I shook my head and widened my eyes, trying to look innocent. I just hoped they weren't about to pull some surveillance footage of me walking around holding Luke's hand.

"All right, Miss Carrington," Campbell said. He pulled out a card and handed it to me. "Call us if you hear from Mr. Romero." I took the card and turned it over in my hand. As I examined it, he added, "And Miss Carrington, let me give you a little piece of advice. A nice girl like you needs to stay as far away from a man like him as possible."

I thanked him for the warning, and then asked if they would like a lemon bar. Smiling like little kids, they each grabbed one.

When I closed the door behind them a few minutes later, I leaned against it, my body limp with relief. I felt emotionally drained, and just when the urge to cry welled up inside of me, Grammy rose to her feet.

"Well," Grammy said. "That went well."

I turned to look at her. She lit her cigarette and grinned at me. I was starting to see whom I'd gotten Hanna from.

"I'm glad I told you about the money," I said. "I hated lying to you, but the thought of disappointing you..."

"Daniella Carrington," Grammy said. "You listen to me. I love you and I know you only took that money to help me. You could never disappoint me."

She wrapped her arms around me, holding me like she did when I was a child. I breathed in deep. She still smelled the same. Cigarettes and the clove-flavored hard candies she sucked on between the smokes.

I straightened and took a step back. Before she could take another drag, I plucked the cigarette from her fingers and carried it back to the kitchen. I stubbed it out in the sink. "I love you, too, Grammy, but you've got to stop smoking."

I stayed for another few hours, talking and reminiscing with Grammy, feeling free to be myself and tell her how my life had changed. I told her that in the midst of all the craziness, I'd discovered a wonderful place called Summerville and how I'd met Luke there. I'd told her everything about him well, not the intimate details because that wasn't exactly the kind of conversation I wanted to have with my grandmother and she'd never once said a negative word.

The sun was starting to go down by the time I was on the subway back to Manhattan and I reflected on her last words to me before I left. I was rather surprised when she'd said, "You better take care of that boyfriend of yours. He sounds like a good guy. I had a man like that once, but I didn't fight hard enough. Don't make the same mistake I did. Go back and save his butt."

I'd seen the sadness in her eyes when she'd mentioned her lost love and it gave me a new surge of strength. I knew what was coming would be harder than anything else I'd ever faced, but I wasn't going to give up, no matter how bad it got.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Luke Strong stance...lift, chamber the leg...and extend. THWACK! That was the sound of my foot hitting the training dummy with the most powerful kick in the Martial Arts, the sidekick.

One, two, three four. One, two, three, four. I lost myself in the repetition of practicing, letting my muscle memory take over. Each time my foot connected with the two-hundred-pound punching bag, I let out a breath, timing my movements until I was making them with little conscious thought.

"You gotta hit harder," Coach barked out from behind me, but I didn't turn. He didn't want me to stop. He continued, "You won't crack any ribs with those pussy kicks. Put some fire in those suckers, like you mean it. Like you want to kill that bag."

I knew he was half-joking, but when I started to kick harder, Joe made a satisfied grunt that said I'd done what he wanted. I let myself fall back into my rhythm as Joe shuffled away. I didn't know how much time had passed, only that I'd switched from my strong side to my weak side, finished my kicks and had moved on to jabs, hooks and hard driving uppercuts, all standard punches I'd used and trained in the past.

My training was interrupted when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"Looking good there, champ. How's that knock-out punch coming along? I don't see you breaking any bricks."

I glanced over my shoulder. Brad was grinning at me with that lawyer smile of his. He'd had that same smile even when we were in high school. "Brad, you son of a bitch. Breaking bricks? That's Karate. You're in the wrong gym." I chuckled as I picked up a towel and wiped off my sweat. "Hope you got some good news for me."

"I got news all right." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "It might be good, but it doesn't come free."

I followed through my last punch and then turned to face him. "Free? What do you mean? You agreed that it was okay for me to pay you after the fight."

"I'm not talking about money." Brad took a step towards me, lowering his voice. "I'm talking about something you have to do."

What the fuck now? I liked Brad, trusted him even, but I didn't like the direction this conversation was heading.

"You're killing me, Brad. What is it?"

"I'm talking about you getting in shape and winning that damn fight."

Now I was confused. "What does that have to do with anything? I am training. What does this look like?" I held up my hands in their fighting gloves and waved them in front of his face.

The humor vanished from his expression and his smile faded.

"Here's the deal, Luke. Last weekend, I was at a regional golf tournament and I met Judge Schwartz. I'm sure you remember him. He handled the case that got you banned from professional fighting."

The muscles in my jaw tightened. I remembered the self-righteous prick. He had made it his life's work to go against our sport.

Brad continued as if he couldn't see the scowl etched into my eyebrows. "He had some interesting things to say about your promoter, Bruno." He opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated. He shot a cautious glance around the gym and then lowered his voice when he said, "We can't talk here. Can you take a break? There's a coffee shop down the street and I'm having wicked caffeine withdrawals."

Brad wasn't the type of guy to invest time in frivolous socializing. The fact that he was here meant it was important. "Sure," I said. "Let me clean up a bit. I can be ready in ten minutes."

When we walked into the coffee shop, there was just sprinkling of people sitting at the tables. Most were students from the nearby college, engrossed in something they were reading on their laptops, or hunched over their cell phones, eyes glued to their screens.

We each ordered a coffee and Brad led the way to a booth far from anyone else. "This is strictly confidential. As in, you can't tell a soul," he said as we slid into our seats. "As you can imagine, Judge Schwartz has a few connections in your old fighting organization."

I scowled. "I don't want to talk about the UFC or Judge Schwartz. He single-handedly took away my license two years ago because of his indictment against me. He's the reason I got involved with Bruno and have to fight in this shit-hole of a place instead of making an honest living in a professional league." My tone was edged with bitterness as the words came out, but I didn't give a shit. My daughter would've been safe with me if it hadn't been for that judge.

"Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't have put that guy at the bar in a wheelchair," Brad replied flatly.

I didn't regret what I'd done that night. "He had it coming. He nearly killed that poor girl."

Brad pressed the palms of both hands flat on the tabletop, staring at the coffee cup between them, then pursed his lips. "That may be," Brad admitted. "But in this country, the justice system doesn't allow for vigilantes. You should have reported it to the police instead."

"She would've been dead if I'd left it to the cops," I snapped. "Twice they went and picked him up after he'd beaten her. Both times he walked out of the police station an hour later. When it happened for a third time, that was it. Someone had to stop him."

Guys like Brad believe in the law and justice. They don't understand evil like I do. Sometimes, you just have to take things into your own hands. At least the charges against me didn't stand but the whole affair was enough to give me a lifetime ban from professional fighting.

Brad shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. "Anyway, I have some good news. The judge said there's a way to get the indictment erased from your record. You could get your license back."

I tried not to let the hope that suddenly spiked in me take root. This sounded too good to be true. "Go on," I said cautiously.

"This is why you can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you." Brad leaned toward me, rested his hands on the table and said, "Apparently, the FBI is investigating Bruno for some illegal gambling."

"No shit, Sherlock. Everyone knows Bruno's racket. Now tell me something I don't know."

Brad drew back and gave me a hurt look, then added, "And it looks like he had something to do with that hooker who got killed two months ago over near the Greymore Hotel."

I stiffened at the name of the hotel where Dani had worked. I had a bad feeling the shit was about to hit the fan. "What's that got to do with Bruno?" I asked. "Hookers get killed every week in this city."

"Yes, but rumor has it that this particular incident had to do with some missing money. A quarter of a million dollars, to be precise." Brad took a sip of his coffee. "Have you heard anything about that?"

"No." I kept my answer simple and short.

"So Bruno never told you about losing a quarter of a mil?"

I kept my voice flat and annoyed, hoping that would cover my nerves. "I have no fucking idea what you're talking about, Brad. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

He held up his hands as if he were surrendering. "Okay, okay. I just wanted to make sure."

I needed to steer this conversation away from the money, like ten minutes ago, but I didn't want to seem suspicious. Cupping my hands around my coffee, I said, "You guys talked about this while you were playing golf?"

Brad chuckled, some of his lawyer attitude returning. "Yeah, I thought I told you? The biggest deals get made on the golf course. Besides, it was a pretty long game."

"Sounds like I should take up golf now," I said wryly.

"You just focus on your training. Let me handle the golf course." His expression got serious again. "Anyway, the judge wants to make you a deal. He'll do everything in his power to get your license back, if you help him nail that son of a bitch, Bruno."

I didn't even need to think about it. "Just tell me what I need to do."

"Win the fight."

"Seriously? What'll that do?"

"You haven't heard?" Brad gave me a sympathetic look. "Bruno's been betting huge wagers that you're going to lose. I heard he's putting over two mil on the line."

"There is no way Bruno has that kind of money," I said.

Brad couldn't hide the satisfied smile appearing on his face. "That's the kicker. The people he's in business with, the guys who are putting up the money, are not exactly the rich gentlemen type. These are hardcore Mafia types, the kind that the FBI hasn't been able to touch for decades. I mean, like the real Mafia, not the low-life Bruno type bad guys."

Now I was starting to see the plan. "So if I win the match, Bruno will be in trouble with those guys. Not just trouble, but his life in danger." I leaned back in my seat. "And if I know Bruno half as well as I think I do, he'll sing like a canary just to save his sorry ass."

Brad nodded. "That's what the FBI is counting on. They'd don't give a damn about some small-time thug like Bruno. He's just their ticket to the big guys. And it all starts with you winning this match. Can you do it?"

"Yeah," I said. "But if Bruno's gonna make a deal with the FBI to avoid jail, that puts me in a bad situation. He'll come after me when this is over. I've already crossed him twice. I don't think this is a case where the third time's a charm."

"Don't worry," Brad said. "Bruno's not going to talk just to avoid prison. He's flipping on these guys to avoid being killed. He'll be in witness protection and shipped off to some remote place like Albuquerque or something like that. If he ever shows his face in New York, or any major city for that matter, he won't last five minutes." He drained the last of his coffee. "You'll never see him again. And I've also been told that his goons are all going down, too."

God, how I wanted this to work, but I'd been screwed over too often in my life to put faith in something other than myself. "How do you know he'll take the deal? Do you really think he'll rat out the hardcore Mafia?"

"He'll have to," Brad said. "He won't have the money to pay them back when he loses. Not one cent. The FBI has the go-ahead to freeze all of his assets as soon as you win. He'll have to give them up, or he's toast. He will know that."

"So this whole plan relies on one thing. I win, or everything goes to shit?"

"Pretty much," he said. "Are you in?"

With my elbows leaning on the table I pushed both of my hands through my hair as I considered. I win, I get my license back. That means I'm legit and off of the underground circuit. Better money. Legal money. That will help me get Lacey from Cindy. I win and Bruno goes down, which means I don't have to spend my life looking over my shoulder. It also means he won't be looking for Dani and she can use the money to help her grandma and finish her schooling, do all of the things she wants to do.

I lose, we're all fucked.

"I'm in."

"Excellent," Brad said. "Now, on to the important stuff." His dark eyes were shining with his usual good humor. "When this is all done, and you are back in the UFC, I want two complementary ringside seats to your first match. I have a girlfriend to impress."

"If you get me my license back, I'll get you a season pass to all my matches," I promised.

Brad grinned. "Deal."

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Dani I stared at the television without really seeing it. Before, when I'd rushed from school to work to the hospital to Grammy's, I used to wish that for a day, I could just sit inside and relax all day. Not have to go anywhere or do anything.

After two days of not leaving the apartment, I was beginning to wonder why I'd ever thought this was appealing. I'd never been a claustrophobic person, but now I was starting to get that feeling like the walls were closing in on me. I considered going out since I now suspected that the two men who'd been watching me were FBI and not Bruno's men, but deep down I knew it still wasn't a good idea. Bruno might not be looking for me specifically, but he wasn't some two-bit hustler. If the FBI wanted him, he must have been more dangerous than I'd realized.

It wasn't just about not leaving the apartment, though, I had to admit. If I'd just been forced to stay inside and could text Luke or fantasize about our date tonight, I'd have been able to manage. The problem was, I'd sent him three texts yesterday and he still hadn't answered this morning. I sent five more between getting up and now, and I hadn't gotten a single response.

Now, I'm not one of those women who think that her man has to text every hour or so, or the kind that's obsessive about getting responses right away. In fact, I thought that if circumstances had been different, I wouldn't have been on the verge of freaking out. It wasn't like I thought at least not seriously he was cheating or didn't care about me or something stupid like that. No, I was thinking more along the lines of Bruno having killed him and buried his body somewhere.

I looked at the clock. It was nearly five and he should have messaged me an hour ago to let me know where we were going to meet and if he'd be late. I waited another twenty minutes before I decided that enough was enough. I was worried that something had happened, but there was also the thought in the back of my head that said maybe he'd decided I wasn't worth the distraction. Maybe this was his way of blowing me off. I told the voice to shut up, but that just made me more certain that something bad had happened.

I grabbed my purse and a jacket, then headed for the lobby. I gave a quick look around as I left, but didn't see the two guys who'd been there before. I wasn't taking any chances that they would arrive while I was casually walking away. I hurried to the subway, keeping my pace brisk in the hopes that I'd be out of sight before anyone who might be spying realized I was gone.

When I arrived at the gym, I was suddenly more nervous than I'd been on the way. What would I do if something had happened to him? And what if I was wrong and he didn't want to see me?

I took a deep breath and pushed my doubts down. I needed to be more like Hanna now, and less like Dani. I raised my chin, squared my shoulders, and headed inside.

He was easy to spot since the place was half-empty, as most of the other fighters had finished for the day. And since he was facing the door when I came in, I didn't have to go through the whole awkward thing where I tried to get his attention without drawing even more attention to myself.

He glanced around looking for his coach, I assumed and then took off his workout gloves as he hurried over to me. The expression on his face made my stomach drop. That wasn't a sheepish 'oops, I lost track of time' look. That was a 'we need to have a talk' look.

"I'm so sorry I showed up here," I began with an apology as soon as he was close enough to hear me. "I was worried."

"No, I'm the one who's sorry," he said. "I was so focused on training, I didn't stop to respond to your texts. It didn't even cross my mind how it would look to you."

I gave him a tentative smile. "I missed you. I was hoping we could still have our date night."

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me tight against him. I was surprised, but I wasn't going to complain, even if he was sweaty. I wrapped my arms around his waist, closing my eyes as my body finally relaxed. This was what I'd needed. The steady, albeit a little fast, beat of his heart. His hands rested at the base of my spine.

Luke took a step back before I was ready to let him go and I saw that expression was back.

"I've missed you, too," he said. "But things have changed. I can't see you again until after the fight. Not at all."

"What?" I didn't understand. Things had been going so well. He'd even said that our arrangement was the perfect mix of time apart and seeing each other.