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As soon as I approached, though, I saw that the guy from the motel had moved too, damn it. There he stood, in a black button-down shirt, black slacks, and slicked-back hair, by the bar under the square chandelier, right where Anomaly was supposed to be.
For a supposedly brilliant person, it took me a really, really long time to figure out what this meant. Thirty seconds, at least.
“No,” I breathed. Tingling numbness crawled from my fingers up my arms. “No,” I said again, trying desperately to come up with a scenario that would explain the coincidence. Any scenario besides the one most likely.
Adam, Anomaly451, was Vince’s accomplice.
Linus A. Dixon.
“Kevin? Darling, is that you?”
My eyes snapped up to his face, now split with a wide, friendly smile. A messy combination of fear and anger strangled me. How dare he approach me like this? How dare he have approached me in the first place?
How dare he target me. Because that’s what it had to be, right? He’d never actually liked me. That was too easy. Now that I thought about it, the whole thing had been too easy. Why else would someone be interested in a random player in an online game? He’d come out of nowhere, chatting me up and flirting with me before ever even knowing I was gay, or what I liked, or anything else of substance greater than my superior ability to farm ensorcelled kumquats.
My feet were glued to the carpet, unsure whether to fight or flee.
I finally chose the third option: fake it.
“Hi!” I said, moving forward, even if it was as slowly as I could possibly move. If I approached slowly enough, maybe Hux would arrive and figure out how to handle this. “Adam?”
He nodded. “It’s so good to meet you.” He held out his arms like he was expecting a hug, but I held out a hand for a shake instead. It was clumsy and bumbling, but that was on-brand for me, and at least it kept me out of his embrace. He finally took my hand with a slight frown. His grip was strong and dry, which should have reminded me of Hux, but it didn’t.
Nothing about this man reminded me of Hux.
This was the guy who’d taken Quinn hostage. Who’d almost gotten him killed. Whose bosses had held Carter and Riggs prisoner. Who probably had freaking murderers on speed dial.
My Chi Omega self-defense classes seemed incredibly inadequate.
“Come, let me buy you a drink,” he said, turning toward the cash bar. “You look nervous.” His hand landed on my lower back, which made the hair stand up on my neck and arms. Where the heck was Hux?
“Not nervous, just overwhelmed by the excitement of being here. When—” My voice cracked, so I cleared my throat. “When did you arrive?”
“A couple of hours ago. I was hoping to have time for a quick shower, but getting a ride from the airport was a disaster. Maybe you can help me clean up later.” He winked before turning to the bartender.
Had he always been this smarmy? Oh, dear God, I was pretty sure he had, and I’d tried to convince myself it was charm. The thought literally nauseated me. I pressed a hand to my stomach, trying to keep the french fries I’d consumed at lunch from making a reappearance.
I craned my neck in hopes of finding Hux. Even though the convention center ballroom was packed with people, I felt alone and untethered.
“What room are you in?” he asked, handing me a cocktail I hadn’t asked for and taking a second one while handing the bartender some cash.
“Oh, ah… fourteen twenty-seven?” I said, making up a number out of thin air. “I think? This place is huge and a little confusing.” Okay, that wasn’t a lie, but I was hoping the dopey act would buy me some time.
“You haven’t been to Vegas before, have you?” He clucked his tongue. “Poor baby. Stick with me, and I’ll guide you.” He held his glass out to me as if wanting to clink it in cheers. “To new memories.”
I clinked my glass to cover the shudder running through me and then held the drink up to my lips. The sharp smell of strong alcohol hit the tender skin of my nostrils before the glass even reached my mouth. There was no way I was drinking whatever that was. My original plan had been to fake a sip, but at this strength, I feared a contact high.
“Mmm,” I said instead. “How was the flight from DC?”
Hux was right—I wasn’t trained in this. That was a stupid question.
But he hadn’t necessarily come from DC. I racked my brain to remember what we’d learned about the mystery man. This was the DEA tech guy, the hacker.
Our message history scrolled through my memory, flashing reminders about his questions on data storage and security. What kind of information had he been trying to get from me? What did he think I could do for him?
