Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Shaking off the gross feelings he produces, I go back into the gym, put my earbuds in, find my playlist, and pick up my weights.
I’m twenty minutes into my workout and doing a set of dumbbell flies on the incline bench when the door opens behind me.
I see him in the mirror before he sees me.
Locke Donovan, dark blond hair under a baseball cap with the ends sticking out, in a gray T-shirt and black training shorts. He’s a big guy, muscular across his chest and arms with powerful legs. You can tell with one glance he spends a lot of time in the gym, but he’s definitely no meathead.
Locke scans the equipment as he walks in, and for the first ten steps he hasn’t looked far enough left to find me.
I keep lifting and watch him in the mirror, and then it happens… his head turns and his eyes lock with mine in the reflection.
The wariness that moves through him is obvious and definitely not a surprise. I can see the calculation in his eyes, the wheels spinning on how to handle this dilemma. He looks at the door behind him, back to me, and to the door again.
He is absolutely considering leaving. He’s weighing how much he wants to work out versus the possibility of having to talk to me.
I set my weights down and sit up straight on the bench. “You leave and I’ll tell Van you’re afraid of a one-hundred-and-thirty-five-pound woman.”
A combination of irritation and a hint of amusement move across his face, immediately wiped away by indignation. “That’s—”
“Blackmail,” I agree pleasantly. “Effective though.” I pick my weights back up. “I’ll make you a deal. You stay, do your workout, and I won’t say a single word about sessions or mandates or performance optimization for the entire time. Scout’s honor.”
He looks at me with those pale eyes, and I can see the distrust. It’s a complete lack of faith in anyone representing this organization and I intend to find out why.
But not today.
Locke huffs out a breath of resignation and moves to the weight rack. I refuse the smile that wants to come and return to my last set of flies.
He sets up at the bench press on the rack, his movements efficient and automatic. I stay on my side, keeping my word by maintaining my silence. We’re just two people working in parallel, the clink of weights and the controlled exhale of effort. It’s almost companionable and I wouldn’t have predicted that. Van has yet to make an appearance and I wonder if he canceled or decided not to show. I had mentioned I’d probably see him, so maybe he purposely stayed away to give me some alone time with Locke.
Seven minutes pass before I finally make my move. Locke is in between sets so I seize the moment. I move to the dumbbells and choose a twenty-pounder to do biceps curls.
“Eisenhower in War and Peace,” I say out of the blue and his head jerks up, eyes landing on me with a frown. “You had it on the plane yesterday. Hard to miss the cover.” I settle onto my bench across from him, resting the weight temporarily on my thigh. “Any good?”
His expression shifts, almost like confusion as he tries to figure out what to do with me. “You were watching me?” he asks, trying to sound offended.
I lift a shoulder. “I observe people. Occupational hazard. What drew you to it? Military history specifically?”
His frown deepens, and he shakes his head a tiny bit as if he can’t believe I’d ask such a thing.
“Strategy,” he says finally. “Decision-making under impossible conditions.”
“The same fundamental problems that keep coming up across a few thousand years of human conflict,” I muse.
Locke blinks in surprise, and instantly, I see him relax a fraction. “When you take into account terrain changes and weapons evolving, but the core problems still exist.” He positions himself on the bench under the barbell. “It’s definitely worth understanding.”
I peel off a set of curls while he does his chest presses and the minute he racks, I say, “So… is the book any good?”
Locke pushes up into a sitting position and grabs his water bottle to take a swig. “Are you a history buff?”
Hmm… he asked me a question, and that shows interest. I run with it. “Somewhat, but I really enjoy learning about ancient times. The further back you go, the more clearly you can see the patterns.”
“The Romans,” he says, like that’s a complete sentence. Which for him, I’m learning, it basically is.
“The Romans,” I agree. “Though I’d argue their greatest skill wasn’t warfare. It was infrastructure—roads, aqueducts, administrative systems. The army was just how they protected their investment.”
His face softens fractionally, not quite a smile but the possibility of one, though it never quite breaks through. “The army was how they built the investment. You don’t lay roads through territory you don’t control.”