I steadied her and strode for the door.

“Text or call me if you see anything that makes you worry. I don’t care what it is.”

“Okay,” she whispered, bringing a hand to her mouth.

“Tuesday, Elle. We’re going to figure shit out on Tuesday.”

I bobbed and weaved, ducking the right hook coming my way.

“Tell me you’re fucking with me,” Con grunted as I landed a punch to his ribs.

“Not fucking with you,” I said, keeping my voice low and shaking off the sweat that threatened to drip into my eyes from beneath my headgear. “I’m serious, man. I need you to be cool with this.”

He came at me again. Fuck, Con hit harder than he normally did during our sparring “demonstration” sessions. Probably because I’d just laid it out: I wanted Elle. I was going to have her. I just wanted to make sure Con had a heads-up.

“You think Van’s gonna be cool with you fucking her best friend?”

“I’m not fucking her—at least not yet. Wouldn’t do that without your blessing.”

Just the thought of how good it would be when I finally did had my dick jumping in my shorts. Not the time or place, buddy. The moment of distraction was all it took for Con to land a shot to my jaw. My head flew sideways, and I stumbled back into the ropes.

“That’s what you want? My blessing?” He was breathing hard, and I couldn’t tell if it was rage or adrenaline spurring him on. His hands were raised, but he didn’t strike again.

“Yeah. Your blessing. I respect what you’ve got with Van too much to cause you problems by screwing around with her best friend. Wouldn’t do that behind your back.”

Con dropped his hands for a beat, so I followed suit.

It was a mistake.

Quicker than I could react, his glove flashed upward and connected with my chin.

My head snapped back, and I bounced off the ropes again.

Raising my hands, I settled back into my defensive stance as I recovered.

“And that’s why you don’t drop your hands, boys¸” Con yelled to the kids on the far side of the ring. “There’s always someone looking to take advantage of your weak spot. So don’t have one.”

“You need to go another round to settle this shit?” Reggie’s rough voice asked from the corner of the ring. “Or can I get some of the kids in there so they can work on their skills?” Our head trainer wasn’t impressed with our demonstration.

I looked to Con.

He shook his head. “We’re good.” His eyes flicked back to me. “But this definitely needs discussing over a beer when we’re done here.”

Having two days in row with absolutely no plans seemed like an invitation for trouble to me, so I popped down to Dirty Dog on Sunday afternoon to see if Yve, the shop manager, could put me to work.

“Go get us some coffee, and then we’ll talk,” was her response. I’d done as I was told and crossed the street to hit the corner coffee shop. Returning with two steaming cups of her favorite chicory coffee, I’d set one on the counter and made myself useful, untangling a giant knot of vintage jewelry Yve had gotten at an estate sale for dirt cheap.

“What did this person do? Try to fuck this up beyond belief? Jeez.” The intricate tangle of chains took my mind off the night before.

“No idea, but see that pink pendant dangling there? It was too good to pass up, even though it’s going to be a nightmare to get to it.”

“I hope you’re right.” It was a cool looking piece of vintage costume jewelry, but I wasn’t sold on it being worth this giant pain in the ass.

“So, how’s Con’s brother treating you at the pawnshop?”

“Fine,” I mumbled, running into yet another snarl.

“You just can’t get enough of selling other people’s old shit, I guess,” Yve said, leaning against the counter and staring at the ball of jewelry.

“I guess you could say that.”

“You know it’s a long shot, right? Finding what you’re looking for?”

Yve was one of the few people who knew about my recent and obsessive search for the watch Dipshit had sold. She’d checked with dozens of her contacts to see if it had shown up in their recent buys, but she’d struck out so far.

“I know … but that place seems to have some luck, and it’s not like I could work here forever. How many times did you threaten to fire me?”

“Only because you’re a pain in my ass when it comes to rearranging all my favorite displays. If you’d just leave my shit the way I like it, we wouldn’t have a problem.”

I looked up from my task. “Awe, I love you, too, Yvie.”

“Don’t call me that,” Yve snapped. It was not her normal teasing tone; it was the harsh, serious one I didn’t hear out of her very often. And then I remembered. Shit.

“Sorry. I didn’t—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

We had enough issues between us to keep a dozen shrinks busy for a lifetime.

“If you still really need my help, I could talk to Lord about working only part-time at Chains,” I offered, feeling like I’d left Yve in a lurch.

She shook her head and used a pen to stab through the tape of another box of stuff from the estate sale. “It’s fine. I actually just hired a new kid. He’s cute as can be. Total hipster. Even his car is hipster-chic. A Karmann Ghia. I gotta figure the kid comes from money because most broke-ass college kids aren’t rolling up in a mint condition ’50s Volkswagen. So at least I know he won’t be stealing from me.”

Yve’s mention of stealing reminded me of Bree. “You heard about the girl they found? Just around the corner?”

The triumphant look on her face about finding a new ace employee died abruptly. “Yeah. I heard. Damn shame. Reminds you that no place is safe in this city. Makes me glad that you talked me into carrying.”

“I met her,” I blurted.

Yve’s eyes snapped up to mine. “Where the hell did you meet her?”

“She worked at Chains. She got fired, and that was part of the reason I got hired.”

“Convenient. Fucked up, but convenient.”

I tugged at another knot. “I guess. But still. Crazy, right?”

Yve yanked the cardboard flaps of the box open. One edge of the tape still held them together, and she jabbed the pen through it like she was stabbing a body.