“Pop can arrange for you to fight later in the day. He has a friend here in Ulaanbaatar who is a doctor. I will go find him.” And with that, Chudruk left. I grinned. He knew me so well.

“No!” Veronica shouted. “He’s concussed! He could have brain damage.”

I shook my head, which, by the way, hurt considerably. “This is a grappling sport. There won’t be any more injury to my head. I can’t let everyone down.”

To my astonishment, Chudruk reentered the ger with a tall man in a red deel, carrying a satchel. How did he do that so quickly? Maybe I was really messed up to the point that hours had actually passed instead of minutes?

We were all quiet while he examined me. Dr. Baatar asked me the usual questions to determine my level of confusion. He looked at my pupils and inquired about the pain. When he finished, he closed up his bag.

“You seem to be all right. But I worry about that headache,” he said in perfect English. “Other than that, you have no symptoms of vomiting, confusion or memory loss. Your pupils are not dilated.” The doctor tapped his head. “But if the headache gets worse, no wrestling.”

I watched as Yalta slapped him on the back and Chudruk walked him out. Ronnie was staring holes into me. That was one thing about relationships I did not miss: having another’s will imposed on me.

“My friend.” Sansar-Huu sat down beside me. “Are you certain of this?”

“It is not necessary for you to fight,” Chudruk added. I hadn’t even noticed he’d come back.

“Guys, look. I’m fine. I’m going to participate,” I insisted. To my left, I could feel Veronica’s eyes go into laser-beam mode.

Yalta nodded and left, as did everyone but Veronica.

“You cannot wrestle,” she said once everyone had cleared the tent.

I reached around and gingerly touched the back of my head. It was tender, but the bleeding had stopped. The dried blood would have to be rinsed out before I fought. I didn’t want my opponent to know I’d been injured. Fortunately, the doctor had not wrapped my head.

“I said,” Ronnie repeated, “you are not going to wrestle.”

“I heard you.”

She sighed. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

I turned to her. “Look, has it even occurred to you to wonder who hit me and why?”

That stopped her short. “Is that even important at this point? Is that why you are doing this? To show whoever it was that he didn’t stop you?” Veronica threw her hands up in the air. “This is about pride?”

“Actually, no. I’m not that shallow. This is about the fact that I worked very hard to do this. It’s not even about winning. It is about following through.”

Her hands came to rest on her hips. “So it is about pride.”

“No. It isn’t. And don’t tell me what to do.”

“So you’re like a child who does it because the parent says not to do it.”

I cocked my head to the side. “You think of yourself as my parent? That’s kinky. Especially for you.”

“Uh, no. I don’t. I just think you are being unreasonable and immature.” Her voice took on a dangerous timbre.

“Or maybe I’m being responsible.” I rose to my feet. Daylight was sparking under the doorway, and I needed to get back to my cot to rest. It took all of my strength to stride nonchalantly to the door.

Unfortunately, Veronica followed. “You are just plain stubborn. What is it with men?”

Her questions came and went unanswered as I concentrated on walking casually to my tent. Whoever had hit me, for whatever reason, might be watching. And yes, my stubborn pride wanted them to think I was just fine.

I opened the door to the ger and slammed it behind me in Ronnie’s face. It was rude, but I needed some peace and quiet. The boys were gone, probably too excited about the festivities.

Ronnie didn’t take the hint and entered the tent.

“Don’t shut me out, Cy, just because I tell you something you don’t want to hear.”

I lay down on my cot and closed my eyes.

“Don’t lie down! Aren’t you supposed to stay awake with a concussion?”

“Veronica,” I said through gritted teeth, “my head hurts, so I doubt I will get any sleep. I just need some time to concentrate on my training. I don’t mean to be rude, but will you please leave me alone?”

The hostility in the air crackled expectantly. I wondered if Ronnie was the violent type who would hurl something at me. Instead, I just heard footsteps, then the banging of the door behind her.

I should’ve been focusing on my techniques and working out how I was going to fight with my balance off. Okay, so I had lied to everyone about how badly I was hurt. And yes, I was a stubborn bastard. The vanity of men…I’ve considered it personally and academically throughout my life. Well, at least I’d just given Veronica Gale, Ph.D. candidate, more material for her thesis.

This was exactly why I wanted to remain single. A relationship with a woman meant having someone around to tell me I was too weak or old or sick to do something I wanted to do. I liked danger. And a woman would try to talk me out of it. It was exhausting to think about.

What was I thinking, anyway? Getting involved with Veronica like that? It interfered with the basic tenet of my philosophy-freedom. The only female I was beholden to was an eleven-inch-long rodent who was dependent upon me for her needs. Sartre never criticized me. Okay, maybe I could tell the difference between her general noises and her unmistakable sarcasm. But she never held me back. Never pigeonholed me. Never, ever told me what I could not do.

Here I was, a free thirty-eight-year-old man. Sure, I had my Bombay job. But that allowed me freedom too. Freedom from a desk job and other responsibilities. And it paid very, very well. For the most part, I could come and go whenever I wanted to. I traveled the world to follow my interests on the slightest whim.

What the hell was I thinking, getting involved with Ronnie? A naive professional student with no tolerance for violence or the things I found interesting? What was I going to do when this was over? Move her into my trailer? Take her with me from carnival to carnival? The woman had goals! She probably wanted some professorship somewhere quiet and safe! I’d tried that once. It didn’t work for me.

So who was going to win here? No one. One of us would have to give up what we loved. It was against everything I believed in to do that. And I would hate myself if she compromised her dreams for me. Even though I was lying down, my head began to throb even more.

And what about my job as an assassin? There was no way in hell Veronica would ever be able to accept that. How could I tell her that I killed people for a living? I suspected that even though I only killed really bad people, she would still have a major problem with that. My very nature was in direct conflict with every cell in her sweet little body.

There was no hope for marriage. The council gave everyone in the Bombay family until the next family reunion to let their spouse know about their job. Even if I timed it just so and had five years (the time between reunions), I would never have the courage to tell her. And that would spell her death sentence. The Bombays were pretty black-and-white about spousal acceptance.

Damn. I really screwed up this time.