Then Ghost was there, appearing from nowhere, and his hand landed on the drunk’s wrist. Just a light pressure, but the message was clear: move, or get moved.
The man looked from Ghost’s face to his hand, then back. He let go, held up his hands, and melted into the crowd.
“I had it handled,” Naomi said, rubbing her arm.
“Yeah, well, didn’t want to clean up a murder,” Ghost replied.
She tried to laugh, but it came out all jagged. “I can handle myself.”
“I know,” he said, and she almost believed it.
They stood there for a second, traffic parting around them, the electric glow painting both their faces strange colors. Naomi realized his hand was still close, not quite touching but not withdrawn. She wondered if he even noticed.
“Anything useful from the manager?” he asked.
She quickly filled him in. The truck, the footage, the missing second.
Ghost’s face didn’t change, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Who has access to the security server?”
“Maybe a dozen people,” she said. “But the sheriff’s office already reviewed it and didn’t say a word about the gap.”
He let out a breath. “Not a surprise.”
She rubbed at the ache in her arm where the drunk had grabbed her. Ghost’s gaze dropped to the mark, then flicked back to her face. He looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.
“You want to keep at it, or call it?” he asked instead.
“Keep at it,” she answered instantly. “Always.”
His eyes crinkled, just at the corners. “Thought so.”
They started for the exit, walking side by side. Ghost didn’t say anything else, but as they passed the last row of slots, his hand hovered near her back—never quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat of it.
She hated how much she liked that.
They made it as far as the front lobby before a voice called out a little too loudly: “Nomi, is that you?”
She bit back a groan. Julius. Her cousin, the family’s self-appointed agent of chaos, was standing at the roulette table, a stack of chips in one hand and a whiskey tumbler in the other. He looked almost respectable—dark shirt, crisp jeans, short black hair swept back with a little too much product—but the grin was pure trouble.
Naomi pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jules. Please tell me you’re not gambling again.”
Julius laughed, a deep, rolling sound that drew stares from half the females in the room. He always had that effect on women. “Business, not pleasure, cuz.”
She didn’t bother pointing out that there was no version of reality where wildlife officers needed to meet at a casino. He’d have an excuse. He always did.
“Yeah, I’ll tell Grandma Ava you’re working hard.”
“Aw, come on.” Julius scooped his chips off the table and swaggered over, arm already extended for a hug. “She loves me. And so do you.”
“I love you like a horse loves a fly,” Naomi said, but she didn’t dodge the hug. He squeezed her tight, smelling like Old Spice and too much alcohol, then released her with a theatrical sigh.
“You know, a call would’ve been nice. I had to hear you were home through the Solace rumor mill.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. It was…” She trailed off. Even if she could put into words the desperate need to escape her old life, how it was slowly suffocating her, now was not the time or place to do so. So she settled on, “It was a last-minute decision.”
“Hey.” His tone softened, and he cupped her face in his free hand, waiting until she tilted her head up to meet his gaze. A frown marred his handsome face. “You okay, Rabbit?”
She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. “I’m fine.”
