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half naked around a cage eight times, all the while praying she wouldn’t wipe out and fall into the front row—where the scary-looking men were almost preferable to their glaring girlfriends—would have been the least horrible part of the night?
    She knew she should have driven her car instead of relying on public transit, but she hadn’t wanted to park her vehicle in the shady neighborhood. But only to miss the bus and have her purse stolen? Well, universe, I hear you loud and clear. Fuck off now.
    She sighed as she buckled her seat belt.
    â€œYou okay?” the guy, whose name she’d yet to learn, asked as he pulled away from the curb.
    â€œLet’s just say getting my purse stolen was the icing on a really shitty cake.”
    He nodded. “Been eating a lot of those cakes lately myself.” He shoulder-checked and switched lanes to make the right toward the hospital. “Anything of value in the purse?”
    â€œJust everything I need to survive. House keys, money, driver’s . . .” She stopped and a relieved laugh escaped her. “That’s not true.” She reached inside her T-shirt and the guy quickly averted his eyes.
    Points for her mystery late-night encounter, she thought as she retrieved her driver’s license, her cash, and her credit card from the Xtreme Fight halter top beneath her T-shirt. Thank God for Lucy and Ella. Those ring girls had helped keep her ass covered all night and now apparently they’d saved it. “Thank God,” she said, clutching her items tight. She smiled. “Well, looks like only my house keys.”
    â€œSo, where did you learn to defend yourself like that?”
    â€œI grew up with two brothers and I studied martial arts for a few years.” She wasn’t about to reveal exactly how tough she was, in case he did turn out to be someone she had to defend herself against.
    â€œWell, I have to admit you shocked the hell out of me.”
    â€œI think after the day I’ve had, I seriously just needed to take my aggression out,” she said with a laugh, feeling the stress of the day fade slightly. “I almost feel bad for injuring the guy.”
    His expression clouded slightly and she wasn’t sure what she’d said, but the mood inside the truck changed slightly. He was quiet as he drove the next two blocks to the hospital, and she took the opportunity to study him. He was a great-looking guy, despite a slightly slanted nose and a scar along his forehead, above his eyebrow. Obviously permanent reminders of one too many shots to the face. He was wearing a T-shirt with The Vault’s logo, which would explain his need to do battle, and his eyes looked tired as they stared ahead through the windshield. If he felt her gaze on him, he didn’t acknowledge it.
    When he stopped in front of the nonemergency entrance, she unbuckled her seat belt, then remembered she still hadn’t asked his name. “I’m Colby, by the way,” she said.
    â€œDane Hardy,” he said, glancing at her briefly.
    She blinked. Dane Hardy? As in the Maximum Fight League middleweight fighter who’d killed a guy in the octagon with a head-kick the year before?
That
Dane Hardy? He’d completely disappeared from the MMA world after. Her heart raced. Here was the story she’d put herself through extreme embarrassment and a night of hell to get.
    â€œYou okay?” he asked when she sat there staring at him.
    â€œOh . . . yeah . . . Um . . .”
    â€œGood night,” he said tightly, reaching past her to open her door.
    That was subtle. “Yeah, thanks again for the ride . . . Dane,” she said, climbing down from the truck, fighting every last instinct to start asking the million questions lining up in her reporter mind. She hesitated for a second, wondering if she should say something . . . but something in his hard, guarded