“Great job,” my opponent growled in English at my feet.

I offered my hand to help him up. He grabbed it and pulled himself to his feet. My competitor wasn’t Mongolian. Instead, I was staring into the face of Arje Dekker…my assignment.

“Don’t see many Europeans here,” he said as his eyes crinkled into a smile.

“I’m American,” I said smoothly, hiding my shock behind a warm grin.

“Well, you kicked my ass,” Arje answered. “Hopefully, I can regain my dignity later.”

“Good luck with that,” I said as I started to turn away.

He didn’t answer, just chuckled as I walked toward my coach. I was in shock. Even though I knew my vic was in Mongolia, I didn’t think I’d see him until the national event. It never occurred to me that he would be here doing what I was doing.

Yalta and the boys clapped me on the back, and Chudruk joined us.

“You followed his technique!” Chudruk noted. “ Yalta is very happy with you.”

I nodded and tried to turn my attention back to the competition. In a few hours I would have to fight again. My brain was a hot mess, between Veronica and Dekker. Focus was looking like a pipe dream at that point.

Zerleg lost his match, but narrowly enough that his grandfather was very proud. Zolbin defeated his opponent easily, and I was once again starting to get caught up in the festive atmosphere. The naadam was going well for us. Too bad my professional and personal life sucked.

This was too much. I understood the idea of coincidence. But to have both Veronica and Dekker here? Maybe something else was going on. In the Bombay family, you knew that just about anything was possible. After all, I never did figure out how they got the assignment to me.

I pulled on my deel and joined the others, who were having tea about one hundred yards from the ring.

“Where’s Veronica?” I asked Odgerel. I don’t know why. I didn’t particularly want to speak to her.

Sansar-Huu’s wife pointed over her shoulder, and I looked but couldn’t see her. I stood chugging the hot tea and then wandered in that direction. Imagine my surprise when I spotted her talking to, of all people, Dekker. They seemed to be deep in conversation. This was bad. Dodging behind a ger (and feeling like an idiot for doing so), I tried to sort this out.

It made some sense to think they would spot each other. Caucasians tended to stand out here. If Veronica asked what he was doing at the competition, she’d have another guy like me to interview.

I peeked around the edge of the tent and saw that they were smiling. Damn. What if Dekker was hitting on her? What if Ronnie decided he would be better to hang out with than me? She didn’t know him. I didn’t know him either, but I had his number. Arje Dekker was one mean bastard.

I looked again and saw that they were gone. Shit. I walked over to where they had been talking, toeing the flattened grass where they had stood. I cursed Veronica for making me angry and for running off with a dangerous man she knew nothing about. Then I cursed myself for acting like a ten-year-old.

“There you are!” a male voice said behind me. I turned to find Vic and Ronnie standing there like old chums.

“You were looking for a rematch?” I asked casually.

“The two of you know each other?” Veronica asked.

Dekker nodded. “He tossed me to the ground like a rag doll earlier.” He stuck out his hand. “Arje Dekker.”

I shook it. It would look too strange if I didn’t. “Cy Bombay.”

“Ronnie tells me you are here for the same reason I am.”

Ronnie? He calls her Ronnie already? That’s my nickname for her!

“I figured that out when I helped you up earlier.” I forced a grin.

Something dark flashed in Arje’s eyes. I recognized it. I’d seen it many times before. People who didn’t have a conscience tended to look that way. I was grateful to see it. It reminded me who he really was.

“I thought it might be good to interview you to-gether.” Veronica held up her notebook as if that explained everything. “You might have some similar experiences.”

“Maybe later…” I mumbled.

“After your next fight then. Before we leave with the others,” she said firmly. At least I was happy to hear that she was still planning on staying with me.

“We’ll see.” I broke off and walked back to the others. I did not want to be around Dekker any more than I had to. The whole idea of being interviewed with that man was more than I could handle.

I thought of the look in Veronica’s eyes…like she’d just hit the jackpot. That was troubling. The fact that Dekker was in the country and would be around wasn’t the problem. The problem was Ronnie. She knew him now. When he died, she might even feel sorry for him. This was a complication I was not used to. Instead of just killing him, I’d have to find a way to make it look like something else. I’d done it before, but it was outside my comfort zone.

After rejoining Yalta and Zolbin, I decided to use my anger in the upcoming fight. The idea burned inside me like a white-hot brand. My energy started to rise and I pictured defeating Dekker over and over, using every trick Yalta had taught me. I knew I wouldn’t face him again-he’d lost his one chance. But pretending it would be that slime bag seemed to help. I could actually feel my aggression spiking.

My first chance at this contest was a lucky one. The next opponent would be much tougher, and I had to get it together. Forcing everything else from my thoughts, I concentrated on my upcoming match and allowed the bloodlust to take over my senses. I felt sorry for the poor guy who would get me. He might win, but he’d be missing body parts. And that felt a little satisfying.

Chapter Thirteen

“Whatcha doing?” asked a distinctly familiar voice into my right ear as I watched the following matches from the sidelines. I didn’t jump with surprise. Bombays don’t do that. But I was a little more than surprised to see my cousin Missi standing next to me.

“Hey, cuz,” I said. “What brings you to the farthest reaches of the planet? In the neighborhood and thought you’d say hi?”

She threw her arms around me with affection and I squeezed back. Truth be told, I wasn’t all that startled. The family had a way of popping up where you least expected them.

“Business,” she said. Missi was a bit older than me, with two teenage sons. She was cute with her short, messy hair and eyes that never missed a thing. She was the Bombay family’s inventor of weapons-something that had saved my ass on more than one occasion.

“Business, eh? So are you the one who slipped me the envelope?”

She shook her head distractedly. “No. Monty and Jack did it.” She craned her neck to the left. “You haven’t seen them, have you?”

Wow. There were a whole mess of white people in this little hamlet. That would be hard to explain to the locals.

“No.”

“What’s up with the panties?” she asked, turning her attention back to me.

“Uniform. They are supposed to make movement less restricted.”

“I see.” And actually, I think she did.

“Why are you here, Missi?” The question did beg to be answered.

She smiled at me and I laughed. Missi had this kooky sort of presence that made her incredibly lovable…like a deranged Muppet. Underestimating her, however, could be deadly. She once created a bicycle helmet fitted with a pneumatic bolt gun that pierced the brain of its victim, killing him on the first leg of the Tour de France. She managed to switch out helmets while acting like a concerned Good Samaritan. They never did figure that one out.

“Mom wanted you to have this.” Missi handed me a cell phone.