“Goddamn hot in here.” Sean swiped his forearm over his brow, flashing pale brown underarm hair. He was younger looking than the other men around me. His features were neat, fresh, and he had dark blue eyes and a thick blond mop of hair.
“Welcome to Miami,” Jonathan said, looping his arms over the ropes and grinning. “Hot every damn day of the year.”
Balko grunted.
“Good to see you’ve got straight into training,” I said, stepping up with a smile. “I’m Freya Sweeny, commander of SWAT fifty-five. Four years on the job here, most of that time with Ricardo and the last two with Jonathan. We lost two men yesterday. Job got too much for them.”
“Two, that’s a bummer,” Balko said.
“Yeah, it’s a shame. They were good guys.” I shrugged. What was done was done. Patrick and Carl had made their decisions. I didn’t have time to look back or be regretful for them.
“Couldn’t handle being under the command of a woman, eh?” Sean raised his eyebrows at me.
There it was, the elephant in the room, and it hadn’t taken long to charge into the conversation.
“Had nothing to do with the line of reporting,” I said, holding his intense gaze. “And everything to do with them not wanting to get their heads blown off.”
“I think we’d all like to keep our heads on.” Sean jogged on the spot, as if keen to maintain his raised heartbeat. He banged his fist into his palm.
“Freya is one of the best shots in the department,” Ricardo said, glancing my way. “With several awards to her name. If you’re in someone’s sights, you want that person to be in hers.”
I said nothing. Bragging about achievements wasn’t my mode of operation.
“I’ll remember that,” Balko said. He clasped Sean on the shoulder. “Come on, buddy, I’ve still got to whip your ass.”
“You can try.”
“Winner stays in the ring.” Balko looked at Ricardo. “For the next round.”
“Suits me.” Ricardo nodded.
Sean suddenly ducked his head and rhino barged Balko in the belly.
Balko grunted and staggered backwards. They both tumbled to the springy base of the ring. As they crashed down the entire thing juddered.
They were instantly a tangle of arms and legs rolling over and under each other. Each man was pure muscle, their skill evident, and clearly not afraid to push each other to the limit in training.
I was no stranger to unarmed combat, and had practiced jujutsu for years—it had come in handy a few times too.
Jonathan chuckled as Balko got the better of Sean, but his victory was short-lived, because Sean wriggled from the headlock, flipped Balko over and caught him in a headlock.
Grimacing, Balko slapped the base of the ring.
Sean instantly released him and sprang up, rubbing his hands together and again jogging on the spot.
Balko also leapt up, his cheeks flushed and his eyes narrowed.
“My turn,” Ricardo said, slipping between the ropes.
Balko scowled and retreated to stand with Jonathan and me. It clearly didn’t suit him to lose. Which was good. I’d be worried if one of my men was comfortable with not winning.
Sean squared his shoulders then again ducked his head.
But Ricardo was no fool and dodged the head barge. As Sean flew past him he stuck out his foot and tripped Sean up.
Sean hit the deck with a grunt, but quickly flipped onto his back. Just as well because Ricardo was over him.
For a moment I admired Ricardo’s skill and the long, lean lines of his back and limbs. But then I got caught up in the moment. Sean was clearly a good match for Ricardo; they were grappling for the upper hand with every move.