Page 109 of The Body in the Backyard
Nick mopped Riley’s face with a fresh towel. “Well, my girl here just IDed a dozen or so new suspects last night while we were fighting bad guys.”
Riley was still just the teensiest bit jealous that she missed out on thwarting an armed robbery.
“Lay it on me,” Weber said.
“I hate how awake and alive you both are,” she complained.
“Boot camp’s going well, I see,” Weber said with a smirk.
Riley limped over to a weight bench just so she could sit down. “My mom and sister and I accidentally stumbled into a Griffin Gentry Sucks Support Group for women who have been wronged by him.”
“Like, an actual support group?” Weber asked.
“They had balloons and an easel sign and these,” Riley said, pulling the crumpled, sweat-soaked cocktail napkin out of the pocket of her tights.
Grimacing at the napkin’s saturation level, Weber unfurled it. “Realistically, how many of these women are probable suspects?”
“I don’t know. They’re all hurt and angry. Some more angry than others. The organizer, Kiki, said something to me afterward that rang a little bell. She offered to show up with a tarp and a shovel if I ever needed help.”
“I assume she was joking,” Weber said.
Riley shrugged. “I got the feeling she was fishing for something. Maybe feeling me out to see if I wanted to do more than just talk about how Griffin was a shitty husband?”
“Did you get a last name for this Kiki?” Kellen asked.
“Knappenberger,” Nick said. “I had Brian do a dive this morning. She wasn’t too hard to find. She owns a fancy clothing store in Lemoyne and conveniently lives about half a mile from Gentry.”
“Also, Theodoric should stay at the top of the list. His ex-girlfriend confirmed he’s murder-for-hire material after I returned her dogs,” Riley said.
Something caught Nick’s attention, and he quickly handed Riley two dumbbells. “Hit the deck, Weber,” he ordered quietly. “Let’s bang out another set of seated shoulder presses,” he said louder.
“Huh?” Riley said as Weber dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups.
Nick nodded to the right. Chupacabra Jones was loading a bar with fifty-pound plates just a few feet from them.
“Oooh,” Riley said. So her boyfriend wasn’t just torturing her with a wicked morning workout and meeting with Weber on neutral ground. Nick was also doing surveillance.
“Don’t blow our cover, Thorn. Be a good girl and work those shoulders,” he said under his breath.
“Crap. Fine. Which one is the shoulder press again?” she asked.
Nick circled the weight bench and straddled it behind her. He adjusted her arms into the correct position and then trailed a sneaky, sexy finger across both shoulders. “You should feel it through here.”
He smirked at her in the mirror when she nearly bobbled the weights. Her boyfriend was too sexy for her own good.
“Jerk,” she muttered as she heaved the weights over her head.
“You want to get big and strong to fight suspects, don’t you?” he teased.
“I fail to see how shoulder presses are going to turn me into a lean, mean, bad guy–fighting machine,” Riley said as her trapezius muscles began to spasm.
“First rule of danger boot camp: don’t question danger boot camp,” he said.
In the mirror, she watched Chupacabra shoulder the bar and drop into a low squat as if the weights were made of tissue paper. “I hope you’re not expecting me to do that,” she said to Nick.
“Baby, I don’t thinkIcan do that. And stop stalling. Next set.”
“Your mom’s next set,” she puffed.
