Page 3 of Wired Strong

She wanted to leave—to run away from this echoing, smelly gym with all its memories, and meet her husband at home. She’d get a hug from Marcus—maybe even make love—and reassure herself that they werealiveandtogether.

Her whole being lit up at the thought of being in Marcus’s arms. Safe. Treasured. Passionately desired.

Sophie’s tragedy wasn’t hers.

But what kind of friend did that make her?

Marcella’d given Sophie an uncensored, negative response when she was the first person other than Sophie’s therapist entrusted with the news of her pregnancy. Sheer selfishness to run to her husband for comfort when Sophie had no one.

Marcella wasn’t perfect, but she was a better friend than that.

She’d stay at the gym, do her workout, and see if Sophie wanted to talk after she was done in the office.

Marcella went over to one of the exercise bikes, got on, and set it for a rigorous mountain climb, keeping one eye on the door. Then weights, still watching for Sophie.

Ninety minutes passed. Eventually, Marcella’s Catholic guilt was assuaged by the sweaty workout—but when she finally went to the office and tried the door, it was locked.

The blinds were closed. No light showed in the crack under the portal.

Sophie had found a way to leave, alone.

Chapter Three

Connor

Day 1, four weeks after Wired Ghost

Connor was veryaware of the men encircling them as he and the Master sparred at the Yam Khûmk?n compound in Thailand. Around the circle that defined the practice area, ninja trainees stood five deep in the courtyard. Gray stone walls encrusted with lichen and moss surrounded; the humid jungle air smelled of flowers and sweat.

Connor spun and lashed out with his foot in an attempt to catch the Master under the chin. But, as usual, the man seemed to float just out of reach. The Master was so light on his feet that it was as if he barely touched the ground, while Connor’s breath labored in his lungs, and his body felt as heavy as if wearing a suit of armor.

The Master hit him in the chest with a blow from a closed fist, shooting Connor back three paces and stealing his breath.

Connor longed to pause, to center himself, to have room to go inside where time and space became elastic, and he could anticipate the Master’s moves.

But the man gave him no time. No space. And not even room to breathe.

Instead, the Master was a tornado, a storm moving in to batter at Connor from every direction. Connor rolled, ducked, and fled before his power.

The Master’s “Number One” was about to be humiliated in front of the entire courtyard filled with trainees. The more self-consciousness tightened Connor’s chest and shortened his breath, the more the Master’s blows and kicks registered as pain.

He was a human punching bag and unable to stop it.

The Master paused suddenly, settling into stillness, his immaculate whitegifalling into place. His long black hair, unbraided today, flowed down his back in a silver-streaked river; his tawny skin gleamed like polished wood. Compelling dark purple eyes met Connor’s sea-blue ones. “Let’s take a break.”

“Yes, Master.”Thank God! He was getting freakin’ killed by the bastard!

Connor folded his hands and inclined his head, mirroring the Master’s respectful stance. His body throbbed and screamed and twitched; he worked to control his ragged breathing.

He couldn’t worry about the humiliation of being defeated in front of the men.

He couldn’t worry about how he appeared to others.

If Connor could manage his body, if he could tap into that internal energy source that allowed him to transcend time, he could make a comeback.

“Shut your eyes,” the Master said. “Don’t open them. Come at me when you’re ready, with your eyes closed.”

The men murmured among themselves at this direction. Connor felt the crackle of their anticipation to see his humiliation, their lust to see his defeat. They were young and easily excited by such things; they still loved the smell of blood. That’s what had drawn them to the Yam Khûmk?n, to train to be spies, operatives, ninja assassins. The Master knew that, but he had much more for them—mysteries that Connor was coming to know.

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