Free Isabel's Run by M. D. Grayson Page B

it.
    Which is a long-winded way of explaining why I train year-round. The training keeps me in great shape all the time. Of course, the training also has the side benefit of allowing me to eat pretty much whatever I want without having to worry about it, and this is pretty cool, too. Maybe someday that will change—but for now, it’s working.
    My training schedule is carefully structured to have me reach my athletic peak at various times in the year that coincide with the biggest races. It varies by time of year and by day of the week, but the pattern is similar year-round—I run shorter and harder on Tuesdays and Thursdays, longer and slower on Wednesdays. Fridays and Sundays are easy days. Saturdays are a bear—long and hard both. And Mondays—blessed Mondays—are a day of rest with no running at all. Today being Wednesday, the workout was a longish run at a moderate pace. For me—at this time in the season—this meant about ten miles in about an hour and fifteen minutes or so. I finished by 7:20, showered, and hit the office at eight o’clock on the dot. I walked straight into the conference room for our morning staff meeting.
    After everyone was seated, I looked around the table. Kenny was there. I nodded to him. Then I turned to the tall, dark-haired man with shoulder-length black hair seated next to him. “How’s it goin’, Doc?” I asked.
    He looked at me, smiled and then gave me a single nod—a fine answer for Doc—no words required.
    Joaquin “Doc” Kiahtel is a Chiricahua Apache—claims to be a direct descendant of Cochise. I met Doc while we were both stationed at Fort Lewis just outside Tacoma when I worked to clear him from a little misunderstanding with some patrons of a local drinking establishment. We proved that Doc was acting purely in self-defense—even if all four of the guys who attacked him ended up in the hospital. Knowing what I know now about Doc’s background in the Army Rangers, I understand Doc actually exercised considerable restraint in the altercation: he didn’t kill a single one of ’em. Later, I got to really know him, and we became friends. Doc’s Special Forces background led me to offer him a position as director of security at our firm after he was discharged. I’m lucky that he accepted.
    For the longest time, Doc was a solitary guy. It literally took him years to recover from the loss of his girlfriend who was killed by a hit-and-run driver in Fort Lewis in 2006. We got used to seeing Doc by himself. Then, two months ago, Toni and I met him at one of our favorite camping spots on the Olympic Peninsula and to our complete surprise, we found that he was accompanied by a woman! And a beautiful one at that! Toni and I were both struck nearly speechless when Doc introduced us to his “girlfriend,” Doctor Prita Dekhlikiseh—he just called her “Pri.” Unlike Doc—I mean Joaquin—Pri’s a
real
doc—a USC medical school grad and emergency doctor at Harborview Medical Center. Doc met her when the paramedics delivered me there after I was hit in the head with my own baseball bat. He never said a word about Pri until that camping trip.
    If I hadn’t been unconscious at the time, I’d have noticed Pri myself—she’s hard to miss at six feet tall. Like Doc, she’s also a Chiricahua Apache, although she’s from Oklahoma, and Doc is from New Mexico. Because of her, the last couple of months may have been the happiest I’ve ever seen Doc. When it comes to Pri, I’m a fan. I’d like her anyway, but I especially like her for what she means to Doc.
    Also seated at the table was Richard Taylor. Richard’s a tall, lanky man in his early seventies. He’s a former Seattle Police Department detective who, twenty-four years ago, retired and opened a private investigation agency called Taylor Private Investigations. Toni and I met him when he was a guest lecturer at a police procedural course in our last year at U-Dub. When Richard told us he wanted to retire at the