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danger detector. Lash and Keir Locke, B-Squad's resident fixer, had gone through the building's closed-circuit video streams, phone records, and anything else that might tip them off about how Wolczyk had gotten turned on to the possibility Tamara was hiding out under the B-Squad umbrella. She was Taz's ex-wife, so it made sense to check the place out, but the question was, had the bounty hunter almost clapped eyes on her because of dumb luck or something else?
    Before he could complete a second scan of the room, Kelvin Park stepped into his field of vision—at least the bottom half of it. Kelvin may have been as muscled and tough as a cornered bull hopped up on meth and tequila, but at five feet, eight inches tall, he wasn't coming close to blocking out Isaac's view of the possible suspects.
    "You again?" The gym manager pivoted to stand beside Isaac and then held out a Styrofoam cup of sludge with delusions of being coffee.
    "Keeping track of me? I'm touched." He accepted the cup and shot back a mouthful of lukewarm liquid.
    It was strong enough to make his eyes water and his chest sprout new hair. Whatever Park was putting in the coffee pot it shouldn't be given to small children or the mentally unbalanced.
    The other man snorted. "More like wondering why in the fuck you're repeatedly showing up here like head lice in a pre-school."
    "Sage got sent home again?"
    Kelvin had more war stories from being a single parent to a four-year-old princess in training than the grizzliest Recon staff sergeant. The latest all centered around the Battle of Head Lice Hill. Listening to his stories had Isaac's whole body itching.
    "That shit is the plague." The gym manager scratched the back of his skull, caught himself in mid-itch and groaned. "It's starting to mess with my head."
    "Mayonnaise." He gripped the cup tighter to keep from scratching the sudden phantom itch, cracking the Styrofoam and soaking his hand before he could drop it in the trash can next to Kelvin's desk near the gym's front door. "Slick it on there, have her sleep in a shower cap and suffocate the suckers."
    One eyebrow raise was all it took for the other man to signal that he hadn't missed that overreaction. "And exactly how do you know this?"
    "Five sisters. All younger. Single mom." He took a towel off the stack on the corner of Kelvin's desk in easy grab-and-go reach for the occasional blood-spurting nose after a hard hit and wiped the coffee off his hand. "There was no such thing as 'not my problem' in our house."
    A quick flick of his wrist and the towel landed in the canvas laundry bag on the floor. Oh yes, he'd been house trained and then some. He knew when to come armed with chocolate and when retreat was the only option—something that had saved him more than once when it came to the women he loved and the ones he only loved for a night.
    In the ring, two fighters switched from silent sparring to shoving and hurling curses at each other. The light heavyweight in green shorts got out something about the other fighter's mom and donkey dick when a trainer stepped between them. Neither fighter looked ready to let go, though. Park barked out an order for the two smack-talking idiots to cut the shit and they backed off. Proof that when it came to brawling, testosterone had nothing on estrogen—even the pip-squeak variety.
    After a shouted snarl that heads mattered more in a match than fists, Kelvin turned back to Isaac. "It really works?"
    He nodded as he scanned the gym for unfamiliar faces. "Anyone new hanging out here lately?"
    "I'll give you the same answer as I gave you yesterday and the day before and the day before that. No."
    Not that he'd been expecting anything different, but a break would be nice. Until he could nail down who had tipped off Wolczyk about the party, he wouldn't be able to determine if she was still in danger from Fane and his shitballs-crazy cult members. "No one asking about Tamara?"
    "People mostly keep to themselves. They don't