Bernie perched his skinny ass on the corner of his desk, watching Kovacs through the doorway. He had not invited the redhead inside his office. The gym owner took a healthy swallow of that protein crap he liked to drink.

"I don't want you hanging around that guy, Nik."

Nikki scowled and crossed her arms. "Ok, Dad."

Bernie rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Look, kid, your dad would want me to keep you away from that guy."

"So he's a bum," she shrugged. "He's a really good boxer. I asked him to help me train for my fight in June."

"Nikki, I've known Kovacs a long time, and I'm telling you: there is something not right about that man." He indicated Kovacs with his head.

Nikki turned her head. The southpaw was lacing his shoes up. Crap. She burst out of Bernie's office and hurried over to sit on the bench beside Kovacs.

"Hey, red, you didn't give me an answer."

"Think you got it," he grunted, flicking his head toward Bernie without looking up.

Nikki waved her hands in the air dismissively. "Forget him. Talk to me."

Kovacs straightened up and stared down at his hands.

"This chick I'm fighting is good. She's explosive, she boxes clever. If I could train with a southpaw, someone who has your skills..."

Eyes like polished steel swung toward her. His face was expressionless, and yet it seemed to mock her.

"Or maybe the end is too nigh to make any commitments?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.

The mask regarded her coldly, then faced forward. He began to rise.

"Chick knocked me out in my last fight," Nikki blurted. "Out. Like, telling-the-ref-the-president-is-Thursday out."

The redhead evinced no sign of comprehension, but put his bottom back in contact with the bench. He seemed to be listening, anyway.

"I need to bring my A game to this next fight. I am not eating mat again." She clenched her fists around the edge of the bench.

Kovacs sniffed. "It's your head you need to work on, then. Not your body. No amount of sparring, southpaw or no, can fix your mental game."

Nikki cocked her head at him. "But you know what can?"

He pursed his lips.

"Look, red." Nikki scratched her forehead. "Is there some way we can work something out?"

"Don't give up, do you?" He turned to her again, but this time the shadow of a wry smile lit his face.

She grinned. "Death before dishonor."

The redhead looked at her oddly, then rubbed his knees. "She any good?" he called to Bernie, who was leaning in the doorframe of his office, observing their negotiations. "Hard worker?"

Bernie shrugged and wandered over to them. "She gets frustrated easily."

Kovacs snorted. No surprise there.

"But," Bernie added, looking at Nikki, "there's no reason she shouldn't win this fight. And lots more after that."

The redhead stood.

Nikki waited expectantly.

"What's your usual practice schedule?" Kovacs asked.

Hope stretched its wings in her belly. "I'm in the gym Monday, Wednesday, Saturday. I go running on off days."

"What's today?"

"Monday," she answered, giggling.

Bernie raised his eyebrows at her. I told you he's a weirdo.

Kovacs squinted up at something near the ceiling. "See you Wednesday, then."

Nikki's eyes lit up. "Seriously? No joke?"

The southpaw sighed. "Yep."

She curled forward, drumming her feet excitedly on the floor. "Omigod, yes! That is so rad!"

Bernie was glaring at the redhead.

With an ironic glance, Kovacs saluted the gym owner and walked out.