Isaac went in first, his body swinging around, his foot snapping out and catching the other man in the side with a blow so vicious, she was willing to bet his target’s ancestors felt it in their graves.

It all happened so fast. The two fell into a rhythm of strikes and dodges, their muscle shirts quickly dampening around the neck and down the back, the buttery yellow lamplight making it seem as if they were fighting in a ring of fire. The contacts, when made, were the kind that sounded like gunshots, the hard, resonant impacts carrying over the churning, restless crowd. Blood flew—from the cut on Isaac’s head that was quickly reopened and then from a split in the opponent’s lip. Neither fighter seemed to care, but the kibitzers loved it sure as if they were vampires—

A hand on her ass whipped her head around.

Moving back sharply, she glared at the guy with the wandering palm. “I beg your pardon.”

He seemed momentarily surprised, and then his bouncing stare narrowed. “Hey . . . what you doing here?”

The question was posed as if he’d recognized her.

Then again, he could have been talking to Santa Claus and taking it seriously—his face was slick with sweat and half of it twitched like he had an electrical short in his cheek. He was obviously tweaking—and God knew she was an expert in making that diagnosis.

“Excuse me,” she said, walking away.

He followed. Just her luck, the one idiot in the place who was more interested in hitting on her than in the fight he’d come to see.

He grabbed her arm, pulling at her. “I know you—”

“Get your hand off me—”

“What’s your name—”

Grier snapped herself free. “None of your business.”

He jumped at her in the space between one heartbeat and the next: The three feet between them abruptly became three inches. “You’re wicked touchy. You think you’re better than me, bitch?”

Grier didn’t budge her body, but took the stun gun out and slipped the safety pin into the grip. Putting the weapon within striking distance of the front of his jeans, she bit out, “If you don’t get the hell away from me, I’m going to shoot six hundred and twenty-five thousand volts through your jewels. On three. One . . . two . . .”

Before she got to trigger time, he shuffled back and held quaky hands up. “I didn’t mean . . . I just thought I knew you. . . .”

As he wandered away, she kept the stun gun out and took a deep breath. Maybe she had met him during her searches for Daniel—but he was clearly out of his mind and she was in enough hot water already.

Refocusing on the ring, she looked up—

Just in time to see Isaac go down like a stone.