Page 63 of High Reward

“I’ve got a hacker name. And I’ve got a contact who can probably tell me their real identity in under twelve hours. More like my baby girl has a contact, but whatever.”

“Tell Lance and Marissa hi for me,” Tyson teases. “And tell Olivia we miss her.”

I’m grateful for Tyson’s contacts, but there isn’t time for all this playing around. I stalk out of the room and bump into Grace.

“You look stressed,” she says, placing a hand on my chest.

I cover her palm with mine and bend down to kiss her. “That’s an understatement. Are you OK, butterfly?”

She blows out a long breath. “I think so. Is there really a bomb in Sabrina’s car?”

I cup her cheek and drag a thumb along the rigid bone structure. “It sounds like it. But Tyson and a friend of his were able to disarm it. We’ve got people at the gas station looking for whoever this could be. They sent a second text and referred to you as Gracie.”

“That means it’s someone who knows me as Gracie, knows my favorite flowers, and has some tech skills. It can’t be that long of a list.”

I cringe inside, for keeping what I know from her. It’s a short list. One name, in fact. But I’m not ready to put this on her plate yet, so I kiss her again and change the subject. “What are you doing right now?”

“I was heading to check on Lili. The doctor says she should try and eat something if she’s awake.”

I pull her close. “You should as well. Something tells me you haven’t eaten tonight. And you should get some sleep if you can.”

“Zara fed me a couple of hours ago when she came to the house.”

I kiss the top of her head. “Good. Then feed Lili and try to get a nap. But before you do that, try to think of some names that we can start running down.”

“Will you come lie down with us if you get the chance?”

I was planning to just catch a nap in my office, but the thought of curling up with Grace and Lili is far too appealing. “If things calm down.”

“I love you, Victor.”

“I love you, Grace. And we’re going to keep you safe.” My first order of business will be tracking down Kara Lindon. Owen has too much on his plate, and I’m not completely useless when it comes to finding people. Whether she has tech skills or not, we’ve already determined that Kara is pissed at Grace, and is likely sending the flowers, and her and her husband called her Gracie because everyone did back then. Sampson even pulled out the high school bully nickname a few times and called her Spacey Gracie, which made me want to punch him. It’s no wonder Grace rarely let me see her when she was with them.

“That’s a very stern expression,” Grace teases as she backs away from me.

“Just a lot on my mind, sweetheart. Let me know if Lili needs anything.”

“I’ll let someone else know, or I’ll handle it myself. You’re busy.”

My eyes narrow, and I reach forward and grip her wrist, pulling her toward me. When she’s standing toe-to-toe with me, I tuck a finger under her chin. “Let me know if Lili needs anything, Mariposa. That’s an order.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Just kisses my cheek and heads for the suites and mutters, “yes, Sir.” I’m tempted to follow and put her over my knee just to work out some of myfrustration, but she’s been through just as much as I have, so I refrain. Perhaps later, when I’ve had the chance to double-check that she’s OK and not just faking it for my sake.

In my office, I pull up a browser and start by looking for Kara’s social media. Owen may have gotten to her social media by now, but he was mired in bank accounts and travel itineraries last time we talked about his progress.

It takes me less than two minutes to find her TikTok account. I scroll through videos from the last three weeks. Nothing leaps out as suspicious at first. But a video of her on a dance floor makes me pause. I check the caption and swear. “Motherfucker.”

Kara Lindon was at the club where Grace’s car broke down the night before I met Lili. And last night, she was at another nightclub on the strip. I scroll through video after video. It appears as though she either moved to Las Vegas or visited frequently enough in the last six months that it looks like she lives here now.

I snap a picture of her profile picture—there’s no way I put the TikTok app on my phone—and race down the hall to Harper’s suite, intent on finding out if the girl recognizes Kara.

I burst in without announcing myself and curse. Harper lay passed out in the fucking floor, vomit matted in her hair and on her face. Some of it’s dried. I have no fucking clue how long she’s been like this.

“Goddamn it, Harper. What did you do?” I crouch down and check for a pulse. It’s weak but there. I race back to Owen’s play space for Amarjit.

“Doc. I need you now.”

She doesn’t hesitate when she sees my face, and races after me, her medical bag in hand.