âUh, nothing. Just talking with Kara, sir.â
âYou,â he pointed at Kara, still speed-walking their way. âWhat have you seen?â
Graham bristled at the tone. She wasnât one of the Marines, or a teammate, to be barked at. But Kara unfolded her legs gracefully and started to stand. He held a hand down for her, and she accepted it on autopilot, barely giving him any of her weight to bear. âIâve seen nothing, sir. I was in the training room, and then I came out here to stretch. GraâI mean, Sweeney has been the only Marine to come through so far.â
Coach Ace grunted, as if in disbelief. Graham wanted to ask, but he also didnât want to get in the middle of anything. But still . . . âSir, is there a problem?â
âYou could say that.â Rubbing a hand over his dark face, the coach rocked back on his heels and looked heavenward. âSomeoneâs vandalized the wall of fame.â
Graham looked at Kara, found her looking at him, then they both took off at a jog. Coach Ace didnât join them. He skidded to a halt at the other end of the gym, at the doors that led to the mostly unused hallway containing photos of past boxing teams and champions. âHold on. Let me check it out first.â
âHe said they
had
vandalized it. Not that they currently
were
vandalizing it. Pretty sure he wouldnât be asking you what youâd seen if he caught someone red-handed,â Kara pointed out, clearly not listening to him. âDonât play theâprotect the womenfolkâ crap with me. Iâm a big girl. Now go.â She shoved at his shoulder, and he opened the heavy door.
Right away, he saw it. The photos of each boxing team from the past several decades lined the walls, framed in simple black or gold frames, with white mats and a small plaque to indicate the year. On the glass covering the photos, someone had used a marker or paint or something to draw obscene images, write nasty messages and create lewd or downright stupid pictures. A few were more simple, just giving each guy a dumb mustache or top hat. Others were more graphic, with body parts and sexual suggestions scribbled.
âThis is . . .â Karaâs voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat. âJuvenile. I know itâs horrible, and so very disrespectful. But itâs almost juvenile compared to the other acts. Right?â
He couldnât help but agree. Their vandal was losing steam, or maybe losing ways to fuck with the team. Trashing the bus, the training room, puncturing tires, creating a huge publicity mess with paint . . . that had taken time, energy and support away from the team. This was just disrespectful, but not all that clever. It was the sort of thing you expected from middle school kids who hated their principal and snuck in after hours to doodle on his photo in front of the office.
âMaybe the handwriting will help the MPs figure out who it is. Since they have to be connected to this building or the team somehow . . .â She didnât say what they were both thinking.
The vandal was most likely a member of the team. Or had been. Or had wanted to be. It might be someone they currently trusted. Someone they called a friend.
CHAPTER
4
K ara sank down on the couch beside Zach just in time for the phone in the kitchen to ring. With a sigh, she hefted herself back up. âPause the movie, would ya?â
âMoooooom.â His young voice whined at the command. âHurry back. We can only watch it tonight before itâs gotta be back to the red box thingie drop off tomorrow morning.â
âA five minute phone call will not ruin our plans. The Avengers can wait a minute. Captain America waited, like, six decades.â
He groaned at her joke, burying his face in a throw pillow.
She chuckled and answered the phone. âHello?â
âKara, hi.â The voice of her attorney,