Page 19

Chapter Nineteen

Chelsea

After Ramsey left, I headed to the elevators that took me down to the pool a couple of levels below.

This was a recently renovated part of the stadium.

An old pool replaced with a longer, better one.

It shared the space with the physical therapy rooms and a sauna.

Nothing but the best for the Dusk Bay Smashers.

I pushed through the glass doors, into the steamy pool room.

Doctor Otis Skinner was overseeing a couple of players walking back and forth up and down the pool to strengthen muscles without putting pressure on their joints.

I stood and watched for a while, admiring the way they pushed through the water, forcing their way past gallons of pressure without slowing.

"Something I can do for you?" Skinner said after a handful of minutes.

"I'm fascinated by your work," I said. "I was hoping to learn more about it." Of course, we covered aqua therapy at university and I worked with it before, but if he had new, more effective methods, I wanted to understand them.

He responded with a disbelieving side eye. "I don't want you overextending yourself. You're still settling into the job."

"It's never too early to avoid getting stale," I said easily.

"Especially with something as fascinating as what you're working on." Which he hadn't elaborated on. Apart from reading his paper on the benefit of aqua therapy on muscle strain, I didn't know exactly what his angle was.

A suspicious person might think he didn't have one. Me, I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

He grunted. "Very well. Let's not speak over the pool."

"Of course." I stepped over to stand beside him.

"What have you been working on, Doctor Skinner?" I asked politely.

"You may call me Otis," he said.

"I've been working on the impact of water therapy on players’ mental health. Using a combination of Watsu and Bad Ragaz methods. They combine exercise with immersion in the water. Usually, one of us would be in the water with them, supporting them as they do their movements."

I had to admit, I was impressed. The players’ mental health was important, but sometimes I felt like it was put aside to focus on physical health and fitness.

"I love that," I said sincerely. "I don't think there's too many people who aren't more relaxed and comfortable after floating in water."

"Precisely," he said.

"I believe pool therapy could replace gym exercise, if undertaken correctly. Water is a much more flexible medium, and less inclined to damage the body."

Unless someone was held under for too long , I thought.

"I'd imagine the coaching staff has different thoughts about that," I said. "They seem to like having the guys do laps on the field."

"I prefer they do laps in the pool," he said. "They'd find their performance to be positively impacted by my methods."

"Will they let you test that theory?" I asked.

In order to do that, some of the guys would only exercise with his methods, while the others used the gym and field.

"With the junior division," he said, looking irritated.

"When my methods have proven sound, they'll consent to expanding the program." He seemed very sure of that. Of course, there was nothing wrong with backing his own work. Why do all the study if he didn't believe in his own findings?

"In that case, I'm on the right side of history if I learn more from you," I said. "It sounds to me like you're doing important work." Under other circumstances, I'd be behind him completely. As it was, I felt uncomfortable standing next to him and a body of water. Not that I thought he'd try anything with this many witnesses in the area right now.

"I am," he said with an edge of reluctance. Reluctance to share too much more information with me? Or maybe he didn’t want to share with anyone? He might be scared I'd try to steal his work somehow. Or insinuate myself into his studies so my name would be included in anything he published. It happened often enough.

"Ramsey is working with you, isn't he?" I said with some reluctance of my own.

"I get the impression he's been doing too much. Pool therapy might be better than spending so much time in the gym."

"He has been working with me," Otis agreed. He looked at me carefully, as if trying to figure out whether or not I caught on to his double meaning.

I pretended to be completely oblivious. "I'm worried he's working himself too hard," I said. "I just saw him and looked at his knee. According to his notes, you've been doing the same. How does he seem to you?"

I hated talking about Ramsey behind his back, but if he wasn't going to open up to me about why he was working out too hard, maybe Otis could give me some insight. If we bonded over this, he might come to trust me.

"As you say, he's been over-exercising," Otis said. "I've insisted he do more pool work, especially Watsu, but he's resistant. I believe he thinks relaxing is counter-productive."

"That sounds like every guy on the team," I said dryly. "They like to be busy. Active." Of course they did; they were all physical guys. None of them would be happy sitting in an office day after day. They liked to be on the go as much as they could.

"Indeed," Otis agreed. "The support of their coach would be helpful."

"You think if Coach Stanley ordered them to do more in the pool, they would? I mean, of course they would, but with his backing they might be less resistant?" I assumed that was what he was getting at.

"Precisely." He nodded. "They understand its benefits as a treatment, but as an exercise regime in and of itself? That's where they are most reluctant. They're accustomed to stationary bikes and treadmills."

"So, you think pool therapy is a holistic approach?" I said. "Body and mind."

"That's exactly what it is," he said. "Fortunately, the GM believes as I do. He may consider replacing Coach Stanley with someone who supports my work and my methods."

There was a double meaning in that too. He wanted the head coach replaced with someone who was working with them outside of working with the team. If Coach Stanley wasn't careful, he’d end up like Bruce Fergus, but courtesy of Otis instead of Atlas.

"I'm sure Coach Stanley could be coerced," I said carefully. "If he understood what was at stake, he might change his mind." I sent a mental apology to the head coach. Their kind of coercion would suck. No doubt they’d already considered it, but I was trying to get Skinner on my side. The guys would have to do whatever was necessary to keep the coach from ending up dead.

"Most people can be coerced," Otis said meaningfully. "I would have thought you were the ‘have a pleasant conversation with someone’ kind of woman. Hope to convince them to rethink."

"I am that kind of woman," I agreed. "But sometimes, things have to be taken a step further. For the good of the team," I added quickly.

"Of course, for the good of the team," he agreed. "If you had to coerce him, what would you suggest?"

This was a test, and I wasn't sure if I could pass. If I was honest, I wasn't sure I wanted to. I waded in this far, I might as well press on. We both knew what was going on here. More or less.

"That depends how resistant he is," I said. "Brutham Academy taught several different varieties of coercion. Beyond that, I know people. I'm sure you do too."

"I might, but I'm more interested to hear about you," he said. He was still sceptical, wondering what my angle was. Men like him didn't get far by trusting one casual conversation. "I'm aware who your brother is and who he works for."

"That's him," I said. "I make up my own mind about who I work with. For the record, my brother gets restless. He doesn't always agree with his boss. Like most people, he's always wanting to expand his power."

"Interesting," Otis said.

"I thought so," I said. If he really thought my brother would turn his back on his boss, he was mistaken, but he didn't need to know that. Not right now anyway. If he believed we’d flip and work with him, that would work in our favour.

"We might need to test this theory," he said slowly. "Find out how much coercion is necessary."

I looked over to him. "Did you have something in mind?"

He looked back at me. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Ramsey trusts me," I said. "Who do you think sent me here?" I made a note to tell Ramsey I brought him into the conversation. No doubt Otis would ask him directly. I was sure he could handle himself, but it would help if he wasn't taken by surprise.

"Ferris Ramsey sent his girlfriend to me?" Otis mused. "That is interesting. He was instrumental in uncovering a mole." Apparently he bought Ramsey's story about the way she died.

I had a feeling he didn't know Dallas' part in it. I hoped like hell he didn't. Dallas had been through enough already. I didn't want him to become more of a target than any of us already were.

"India," I said. "She was always tight with the Brantley family. They must have thought she could fool you." She couldn't deny that accusation, but it gave him something to think about.

"I wonder the same about you," he said smoothly. "Your family is tight with the Brantleys too." He seemed to have done his homework when it came to all of us. I wouldn't have expected anything else from him. Taking chances could get you dead too easily.

"In the past," I agreed. "Like I said, things change. We've been under their thumb for a long time. That's started to chafe. Ramsey and I agree on that. I'm sure we could convince my brother and his partners. If the price was right."

This whole conversation began to make me sick.

I felt like I was digging myself deeper and deeper into a hole, getting more involved with the life I tried so hard to avoid.

I wanted to hop on a plane and hide in one of those cottages in New Zealand.

Somewhere no one could find me but my guys.

I didn't run. I stood my ground. There was more at stake than me and my sanity. If I could go along with him for a little while, I could find out everything we needed to know. Or put Ramsey in a position where he could learn more. Either way, it was a sacrifice I had to make.

"I'll talk to my boss and consider your proposal," he said. "Your brother would be a valuable asset to us. As would you. If you can be trusted."

"I could say the same to you," I said. "How do I know you won't stab me in the back the moment I look away?" If he knew what was going on in my mind, he would. If I didn't get to him first.

This was a very dangerous knife edge I was walking on.

One slip and I'd be sliced open, from head to toe. Possibly literally.

"You don't," he said. "I may give you a chance to prove yourself. If you can show your loyalty, you'll have nothing to worry about."

He didn't need to add the words, 'and if you can't, you'll be dead.’ They hung right there in the steamy air between us.