The phone flew to her ear. “Lee, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Val.” Liam stifled a yawn. “Sorry. I just saw the time.”
“What’s wrong?” Val demanded.
Liam chuckled. “Calm your ass, Val. Everything’s okay, I promise.”
Val sagged onto her seat. “Shit, dude. You nearly gave me heart failure.”
“Sorry. Did I wake you?” Liam asked.
“Nope. I was working in the smithy. Working on a project you’ll love,” Val told him. “What about you? Why are you still up?”
“Okay, I had a little trouble sleeping,” Liam admitted, “so I thought I’d keep working on that little favor you asked me about.”
Val stiffened. “You hacked into BrewCorp?” Her words echoed around the smithy, and the dog barked.
“‘Hacked’ is a strong word.” Liam paused. “Yeah, I hacked into BrewCorp’s system, which was unbelievably easy. Their security is crap for the most part, as you’d expect from an ordinary brewing company.”
“You didn’t find anything?” Val sagged.
“For the most part,” Liam stressed. “I was combing through their financials when I came across several heavily encrypted files. They struck me as odd, considering that the rest of their security was shitty, so I went digging.”
“Could you get into them?” Val asked.
Liam chuckled. “It took me five hours, but yeah, I got in. I have great news for you.”
Val got up, energy coursing through her. She tucked the dog under one arm and marched up the steps. “Tell me.”
“I uncovered records that show that BrewCorp is much more than a simple brewery,” Liam explained.
“Uh-huh.” Val dropped the dog and strode to the kitchen.
“Val, it’s a legitimate business, but it’s also a money-laundering operation. They’re cleaning money for…guess who?” Liam’s voice bubbled.
Val stopped. “The gang. The one that’s attacking Blair and Yuka.”
“Exactly!” Liam crowed. “The figures are all here. I downloaded the files. I can take it to the cops in the morning. I’m not sure what the legalities are, but it’s irrefutable proof.”
Val paused. “You could, but they’ll ask how you get it. You’ll get in trouble, Lee.”
“It’s worth it to protect people from those assholes. If they’re cleaning money for this gang, no wonder they’re so determined to keep their business flowing. They’re rolling in cash, and people will ask questions if their sales don’t match their income,” Liam pointed out. “If the cops suspect that BrewCorp is involved with the gang, they could take down the company and a good chunk of organized crime.”
“This was never about beer sales,” Val realized. “It’s about maintaining the gang’s cover in BrewCorp.”
“Exactly, which means we’re not dealing with an asshole CEO worried about his bottom line. We’re dealing with organized crime members who’ll kill to protect their business from the police. I have to take this to the cops, Val. I know I’ll get in trouble, but somebody could get hurt, or worse, if I don’t.”
“Hold your horses, Mr. Nobility,” Val ordered. “I have a better idea.”
“I’d love to hear it,” Liam told her.
Val scooped dog food from a kibble bag into the dog’s bowl and smiled when he dove into it. “Give me a minute to work on it. It’ll have to wait.”
“Of course.” Liam laughed. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. You’re fighting in that big MMA match tomorrow.”
“Thanks to you,” Val told him.
“You’re going to kick ass, Val,” Liam assured her.
Val chuckled. “I’m only there to have a good time.”
Liam paused. “I wasn’t talking about the cage fight.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A strange flutter ran through Val’s belly as she strode down the quiet hall. She’d left Genevieve in a parking garage several blocks away. The streets in this part of Manhattan were so crowded that she couldn’t find anything closer. Dozens of fans cheered outside. Val had ducked past many cameras as she hurried to the building.
She wasn’t in Arkansas anymore, Doreen, or whatever the stupid saying was. Val lost patience with that silly movie when it turned speciesist toward Munchkins.
A fresh wave of nervousness stirred in her gut.
“What’s wrong with you, Val?” she hissed, heading toward the locker room. The crowd roared outside. “This isn’t a real fight. Why are you so stressed?”
Maybe she should have asked Liam to come. She wondered if they’d throw her out of the arena for not having a coach or even someone to mop her sweaty head and give her water. Her nervousness intensified as she ran a hand over her scalp, hoping that her undercut was stuck down well. Hair pulling wasn’t allowed in MMA—apparently, it fell into the same category as gouging eyes or throwing people through the cage—but things could happen by accident.
A vision of her wig flying off on live TV made her feel sick.
“There she is! That’s our girl!”
