Spirit of a Champion (Sisters of Spirit #7) (5 page)

She continued over to the white porcelain fountain, turned on
the flow and frowned at the small trickle of water. Better than nothing. She sucked
in some of the life-saving liquid. A footstep sounded behind her, a hand on her
shoulder...pulling her away.

"Out!" A young man this time, heavily built and rough.
His grasp hurt her shoulder as he manhandled her away from the fountain and
towards the door.

"But I need to get—"

"We only interview at the hotel," he said. Behind him
the boxers were still sparring, but the other men had turned and were watching
her.

"I'm not a reporter," she explained, thinking that no
decent reporter would ever show up as hot and untidy as she was at the moment.

"Don't matter. Go away."

"I have to talk with The Killer."

He thrust out his lower lip. "Everyone does."

"But it's urgent."

"Everything's urgent."

"You don't understand. I'm Jerry's sister. I'll wait until
the champ has finished sparring for the day. He has to hear this. It's
important."

"Everything's important. Beat it." The young man spun
her around and marched her ahead of him the rest of the way through the
doorway, then out the entrance door. "Stay out." He slammed it behind
her and locked it.

Stormy fumed. She felt like crying but didn't dare waste what
little moisture she had left.

There was shade on the north side of the building, and she
walked around and sat down in it. The champ had to come out sometime.

A half hour later, she noticed a car go by and in it the young
man who had put her out the door.
Where had he come from?

Stupid! There must be a back door. She jumped up, stood a second
to overcome a sudden rush of dizziness, and hurried around the back.

There were a few cars left, parked in as much shade as they
could. No ritzy car...no MG or Porsche that would have belonged to the Killer.
He must have slipped out, got in his car and driven away while she was sitting
waiting for him. Feeling defeated, she turned around and started the long walk
back to the bus stop. She needed to rest...her head was pounding terribly by
now.

She would "become" a reporter if she had to, and
interview him at his hotel. Somehow.

As the guard had hustled her out, she had spotted a sign posted
on the side wall.
"Winners never quit...quitters never win."
That would be her motto as
well. She was not going to quit. She had just over a week to get this fight
stopped, and she vowed to keep going until she did just that.

CHAPTER SIX

Kyle held his hands out for his trainer to untie his gloves. The
others had all gone, drifting out one by one, leaving just Arne and him in the
gym.

"Who was that?" he asked, motioning with his head
towards the door where his security personnel, bodyguard or whatever he liked
to be called, had ushered out the good-looking redhead. The woman reminded him
of someone. She had been too far away to see her face well...and he had been
sparring at the time. Got smacked hard in the head, twice, for the distraction.

Arne flicked up his scraggly eyebrows, his roguish eyes dancing.
Once a heavyweight contender himself, he had been with Kyle since the
beginning, advising, training, nurturing him along—and was closer to Kyle
than anyone, even his father. He untied the first glove before answering.

"Said she was Jerry's sister."

"For a fact?"

"Yeah."

"You believe that?"

"Could be. Jerry's got an older sister."

"Huh." It was Kyle's turn to raise his brows. What
would Jerry's sister be doing here? "Did she say why she came?"

"To see you. She's a looker. Marty tried to keep her out,
as he didn't want you distracted. She just pushed past him, so Cam had to get
rid of her."

The elderly gym owner had the right idea, Kyle thought, nodding
to himself. His sparring partner had staggered him with two good blows the
instant he shifted his focus onto the girl and her long legs exposed by white
shorts. She was definitely a distraction.

Still...he wished she had stayed a little longer. "I just
got a glimpse of red hair."

"You ought to look her up, Kyle. A dame that's been close
to boxing all her life—she'd understand you."

"Oh, sure. I beat up her brother, then ask her out. She'd
think I was nuts."

Well, then, ask her sooner than that. She's here in Vegas. Like
I said, she asked to see you."

"Weird. Do you know why?"

"I dunno. Marty didn't say. But she may come again, when
you're not getting your head knocked off."

"You noticed?"

"I could have flattened you. I'm surprised Rodriguez
didn't." Arne paused, grinning as he pulled off the second glove and
started to unwrap Kyle's hand. "Sound her out a little."

"Nah. She wouldn't—"

"Never know till you ask. Like I said, she's a knock-out.
Probably has a lot of class. Just like you."

"Maybe. All right. I'll see."

"Do that."

Kyle would like to talk to her now, and not have to look her up.
He couldn’t be bothered hunting her down, not this close to the fight when he
needed to be totally focused on the job at hand.

Why had she come?
He had never had that happen before. "I wished she'd have
stayed."

"Cam was told to remove anyone not on the list,
remember?"

"Right. I'll ask Cam to not take his duties quite so
seriously."

Arne chuckled, gathering up his gear. "You need him, now
and then. He was probably trying to earn his keep."

"Yeah.” Cam was helpful. He’d thrown out a nosy TV reporter
the other day who didn’t understand the word “No.”

"I'll tell Cam for you. We're going to grab a meal
together, then hit some of the casinos. Want to come?"

Somewhat of a loner, Kyle preferred to have time to himself,
away from the boxing crowd. They could be overwhelming, especially just before
a fight. And during it. And afterwards. "No. Thanks. See you later."

He took a leisurely shower and changed into his street clothes,
looking forward to relaxing during the evening. He'd have a light
meal...nothing heavy this last week. Lots of protein. Maybe wander down to the
Strip and take in one of the shows before he went back to his hotel. Or maybe
not. His hair was cut short now, so people recognized him. Everyone thought
they were a friend and were privileged to steal part of his time.

Arne had already left. Kyle waved to Marty, the old gym owner,
on the way out the back door.

Twilight, but the heat still radiated off the asphalt. Kyle
walked quickly across to his rental car, sat down in the bucket seat, flipped
on the radio and air-conditioning, and drove off down the road.

Twelve blocks later, where the side street joined Las Vegas
Boulevard South, he turned onto the main road, drove past the bus
stop—and hit his brakes.

She was sitting in the bus stop. All alone. The redhead from the
plane. Not only that, he realized as he hit the wipers trying to put the car in
reverse, it was the same redhead who had tried to see him today. And not only
that, he reminded himself, she claimed to be Jerry's sister.

Whoever she was, he wasn't going to let anybody's sister sit in
a bus stop in this part of town at this time of the evening. He turned off the
windshield wipers and backed up to where she sat.

He started to throw open the passenger door, realized that that
might be misconstrued; so put the car in park and stepped out on his side. He
walked around the back, running his hand lightly across the trunk.
Why had she wanted
to see him? Was she really Jerry's sister, or an enterprising reporter?

She stared up at him, her face pale with exhaustion.

"Hello," he said smiling brightly. "Stormy. How
about a ride?"

The redhead looked back at him, her eyes suspicious, puzzled.
She looked disoriented and he decided she didn't recognize him now that his
hair was cropped so short it was almost non-existent. "From the plane.
Kyle Torrin."

"Oh," she said, her eyes widening in astonishment.
"Oh.
You?
"

"Hair cut." He laughed. "Makes all the
difference. I understand you're Jerry's sister."

"Yes," she said. "Yes. Uh...yes!" She stood
up, swayed slightly, then winced, as if the movement pained her. She shuffled
the few feet towards him and he realized the last "yes" meant she
would ride with him. He quickly opened the passenger side door and helped her
in, then hurried around to the other side.

He jumped in. Slammed the door. Waited until she was securely
belted, then turned on the windshield wipers. Turned them off.
Rental cars! The
gearshift was never in the same place.
Especially if he wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing.
He focused on grabbing the
correct lever, put it into gear and drove away.

"Can you prove it?" he asked once he was on the road.

"Prove what?"

"That you're Jerry's sister."

In answer she fished out her Idaho driver's license and handed
it to him. He glanced down, saw her name.
Victoria Tempest Drake.
The photo was not as bad as most ID shots, identifying her
easily.
So
maybe he hadn’t struck out after all.

"Thanks." He handed it back. "I had to ask.
Reporters can be very devious. So, we meet again."

"I didn't recognize you. On the plane, I mean." Her
voice sounded weak...hoarse. Croaky.

"I understand. I try to travel as inconspicuously as
possible. I usually wear my hair a normal length...then right before a match I
cut it short so it stays out of my face." He glanced over at her, noticing
again how pale her face appeared. "You look exhausted."

"I think...I got too...hot. I wondered if I could make
it...back to the bus stop."

"Heat exhaustion can be dangerous."

"I know. I've never had it before. I feel like all the
moisture has been pulled out of me."

He could fix that. "Here." He slowed down, reached
through the gap in the bucket seats, brought forth a quart bottle of spring
water, and handed it to her. "I always carry some with me. With all the
exercise I get, I drink gallons every day."

She removed the cap and drank—long gulps—barely
taking time to breathe. He watched her, marveling at the smooth line of exposed
neck.
He
was getting to play Galahad after all, rescuing the maiden.
He was glad he had spotted
her. And he’d get a chance to find out what had been so important that she had
to come all the way out to his gym to talk to him. Riding the busses, no less.

"Ah, yes. I needed that. I neglected to drink enough water
before I came out today."

She downed it all. He reached back, felt around, realized that
there were only two empties left.

"Want another one? I could stop for more."

"What I need is aspirin. My head is splitting." She
tilted it back on the neck rest. "And I feel nauseated."

He reached over and touched her forehead. It was moist with
perspiration. He knew with heat stroke that the skin became hot and dry, so she
was not at that stage yet.

As an eligible bachelor, Kyle had had women try all sorts of
tricks to get near him, but Jerry's sister was for real. "You're probably
in full stage heat exhaustion. You need to cool down. Where's your hotel?"

"On the road to Boulder City. It's out quite a ways."

"Too far. Mine's close; we can go there...at least long
enough to get you some more to drink. You can lie down a bit. I've got aspirins
there...and it's air-conditioned."

He turned up the air-conditioning in the car. He considered it
unhealthy, but in Las Vegas it was a necessity. Especially now.

"Well—"

"You wanted to see me about something?"

"Yes."

"We can talk there...after you're feeling better."

"Then, yes. Please. I've never felt so awful."

A stop light turned red just ahead of them, so Kyle pulled up to
it, stopped, then reached over and clicked Stormy’s seat so that it reclined
back.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." He reached behind the seat, moved
his gym bag closer, unzipped it and pulled out his towel. "This is not
clean any more, but it's wet; put it across your forehead, if you don't
mind."

“Anything.” She put it across her eyes.

The light changed, he went to shift gears, hit the windshield
wiper stick and they started thumping away.

The noise startled her and she yanked the towel down.

“What? Oh.”

“Sorry. Rental car. I’m not used to it yet. I drive a
stick-shift at home, and keep grabbing the wiper lever.” He shook his head,
disgusted with himself. He was trying to make a good impression.