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everything,” Dylan said, sitting on the corner of her desk.
    She ran a hand over her hair and wiped her tired eyes. She had been up long after midnight the night before searching online for fight footage of the Hardy-Consuelos fight, but every uploaded video to the MMA sites and YouTube had been removed by Xtreme Fight. Obviously, this was one bout the organization wanted to forget about and keep hidden. So, instead, she’d googled Dane’s previous fights. She didn’t know as much about MMA as she did Karate, but she’d been around the sport enough to know a fighter was usually better in one style. Dane was a straight boxer—ending most fights in the second round by knockouts with his fists, not his feet. In more than twenty-six fights, she hadn’t seen him throw a kick once. Not once. So why that night?
That
fight?
    Unable to sleep, she’d then watched Consuelos’s fights, but hadn’t learned much more about him. So, she’d arrived early that morning to review tapes of the fighter interviews in the Knock Out Sports archives to see if she could find any of him, but she’d found nothing. There also had been none of Dane. Only one interview of value with Tyson Reed, Dane’s former trainer from Punisher Athletics, where he expressed his sympathy for the Consuelos family and stated that the gym was standing behind its fighter. Short, sweet, and not at all helpful.
    But then, as she was about to quit reviewing tapes, she’d found the one that could propel her story forward. A tape of Rico “The Bulldog” Mendez—a ten-year veteran in the sport, who’d won the championship title in two different weightclasses. The interview with him from only the month before announced his plans to retire and his desire to avenge the one battle he’d lost—against Dane Hardy. She still wasn’t sure how to make the story work . . . which was why she’d been resting her eyes. “I was here early,” she mumbled.
    â€œDoing a story on MMA?” he asked, nodding toward her notes on the desk.
    She quickly stashed them. “Did you want something?”
    He stood. “Just wanted to let you know I can take the lead on today’s show . . . I know how you feel about heights,” he said, handing her the schedule.
    â€œRock climbing?” She suppressed a groan when she saw the location for the shoot. Red Rock Canyon. Seriously? Not even an indoor center, but a real freaking mountain.
    â€œYeah, but like I said, don’t sweat it. I got this one. You can keep your feet firmly on the ground.” He grinned.
    Like hell she could. Keeping her feet firmly on the ground also meant keeping her butt permanently in this uncomfortable, squeaky chair in her tiny cubicle. No thanks. She couldn’t let Dylan get even the slightest edge on her. “You know, I’m suddenly feeling cured of my fear of heights. What time do we leave?”
    He smiled. “Love the competitive spirit, Edwards.” He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek that had gotten stuck to the dried drool near her mouth. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re unconscious with your mouth hanging open . . .”
    She swiped his hand away, gathering her things. She wanted to see Ari before they left for the day—get his thoughts on the story angle that was forming in her mind. “I’ll meet you at the van in twenty minutes.”
    â€œBe ready for a challenge,” he said as he walked away.
    Oh, she was ready.
    Five minutes and a quick refreshing in the bathroom later, she tapped on Ari’s office door.
    He didn’t glance her way as he waved for her to come in.
    â€œHi . . . Ari, do you have a sec?”
    â€œMaybe half of one,” he said distractedly.
    â€œI’ll talk quick. I wanted to let you know I took your advice and went after my own story.”
    â€œGreat. Write it and