief Roberts knew him better than anyone except Connor, his cousin Luke, and now Erin. But the Chief knew best how cut up Nate had been by his ex-wife’s betrayal. When the Chief brought Nate home after three months in a German hospital where he should have died, the brusque man had been the only one to breech Nate’s protective wall of anger and grief. It was the first and last time in his life that Nate had cried. And he’d shed those tears over Laura with the big man’s arm around his shoulders. Neither one of them ever spoke of the incident again. But the memory was real and they both could call it up at a moment’s notice.

Nate met the Chief’s troubled gaze.

“Honest to God, I’m okay. If I’m ever not, you will be the first to know. I promise you that.”

The Chief sighed and then grimaced. “I’ve got your back, Son. And don’t you forget it.”

Nate nodded. “Thanks, Chief. I know you do. And I appreciate it. And, Chief, so do Connor and Dan and others. And don’t forget, for some strange reason the most beautiful woman in the world—a good woman, Chief—is crazy in love with me. And no one, not even Laura, is gonna take that away from me.”

Relief flooded the older man’s face.

“You’re right about that, Nate. Erin is the difference this time around. Just make sure that Laura, the Demon’s spawn, doesn’t take after Erin when she finds out you are in love with another woman.”

Once again, Nate looked away, not wanting the Chief to see that he also was concerned about that very thing. To his relief, the Chief changed the subject.

“Nate, I have to ask you for a favor.”

Nate whirled around in disbelief.