Free Lure of the Wicked by Karina Cooper

let it drop to the wall. “It didn’t hold under the humid conditions, which was the only thing that probably saved Alexandra’s life. Another few minutes—”
    Lillian hummed a low note of dismissal. “Another few minutes wouldn’t have been the end of it, but that’s neither here nor there. The important thing here is finding this saboteur.”
    He dropped his hand from his eyes, staring blankly at the bank of glass windows that separated the main gym from the surrounding workout rooms. “That’s the catch, isn’t it? Firstly, who would want to do something like this?”
    “An enemy?”
    “Whose?” Phin murmured. “It would need someone with the know-how.” A sudden flash of turquoise caught his attention, and he tilted his head. He straightened from the wall supporting his weary weight when the vivid color beckoned again.
    “Have you crossed the technicians? Maintenance?” Lillian hesitated. “What of the temporaries you brought in through the basement?”
    “Mmm.” Footsteps soundless on the carpet, Phin slowly meandered toward the glass bay. “All of our technicians have been with us for over a year. If it was one of them, which I doubt, it had to be a crime in the making for a very long time. And why now? Alexandra is a frequent guest.”
    “And the others?”
    Phin frowned. His fingertips settled over the cool windowpane, his gaze homing in on Naomi Ishikawa. She was hard to miss.
    Impossible to ignore.
    “I don’t think so,” he said, distracted by the way her cropped turquoise top hugged her chest like a second skin. It left her back bare from neck to shoulder blades, let him see the smooth flex and ripple of taut, toned muscle as she worked over a body-sized punching bag.
    “Why?”
    “Take my word for it. Mother, I’ll call you back.” Without waiting for her reply, Phin disconnected the unit.
    He couldn’t look away. There was something addictive about Naomi, something inherently fascinating. The way her taped fists slammed into the rough material of the swinging bag, the way she moved like a dancer one minute and a lethal fury of limbs the next. Her ponytail bounced and swayed with every jab, every hook and cross.
    Phin grinned as she spun on the ball of one foot and slammed the smooth, bare expanse of her shin into the bag. The impact cracked like a gunshot.
    The woman worked over a bag like she’d caught it insulting her mother. It was one hell of an exercise regime.
    Phin unfolded the digital screen on his comm unit and tapped in a quick series of commands. Within seconds, Naomi’s designated schedule filled the readout. His smile widened.
    She’d turned down Joel for a bone-rattling beat-down.
    Either she was a sucker for punishment, or she was—
    Something else entirely.
    Like a saboteur? Phin’s smile faded as he snapped the unit closed. Impossible. She’d been with him when the screaming started.
    But before? She’d said she was exploring.
    He shook his head. Paranoia wasn’t a flavor that suited his palate, and a check on the internal security feed would verify her whereabouts easily enough. Hers and all the other guests’. If all of them proved to have time-stamped alibis, he’d have to start looking at staff.
    Another thunderous crack ripped through the gym, its impact muffled by the glass. She danced back, shaking out one reddened, tape-wrapped foot, and smoothly shifted her weight.
    Fascinating.
    Tucking the comm into his inner jacket pocket, he turned and circled the bay of windows. She was so engrossed in murdering the innocent workout bag that she didn’t see him approach. Didn’t hear his initial, subtle cough.
    Shoulders moving, liquid control, she drove fast, sharp fists into the bag. Her trim waist slid in fluid lines he assumed meant that she dodged imaginary punches from her imaginary assailant. Thigh muscles flexing, she propelled one knee into the bag. They stretched and flexed again as two more hard, jarring knee thrusts followed it.
    She was hell on