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18. Cole

She"s late.

But I refused to check my watch. Again.

Instead, I paced back and forth like a lion across the open-plan main floor of my penthouse.

Stopped.

Took in the night view of Vegas sprawled underneath my feet and bathed in neon light.

Reminded myself that I own this town.

Sunny thought she could slip away. That was because she hadn"t realized how thoroughly I"d already trapped her. I"d cut off all her escape routes.

So where the hell is she?

I gave in and checked the watch that I still kept on a 24-hour clock after my years in the military school for troubled teens my grandfather shipped me off to when I was sixteen. And Nora had reached the end of her rope with me.

00:03...after midnight and less than five minutes since the last check.

Dammit, why hadn"t she come crawling back to the penthouse yet?

Confirmation had come that she was denied entry to the hotel room she'd tried to secure behind my back. She"d been turned away at the Tourmaline and the rat-infested apartment building with the creepy landlord. I even made sure her best friend, Pru, was too occupied to take her call.

She had nowhere else to go.

So where the hell was she?

The memory of that moment with Rich Harrison sliced through me again.

They had met before. That much was obvious. But his wife had no idea who she was. He had to be thirty years older than her—at least. But this was Vegas. I"d seen wider age gaps.

Hell, just yesterday, I black-filed Levy with a bigger one. And Harrison wasn"t a portly lawyer with a bald spot. He was handsome, fit for his age, attractive, and amiable—the kind of guy who easily connected with anyone he met, no matter their background or side of the aisle. I could see someone as warm and approachable as Sunny being attracted to an older guy like that.

Is she with him now?

Had Harrison been the one she turned to when she found herself cornered at the end of my maze, with nowhere else to run but back to me?

My chest burned with visions of them meeting up at some hotel while his wife slept.

And I found myself checking my watch again, my right arm moving instinctively, without conscious awareness.

00:04.

Cursing under my breath, I retrieved the Lobo-only burner phone from the back pocket of the jeans I"d changed into after I arrived home—over two hours ago.

He answered on the first ring. Rap music blared in the background, along with the roar of a bloodthirsty crowd revved up on booze and who knew what else courtesy of Lobo"s dealers walking through the stands like concession vendors at a sports arena.

"Hey, I was just about to call y?—"

"I need information," I said before he could finish, pacing the floor again. "Anything you can dig up on Rich Harrison."

"The chairman of the board of commissioners?" I could almost see Lobo tilting his head in the way he did when questioning my motives.

The loud sounds abruptly cut out behind him, replaced by the signature hush of a room with no people. Lobo must have found somewhere quieter to talk—as you do when you think your longtime friend is attempting to roll a political figure.

"Dude"s a no-go. Can"t be bought. Believe me, I tried. Bob Anderson, though—he"s a friend, and there"s a couple of others on that board I wouldn"t mind turning out. Tell me what you want to do. If it"s more zoning shit, I can probably point you in the right direction?—"

I had to interrupt again. "No, it has to be Rich Harrison. I need to know exactly how he"s connected to Sunny."

"Sunny? Sunny Johnson? The chick I was just getting ready to call you about?"

"Yeah, that Sunny," I replied impatiently, but then it occurred to me to ask, "Wait, why were you going to call me about her?"

"Remember that fight I invited you to tonight—the one you said you wouldn"t be attending at the last minute?"

"Yeah..." I had to admit, it was in my Vegas DNA to enjoy watching two men beat each other bloody, and the illegal cage fights Lobo oversaw mostly for shits and giggles certainly delivered the entertainment. But my plan to hang out with him and smoke cigars while we watched a couple of no-holds-barred, after-midnight fights had been abandoned when I decided to pass that time with Sunny instead. In bed.

Just one of the many plans she"d disrupted in the less than forty-eight hours that had passed since she"d shown up in my office.

"She just walked into the arena," Lobo informed me, his permanently wry voice tinged with amusement.

I didn"t understand. "Sunny came there to watch the fight?" With who?

"Nah, bro, she"s part of the fight. A few minutes ago, she strutted into the arena in this killer red dress right in front of the dude everyone was betting against to win the first fight of the night. Former amateur on the pro track. But never quite made it there. Now he"s signed on with us for a couple of fight nights. Few people are even trying to switch their bets." Lobo chuckled. "Guess they figured him walking in here with a baddie like that was a good omen."

"She finally came to her senses and parted ways with her last boyfriend—some boxer eejit named Tony."

Nora"s words echoed through my ears as I gripped the phone tighter and asked Lobo, "What"s his name? The fighter nobody thinks will win."

"Uh, Anthony Reyes," Lobo answered. "But everyone calls him Tony."

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