Page 18 of Four Cards Exposed

As the men circled each other clockwise, each of them waiting for the other one to throw the next punch, the smile died on her lips. Suddenly, she didn’t have to imagine what those wide shoulders would look like under a white shirt.

She gasped, dropping the glass in her hand. It fell into the basket below with a clang.

James.

She almost didn’t recognize him, and yet there was no doubt it was him. It wasn’t just his hair that was longer. He seemed to have aged five years in the last couple of months.

He chose that moment to look up, and their eyes met over the heads of the crowd. James’s expression didn’t change, but his penetrating blue eyes blazed with emotion.

As if sensing weakness, the Viking chose that moment to attack, throwing a hook combination that would have felled a tree. James weaved, avoiding the first two blows, but he was off his game, and the third punch caught him right over one eye.

Blood poured from the cut—onto his bare hands, onto the floor, onto some of the spectators. The crowd roared, going wild.

James jumped back, blinking quickly through a curtain of blood.

“He can’t see,” she said fearfully.

“Relax, sweetie. The referee is stopping the fight. The cutman will have thirty seconds to stop the bleeding.”

James moved to the corner, where a man pressed something to his eye.

“Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Are you ready to continue?” The referee asked loudly.

James nodded and quickly made his way back to the center of the circle, where the Viking was already bouncing from side to side, looking like a shark ready to attack.

Whatever the man in the corner had done, it seemed to have worked—the cut over James’s eye was still red and raw, but wasn’t actively bleeding anymore.

“Here,” the girl said, looking at her strangely. Susan imagined she looked as queasy as she felt. “Pass these drinks around the crowd. Don’t worry. They don’t normally kill each other.”

Susan walked back to the crowd and started passing the tray around. Within seconds, the tray was empty and she had to go back for more drinks.

She kept an eye on the two fighters. Susan had never seen people boxing without gloves. It was primal, fierce and raw, and her mind was having trouble connecting the man in the middle of this fight with the polished, controlled federal agent she remembered. With his precise haircut, his polished shoes and sharply starched shirt, that man was the exact opposite of the fighter standing in the ring.

This time, James didn’t wait for the Viking to attack. He launched in with a series of jabs and uppercuts, then, before the red-head had a chance to react, hit him with a jab in the back of the ribs. The hits connected. The Viking yelped, falling to his knees and from there onto his front.

James moved a few steps back, making space for the referee, who started the count almost immediately. Moments later, James was proclaimed the winner of the fight.

Even as the crowd surrounded him, James looked straight at her. Their gazes locked for an instant, then James spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor and stalked off.

7

* * *

James

He showered quickly, careful not to touch his face. The adrenaline the cutman had used during the fight had temporarily stopped the bleeding over his eye, but the cut was too deep to just leave it to close on its own.

Shit.

He hoped Moore knew someone who could get it stitched for him—without giving him an infection in the process.

He dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, reminding himself that it could have been worse—he could have been nursing a broken rib, as he was pretty sure his opponent was doing at this exact second.

He looked at himself in the mirror. On the surface, he looked calm and collected, but inside, even now, half an hour after the fight, he was still vibrating with exertion, adrenaline—and anger.

What the fuck was Lorraine thinking, sending Susan here?

This changes everything.