Chapter 4 Who Knew

Mara slammed the slashed gloves onto Dante's desk. "Someone in your gym did this."

He looked at the gloves, then the paper. His face went pale.

"Who has keys to the lockers?" she demanded.

"Five people have the master. Me, Rourke, the night manager, the front desk, and the cleaning supervisor." He picked up the glove and set it down very gently. "The camera by the lockers was unplugged yesterday. I'll find out who did it."

"I'll find out myself."

"You fight in fifty-nine days. Let me do the finding."

"I don't trust you."

"I'm not asking you to." He met her eyes. "Contract says the fighter lives on site. There's a room upstairs. Take it."

The room upstairs was narrow, with a cot and a lock on the inside. Through the window she could see a car idling with its lights off. The same car as last night.

At two in the morning she went down for water.

Voices came from the dark hallway outside the main gym.

"...not your daughter, Kane." Rourke. Low and sharp. "She's collateral. Stop treating her like a person."

"She's Frank's."

"Frank asked too many questions. Look where it got him. Remember what you signed."

"I remember every word." Dante's voice was rough. "That's the problem."

Mara stood very still behind the door. What had Dante signed? And what had her father asked?

A floorboard creaked under her foot. Both men went silent. She backed away slowly and did not slow down until she was upstairs.

The next morning Dante strapped on the focus mitts and said nothing about the hallway. Neither did she.

"Left, slip, pivot," he called. "Again. Faster. Don't think. Your body remembers even if you don't."

"Do you ever say more than three words in a row?"

"Again."

For an hour she threw left hooks and slid out of range. Then Dante barked a new combination, left jab, slip outside, pivot, short hook to the body.

She threw it without thinking. Jab. Slip. A tiny turn on the back foot. A hook to the ribs. Dante's mitt snapped back.

He froze.

"Who taught you that?"

"My father."

"That's Frank's counter." His voice sounded strange. "The Vance slip. I only felt it once."

"When?"

"Eight years ago. Round two." Dante lowered the mitts. "It put me on the canvas. Nobody remembers that part. I've never watched the tape. Not once."

Mara stared. In her family, the story was simple: Dante Kane knocked Frank out in round nine. Nobody ever said he had been knocked down first.

"You don't get to say his name," she said, but she said it quietly.

"Okay." He stepped closer. Sweat ran down her temple. He lifted one hand, slowly, giving her time to knock it away, and wiped a smear of blood from her lip with his thumb.

Mara forgot she was supposed to be angry.

"He told me you would have this," Dante said, almost too quietly to hear. "I didn't believe him."

"When did he tell you?"

A camera shutter clicked.

They both turned. Valentina stood by the ropes with her phone raised, her split lip curved into a smile. "Rourke will love this," she said sweetly. "Coach and the debt girl. Cozy."

"Delete it," Dante said.

"Make me."

He took one step. The fighters near the ring stopped talking. Valentina stopped smiling. She shoved the phone in her pocket and left, but not fast enough to hide that her hand was shaking.

Mara's cheeks burned. The photo would give the whole gym something to gossip about.

By noon, the news was everywhere.

DEBT FIGHTER HIDES BROKEN HAND. TITAN COACH COVERS UP INJURY. Under the headline was a photo of Mara's X-ray, the clinic's logo clearly visible.

Her phone buzzed. An email from the State Athletic Commission: License suspended pending independent medical exam and written clearance. Eliminator removed from the card unless clearance is filed by day forty-five.

Mara read it twice. Cancel the fight, and she forfeited. Forfeit, and Rourke owned three years of her purses and her father's gym.

Rourke called within minutes. "Terrible news, Miss Vance," he said cheerfully. "If you cannot fight, the contract holds. Three years."

She hung up on him. She had until day forty-five to earn a clearance she could not get today, because the crack was real. Without it, there was no fight. Without the fight, there was no gym.

She found Dante in the hallway. "Fix it. Tell the commission I'm fine."

"I can't. The story forced their hand, but the fracture is real. Only an independent doctor can lift it, and a lie would end your career. That isn't my call. Or Rourke's. The commission picks a specialist and books an exam around day forty-two. He checks the bone, your grip, your range of motion. If he signs off, you're back on the card. If he doesn't, you're not."

"Then explain this. Only four people saw that X-ray."

"I didn't leak it."

"Who had it? Say the names."

"Dr. Ames. Me. You. And Rourke's lawyer, because Rourke gets a copy of every medical report. The locker keys are a different list. One person may not have done both."

"You knew about my hand before anyone else. You knew in the ring."

"Mara." It was the first time he had said her name. "I didn't."

"Then prove it."

She walked away before he could answer.

At midnight she stood outside his office with a bobby pin. Her father had taught her to open locks, for emergencies, he'd said, back when emergencies meant forgotten keys.

If she was wrong about Dante, she was a thief. If she was right, she was a fool.

The pin turned. The door opened.

Dante's office was dark. The bottom drawer of the filing cabinet was locked too. It took her four minutes.

Inside lay one folder. Cream paper, thick, two inches deep. Black marker on the tab.

VANCE, F.

Her father's name.

Mara lifted it out and flipped it open. Hospital forms. Loan papers. A page stamped with a medical seal. A single sheet of heavier paper, stapled to the back.

Behind her, the light clicked on.

"You could have asked," said Dante Kane.