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    She walked toward Dekker’s closed office door, hoping that he hadn’t forgotten about their lesson. Muffled shouts came from the other side of the door. Alexis stepped back as the door jerked open. A wiry man in rumpled pants and a button-up shirt backed out as Dekker stalked toward him. The veins bulged in his neck.
    “Get the hell out of my studio and don’t ever come back!” Dekker’s finger jabbed the man in the chest—hard enough that the guy stumbled backward. “If I get a whiff that you’ve ratted me out, your family can start searching the obituaries for your name.”
    The man’s eyes sought out Alexis. But she could offer him no protection, not if she wanted to keep up her cover. Visibly shaken, he rushed past her, letting the exit door slam closed behind him. Seeing Dekker like this, muscles taut and eyes hardened, was a little too close to his sparring video. She was tempted to turn and follow the man out of the studio. She would hand the case back to Beck and accept the razzing of the century.
    Then Dekker met Alexis’ gaze. “Punctual, I see.”
    Dekker’s tone was level as his demeanor went from sixty to zero. Suddenly he was calm, despite the heated altercation of only a second ago.
    “What was that about?”
    “I find obituaries fascinating. Don’t you?”
    “Um …” Obituaries. Alexis was at a loss. Was he being serious? Or testing her to see how much she had heard?
    “I love to scan them,” Dekker continued as he guided her toward the workout area. “Read through them. See who’s died.”
    Side by side, Alexis realized that he towered over her. She resisted the urge to step away. She struggled to control her breathing as he went on.
    “How old they were, what they used to do, and who’s outlived them. If I like their story well enough, I send them flowers or go visit the graves.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
    All she could do was stare.
    “A little humor?” Dekker smiled at her and winked. “Lighten up.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her toward the studio. “I hope you catch on to karate faster.”
    “Me too,” Alexis replied, avoiding his gaze.
    Although Alexis was beginning to sense that Dekker’s humor was not without foundation.
    He stopped them in front of a black, heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. “All right. Let’s see your stuff.”
    Alexis looked from Dekker to the bag, suddenly nervous now that she had to perform in front of him. He was an MMA champion. But come on. She could hit a bag. How badly could she hit a bag?
    Dekker lifted a brow at Alexis, waiting for her to make a move. She approached the bag, wiping her sweaty palms on her pants. Assuming a fighting stance, she planted her feet wide apart. Alexis’ right fist, then her left, pounded into the bag. The solid bag didn’t shift under her blows. She kept the moan to herself as the pain shot through her knuckles.
    “Again,” Dekker barked.
    Alexis blew out a breath. Clenching her fists, she extended her arms with a one-two punch. The bag still didn’t budge. Damn. These bags were three times heavier than the ones she was used to.
    “Again. Harder.”
    Focusing her attention on the bag, Alexis flexed the muscles in her arms. Her grunts were loud in the studio as she punched with full force. Alexis repeated the movement, falling into a steady rhythm. Sweat trickled down her back as she looked at Dekker for approval.
    “Not too bad,” he mumbled.
    Not too bad? Her freakin’ arms felt like rubber. She’d probably be lucky if she could lift her coffee cup in the morning. “Thought I’d punch like a girl?”
    “Something like that. Now, let’s work on your side kick.”
    Alexis looked at Dekker warily, remembering her last attempt at a side kick.
    Dekker smirked. “It looked like it needed some fine-tuning.”
    Embarrassed, Alexis watched Dekker take the fighting stance. Legs spread, he stood perpendicular to the bag. Lifting his right leg, he bent it at the knee.