Riptide

that.
    There was nothing to worry about. "I'm going in now." She got
    out of the car and walked into the gym. There was a bright-faced young man at the counter, looking like he'd just worked out hard.
    His clothes were sweated through. "Hi," he said, and looked at her.
    She wasn't wearing workout clothes.
    She smiled. "I was here once before and I rented a locker in the
    women's locker room. My clothes are there. I need to pick them
    up."
    "I know you. You've been on TV, on every channel."
    "Yes. May I please come in now?"
    "That'll be ten dollars. What are you doing here?"
    She opened her wallet and pulled out a twenty. "I'm here to
    pick up my workout clothes." He didn't even look up. She watched
    him for what seemed like forever as he got her a ten in change. He
    pressed a buzzer and she went through the turnstile.
    The room was large, filled with machines and free weights and
    mirrors. The lights were very bright, nearly blinding. A radio
    played loud rock, booming out from the overhead speakers. There
    were lots of young people here tonight, thus the raucous music.

There were at least thirty people throughout the big room. Upstairs
    were all the aerobic machines. She heard talk, music, groans,
    the harsh movement of the machines, nothing else.
    What was she to do?
    She walked back to the women's locker room. There were three
    women inside, in various stages of undress. No one paid her any attention.
    Nothing there.
    She walked out of the dressing room, and this time she walked
    slowly, roaming through the big room, looking at all the men.
    Many of them were young, but there were some older ones as well,
    all of them different one from the other--fat, thin, in shape,
    paunchy. So many different sorts of men, all there on this night,
    working away. Not one of them approached her.
    What to do?
    A couple of young guys were horsing around, doing fake hits,
    laughing, insulting each other. One of them accidentally backed
    into the arm of an old chest machine. The big weighted arms
    weren't clicked in to a setting. When the young guy hit it, it swung
    out and hit her squarely on her upper right arm. She stumbled into
    a big Nautilus machine and lost her balance. She went down.
    "Oh shit. I'm sorry. You all right?"
    He was helping her up, rubbing her shoulder, her arm, looking
    at her now with a young male's natural sexual interest. "Hey, talk to
    me. You okay?"
    "Yes, I'm fine, don't worry."
    "I haven't seen you here before. You new in town?"
    "Yes, sort of."
    He was lightly touching her arm now, as if assuring himself that
    she was okay, and she tried to smile at him, assure him that she was
    just fine. The other young man came up on the other side, vying
    with the first for her attention.

"Hey, I'm Troy. Would you like to go have a drink with me? I
    figure I owe you since I knocked you on your butt."
    "Or maybe you'd like to go with both of us? I'm Steve."
    "No, thank you, guys. I absolve you of all guilt. I have to leave
    now."
    She finally managed to get away from them. She turned once
    and saw them looking after her, smiling, waving, looking really
    pleased with themselves now that she'd looked back at them.
    Neither of them was more than twenty-five, she thought. Well-built
    boys. She was twenty-seven. She felt ancient.
    Finally, because she couldn't think of anything else to do, she
    went through the turnstile at the front of the gym. The young guy
    who'd let her in wasn't there. No one was there. She felt a ripple
    of alarm. Where had the kid gone? Maybe a shower. Yeah, that was
    it. He'd really been sweating.
    She thought she saw a shadow just outside the front door. It was
    one of the good guys, she thought, it had to be.
    Where was Krimakov? He'd said she'd know what to do. He was
    wrong.
    She walked slowly back to the Toyota. The lights weren't bright
    in this part of the lot and that was why she'd elected to park here.
    She hadn't wanted to park close by other cars, hadn't wanted to
    take the risk of Krimakov hurting anyone else. Now she wished
    she hadn't because no one seemed to be about.
    She reached out her hand to the door handle. Suddenly, without
    warning, she felt a sharp sting in the back of her left shoulder. She
    gasped, whirled around, but there was nothing, no one. Just the dim
    light from the lights overhead. No movement. Nothing. She felt
    herself slipping. That was odd--she was falling, but slowly, just sort
    of sliding down against the door of her car.

Chapter 27

    "No" she said into