Page 18 of Insidious Threats
“Are you still taking that cycling class at the gym?”
“The one with the former Steeler as an instructor? What do you think?” Maisy’s mood lightened and she winked.
“I think you and Mickey Collins are two peas in a pod. I also think you should skip cycling class tomorrow and come to the sparring studio with me.”
“Daniel’s sparring studio, you mean? So one of those musclebound guys with no necks can Krav Maga my butt into the ground? Pass.”
Sasha scooped up some hummus on a triangle of bread before responding. “You can’t use Krav Maga as a verb.”
“I just did.”
“Yeah, but it sounds dumb. And Daniel would partner you with me, not one of the former military types.”
“Oh, because it’ssoomuch better to get my butt Krav Magaed into the ground by a mini-attorney? Hard pass.”
Naya raised her free hand. “Now, hang on. Mac’s got a halfway decent idea. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if you were to pick up some basic self-defense skills, especially if you’re gonna be traipsing all over town solving cold cases for your true crime podcast.”
Maisy bobbed her head from side to side and considered the idea.
“I’m not saying you have to break someone’s nose with your forehead or choke them out or any of the wild stuff she does. But you should be able to protect yourself,” Naya continued.
“Yeah, you’re right. Jordana, too.” Maisy’s eyes lit up. “What if I can find a class for the three of us? Would you take it with us, Naya?”
Naya shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
“Hello. You don’t need to find a class,” Sasha told her. “I’m literally sitting right here. If you don’t want to enroll in real Krav Maga with Daniel, I can teach you enough to get by.”
“No wild stuff?” Maisy pressed.
“No wild stuff,” she promised.
“We’ll think about it,” Maisy said.
Sasha rolled her eyes but was distracted by the sizzling plates of chicken souvlaki, grilled lamb, and moussaka that were coming their way on a large tray balanced on Damon’s shoulder. Bowls of grilled vegetables rounded out the meal.
They caught up on one another’s lives, sharing news as they shared the food. Sasha reported on the twins’ latest escapades, Naya filled them in on a big outreach program she was running for her church to provide counseling to teens who were struggling with anxiety and depression, and Maisy regaled them with the highlights of her recent trip back home to Georgia.
11
Amanda hunched over the desk in her hotel room and cursed the dim light. Why did every hotel room have insufficient lighting at the in-room workspace?
After she’d stormed out of the conference room, she’d wandered around the little neighborhood window-shopping until she’d cooled down. Then, she did what she always did. She regrouped and developed a strategy.
Her fingers flew over her laptop keys as she searched her email archives for Landon Lewis’ name. With a series of clicks, she copied all the messages and their attachments to a folder on her desktop, which she synced with her phone. She’d review them later. Right now, she had other priorities.
She took a sip of her ice water and checked her list. It was a short list—only two items—but it was a start:
Figure out Leith’s connection to Landon Lewis
Call Leith and break the news about the payout
There was no point in putting it off. She had to tell him sometime. She drained the glass and rolled her neck. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed her phone and hit the entry for Leith’s home number.
Raquel answered on the third ring. “Delone residence.”
“What kind of mood is he in?” she asked the house manager.
“Oh, hi, ATJ. I’d say he’s a solid six on a scale of one to ten. His driverless boat sank, but his longevity numbers are up.”
