“Would you follow me?”
I gripped the counter. His voice had a pull to it I didn’t trust myself with—low and certain, the kind that made you want to stop thinking. He stood so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his left side, a touch without contact that was somehow worse.
“Is something wrong?”
“Nothing's wrong.” His arm brushed past me as he reached for my check. “Let me take care of that, and we can go for a walk. Have you seen the Quadrangle courtyard? It’s pretty impressive at night.”
Every instinct I had trained for was telling me to de-escalate, create distance, and maintain control of the situation. I reached for the check.
“You don’t have to do that.”
He’d already scribbled something on it and handed it to Elizabeth.
“You have a great night.” She glanced at the check, and her smile widened at the generous tip. Patrick had exited and waited for me.
Should I signal to her that I might be in trouble? Would she even care? She worked for them after all. Instead, I stood. My field training prepared me for these situations.
Patrick had one eye on me and the other on his phone. Maybe he knew who I was. I imagine he knew everything about everyone who stepped foot in his hotel. Especially former law enforcement.
Maybe I should come clean first. Like when I was a child, confessing to being bad before getting caught. It would lessen the punishment.
I rolled my eyes at myself.
There was no confession needed. He didn’t know my intentions here, and I had done nothing wrong, unless speaking with the boss’s girlfriend was fundamentally wrong. It wouldn’t hold up in a court of law. But if Kyler and the Grants were who I thought they were, legal precedent was irrelevant. It was the judicial system of the Quadrangle I should be worried about.
I stepped in front of him, placing my purse strap over my head. I clung to it like a lifeline and waited.
“Right this way.” He stepped to the side and motioned toward the underground pathway. We walked next to each other in silence. We were still in the thick of the crowd, but people peeled away as we moved through them, closing back in behind us. Patrick Carmichael parted them like a prophet. Which made me what, exactly—a lamb being led to slaughter? I almost laughed at myself for that. Some other time, some other place, I might not have minded following his lead.
He stopped short, and my nose caught his shoulder. “Oh.” I rubbed it.
“I’m sorry.” He frowned. “We’re cutting across here to get outside.”
“No, it was my fault.” I gripped my purse strap again. “I was distracted.”
“By what?”
It was my turn to be confused. What wasn’t a distraction? His massive forearms sprinkled with the finest blond hair, or his black t-shirt stretching the armholes on his shirt were two that came to mind. Did they not have a larger size? Or was it I had finally made contact with the guy that would finally get me closer to the main guy?
We stood still, people moving around us. I realized he was waiting for an answer.
“Oh, I’m fine.” I pointed as if I knew where we were going. “Outside, right?” I spotted a set of stairs leading to a landing with automatic glass doors. Patrick remained behind and to my left. We stepped out into the night air. It was January in Vegas, but it was unseasonably warm. A perfect square, the courtyard had patches of greenery all around. The buildings towered over the vast open space on three sides. The fourth side, much shorter than the other structures, created a strange illusion, as if the other buildings might break in half and close the lid on the ominous outdoor area. Near the center sat a steel-black structure shaped like an industrial sculpture of a gazebo with railings climbing to the sky and then bending to connect in the center. Patrick stepped up and helped me up. His warm palm engulfed my hand. His touch was gentle for such a big man. Well, bigger than me, I was only five foot five. Still taller than Rayna and Tinley, but short in most circles.
“Have a seat.” He motioned toward a bench made from the same metal. The whole bench looked as if it had been forged by fire and then bent into an L shape. He sat on the other leg, whichbrought us close together. He rested his arms on his knees and rubbed his hands together.
I looked up at the sky. I guess there were worse places to be interrogated.
“Kylie Stands.” His voice was quiet, but no less commanding. “What are you doing in my hotel?”
“I’m a?— “
“Before you answer.” He held up a hand. “You are not in any trouble yet. But if you lie to me, that could change.” He sat back and stared down at me.
I should have felt like a criminal. I didn’t, though. That was the problem.
“You know who I am?”
“FBI analyst out of New York.” He nodded. “You worked with Agent Stanley on the task force. You quit a few weeks ago, and now you are skulking around my hotel, talking to my staff about Kyler and his family. Showing up in places where Rayna and Tinley might be.”
