LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 6

      Because Jon had a smart mouth, growing up he got his ass kicked—a lot. Then one day, a cousin told him to bulk up or shut up. If some kids found camaraderie and guidance at a local Y, Jon found the same in a dank basement gym in New Jersey where he started lifting weights. At fourteen, when he left his mother to live with his father, an airman then stationed in Germany, he was taller than most kids and all lean muscle.

      A year later, his father transferred to the UK. There Jon followed some older kids to an off-base boxing club where he practiced sparring, mastered drills and generally kept out of trouble. The first time he entered a ring at sixteen, he was a mere featherweight. By the time he returned stateside to attend college at Syracuse, he’d gained muscle and weighed in as a middleweight. He’d won a few fights and earned a scholarship from an intercollegiate boxing association that put a dent in his tuition.

      Boxing had shaped his life in ways others couldn’t appreciate. His parents had mixed reactions to his newfound passion. His mother was repulsed by it. His father admired it. But they misunderstood it. Boxing hadn’t made him a fighter, as his mother feared. It had taught him restraint and self-control. Once word got out that he packed a mean punch, he didn’t get into random fights anymore. Kids stopped provoking him. And he could knock their lights out with one right hook, but why would he? It wasn’t about showing off. It was about showing skill.

      So it made sense that when Jon left Sofia that night, he headed straight to the boxing club to work it all out. The converted warehouse located blocks from the Design District was light years away from the District’s freshly painted glamour. The street was dark, pothole ridden and lined with small businesses so precarious they could fold at any time. It seemed that every other shop was holding a going-out-of-business sale. With no signs or markings to call attention to it, the club would have blended nicely with the neighborhood if not for the heavily guarded parking lot filled with sport cars and SUVs. Jon let himself in with a key card, changed in the locker room and headed out to the floor.

      Grunting. Slapping. Moaning. Shouts. A few regulars were going at it on the mat. A woman was attacking a heavy bag. An instructor was running a class in the back of the room. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, up! Good! Now eight more!” Jon slipped on his headphones and silenced his world. He grabbed a rope and started skipping at a slow pace then at whip speed.

      Sofia had to be the most gorgeous liar he’d ever met. He didn’t know what she was hiding, but he’d find out. You couldn’t succeed in his line of work without the ability to smell deceit. That so-called fiancé of hers...he was calling bullshit. She’d hesitated to mention him. Never once said “we” like his engaged friends did. That was slim evidence, but enough to open an investigation.

      A tall blond came to stand right in his field of vision—not the kind of blond that he went for. Andrew Fordham looked disheveled, his tie loose around his neck and his suit jacket crumpled in his hand. He pointed to Jon.

      “Lose the headphones. Meet you in the ring in five.”

      * * *

      To a newcomer, Jon and Andrew would not seem evenly matched. Slim and fair, Drew didn’t look like much of a threat, but he was lightning fast and landed his punches with accuracy. But Jon’s bulk didn’t ever slow him down. They danced, circling each other, falling into a rhythm.

      “Did you hear?” Drew asked.

      Jon ducked, narrowly avoiding his jab. “Hear what?”

      “They got Taylor Benson.”

      Jon had heard. He’d watched the news over breakfast yesterday. The Florida Department of Revenue had announced the arrest of a former pop star turned Miami Beach nightclub owner. Taylor Benson had allegedly failed to turn over to the state one hundred grand in sales taxes collected at his two thriving nightclubs. Drew would be prosecuting the case. Naturally, Jon congratulated his friend before taunting him.

      Drew struck, his glove skimming Jon’s chin. “Benson is going away for a long time.”

      Jon went in for the attack, but Drew adroitly ducked away.

      “Sounds personal,” Jon said. “Let me guess. You got kicked out of one of his clubs?”

      “I’m wiping out corruption.” Drew circled him. “What have you done this week?”

      “I met a woman.” Jon hadn’t realized it but he’d stopped moving. He stepped back and leaned against the ropes. “I really like her.”

      “Damn it! You always win!” Drew cried. “Who is she? Anyone I know?”

      “I can’t disclose that information. Not yet.”

      Drew let out a low whistle. “That’s serious!”

      From the floor, one of the trainers shouted at them. “Hey! If you two sweethearts don’t get moving, I’m gonna ask you to step out of the ring.”

      “You heard the man,” Drew said. “Get off your ass. Let’s go.”

      Jon pushed off the ropes and landed his first punch.