Chapter 5
Luke
My heart’s still racing from Connor’s grip on my arm, his “Stay close” echoing in my head as we step back onto the main boulevard…
The crowd swallows us up, tourists and locals buzzing around like nothing’s wrong, oblivious to the shadow I just saw slinking away or the thug Connor left zip-tied in the alley.
My backpack feels heavier than it should, Swift’s soft shape pressed against my laptop and that flash drive I’m not telling anyone about… not Robert, and definitely not Connor.
I steal a glance at him, striding beside me, his jaw tight and his eyes scanning the street like he’s expecting an attack any second.
Connor’s all business, and I hate how my stomach flips at the sight of his powerful, masculine body as he moves. That Daddy vibe of his is suffocating, and not just because he’s practically glued to my side now.
It’s the way Connor says things, like he’s already decided I’m some damsel who needs saving.
I’m Luke Modine, investigative journalist, not some helpless Little who needs a babysitter.
Even if my Little side is squealing at how safe his presence feels, that’s not all of who I am—and Connor needs to know that too.
“Slow down, Rambo,” I mutter, adjusting my backpack strap, trying to shake off the tension. “I’ve got another meet to get to, and you’re not blowing this one.”
Connor doesn’t even glance at me, his sunglasses hiding his eyes.
“You must be joking. You’re not going anywhere until we’re clear,” Connor says, voice low and gruff. “That wasn’t just some random guy back there. You’re on someone’s radar, Luke, and it’s not just Haynes’s aide or whoever that dude in the bar was.”
I roll my eyes, but my heart skips at the memory of that text warning me to back off Haynes…
I haven’t told Connor about it, and I’m not planning to. He’d probably lock me in a hotel room and throw away the key.
“I can handle myself,” I say, picking up my pace. “I’ve been doing this job for long enough now to know what I need to do and how to do it.”
Connor snorts, a sound that’s half-amused, half-annoyed.
“Handling yourself doesn’t mean walking into a trap,” Connor says. “You’re reckless, Little Scoop, and it’s gonna get you hurt.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, my cheeks heating.
The nickname’s too cute, too intimate, and it’s digging up memories of that kiss three years ago—fireworks I ran from because I wasn’t ready.
And I’m still not ready.
My job comes first, always has.
But Connor’s presence is like a magnet, pulling at my Little side, making me want to pout and push his buttons just to see how far that Daddy gruffness goes.
We’re back on the boulevard’s main strip now, the signs of cafés and boutiques flashing in the late afternoon sun.
I check my phone—still spotty signal, but I’ve got the address for my next meet, a cocktail spot. My new source, a woman named Carla who claims to have dirt on Haynes’s campaign financing, is waiting there for me.
It’s a few blocks away, deeper into West Quay’s underbelly, and I’m not stupid—I know it’s risky. But I’m not letting Connor’s overprotective streak stop me.
“I’m heading to this cocktail spot,” I say, keeping my voice firm. “You can follow if you want but stay out of sight. I mean it, Connor. I can handle things.”
Connor stops walking, turning to face me, and even through his sunglasses, I can feel the weight of his stare.
“You don’t get it, do you,” Connor says, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that makes my knees wobble.
“This isn’t a game. Those guys back there?
They weren’t playing. You keep running headfirst into trouble, and I’m the one who’s gotta pull you out.
Except what happens when one of them pulls a gun? ”
I cross my arms, my pout slipping out despite my best efforts.
“I didn’t ask for you to pull me out of anything,” I say.
“I told Robert I didn’t need a bodyguard.
You’re the one who’s making this harder than it needs to be.
Guns? Maybe. But it’s broad daylight, Connor.
I’m not a fool. This isn’t my first rodeo.
I’m a big boy. I mean, I’m totally fine with this. ”
Crap. Why did I have to say big boy?
Connor’s lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile, and it infuriates me.
“You’re cute when you’re bratty,” Connor says, and I swear I want to stomp my foot. “But cute doesn’t keep you alive. You’re stuck with me, young man, so deal with it.”
“Don’t call me young man either,” I huff, spinning on my heel and marching onward.
My Little side’s screaming to throw a full-on tantrum, but I shove it down, clutching my backpack tighter. I want to stop and open my backpack and give Swift a cuddle. I need his positive vibes more than ever.
Either way, I’m not letting Connor ruin this meet.
Carla’s my shot at hard evidence, something to back up what Mike hinted at—cartel money, offshore accounts, names that could blow Haynes’s career sky-high.
The cocktail spot is tucked down a narrow street, the kind of place where it only truly comes to life in the latest of late nights.
The sign’s a peeling painting of a seagull belly-up in a puddle of neon booze, and the vibe screams trouble.
I pause outside, checking my phone again—no new texts but the signal is still barely there.
I glance over my shoulder, and there’s Connor, leaning against a streetlamp nearby, pretending to check his phone.
Subtle as a brick, but at least he’s keeping his distance.
He’s probably thinking of more ways to annoy me or make this way harder than it needs to be.
Whatever. I need to stop thinking about him and focus on myself and digging deeper into Haynes…
“Okay, Swift,” I whisper, brushing my fingers against the stuffy in my backpack. “Let’s go.”
I push through the door, the smell of chopped fruit, liquor, and cleaning products hitting me hard. The bar’s dim, with a jukebox playing some salsa tune and a handful of patrons getting their drink on early.
I scan my eyes around, taking in every little detail as I attempt to find Carla.
Okay, where are you?
Gotcha.
You’d better be ready to dish…
Carla’s in the back, at a corner booth, her red hair pulled into a sleek bun. She’s older than I expected, maybe late thirties, with sharp eyes and a nervous energy that matches mine. I slide into the booth, forcing a smile.
“Carla? Luke Modine,” I say, keeping my voice low but not too low so as to spook her. “It’s great to mee you.”
Carla nods, her fingers tapping the table.
“You’re the one digging into Haynes,” Carla says, not wasting time. “I’ve seen your name flash up online. You sure you want to do this? It’s not safe.”
Okay. Interesting…
I lean forward, my recorder already running in the front compartment of my bag, its mic strong enough to pick up Carla word for word.
“I know it’s not safe,” I say, keeping my tone steady. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m looking into this. You said you had something on Haynes’s campaign financing. Something big.”
Carla glances at the door, her eyes narrowing.
“You alone?” Carla asks.
“Yup,” I lie, hoping Connor’s staying out of sight. “Just me and my notebook.”
Carla hesitates, then pulls out a folded piece of paper from her purse, sliding it across the table.
“This is a list of shell companies tied to Haynes’s campaign,” Carla says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Offshore accounts, mostly in the Caymans. I used to work in his finance office, saw the transfers myself. The money’s dirty—cartel dirty. But you didn’t get this from me. Right?”
I can see that Carla’s scared. The easiest thing in the world for Carla would have been to ignore her suspicions, carry on like nothing was wrong.
But she must be a good person to want to expose Haynes like this, and I want to reassure her as best I can that her risk is appreciated and will be worth it.
“Thank you,” I say, placing my hand on Carla’s. “I need evidence, but this is really good.”
My heart races as I unfold the paper Carla passed over to me. I scan the names—half a dozen companies, none of which I recognize, but they’re a goldmine if they check out.
I slip the paper into my backpack, next to Swift, and nod.
“This is huge, Carla,” I say, a smile on my face but the adrenalin coursing through my body. “Anything else? Names, maybe? People connected to these accounts?”
Carla opens her mouth to answer, but her eyes flick to the door, and her face pales. I follow her gaze, and there he is—Connor, stepping inside like he’s got every right to be here, his broad shoulders filling the doorway.
Connor doesn’t look at me, just heads to the bar and orders a soda, but Carla’s already spooked.
“He’s nobody,” I say quickly, my cheeks burning. “Just some guy. Ignore him.”
But Carla’s not buying it.
She’s already grabbing her purse, her movements jerky.
“I can’t do this,” Carla says, standing. “You’re being watched. Of course you are. I’m out.”
“Carla, wait—” I start, but she’s gone, slipping out the back exit before I can stop her.
My stomach sinks.
Another lead, gone, and it’s Connor’s fault.
Again.
I grab my backpack and storm over to him, ready to throw the biggest tantrum West Quay’s ever seen.
“Just wow,” I hiss, keeping my voice low so the bar doesn’t turn into a spectacle. “I told you to stay out of my way! You just scared off my best lead!”
Connor takes his soda from the bartender and sips on it, unfazed, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
“You’re welcome,” he says, that smug Daddy tone making my blood boil. “There was a guy outside, same vibe as the one from the alley. I wasn’t about to let you sit there like a target.”
I cross my arms, my pout full-blown now, and I don’t care how bratty I look.
“You’re ruining everything! I had her, Connor,” I say, my bottom lip trembling in righteous anger. “She gave me something big, and now she’s gone because you can’t follow simple instructions!”
Connor smirks in that way of his that drives me nuts.
“Simple instructions?” Connor growls, leaning forward. “You don’t give me orders, Luke. I’m here to keep you safe, and that’s what I’m doing.”
I clutch my backpack tighter, Swift’s soft shape grounding me.
“You’re not my boss,” I snap, but my voice wavers, and I hate how my Little side responds to his dominance, all fluttery and weak. “I don’t need you hovering like some overprotective Daddy.”
Connor stands, towering over me, his scent—leather and coffee—hitting me like a wave.
“You’re wrong about that,” Connor says, his voice low and dangerous.
“You’re in over your head, Luke, and you know it.
That paper she gave you? It’s got you on someone’s hit list now.
You’re not shaking me, so get used to it.
And right now I’m wondering whether I need to report back to my boss that you’re not willing to engage in my protocol…
which he will have to report back to your boss too. You might want to consider that.”
My breath catches, and I hate how his words make my knees wobble.
Connor’s right—I know I’m in deep, deeper than I expected. That text, the guys tailing me, now Carla’s list—it’s all pointing to something massive, and dangerous.
“I’m going back to the hotel,” I say, turning for the door, not wanting to show Connor that I’m beginning to feel the heat. “Don’t follow me.”
“Not a chance,” Connor retorts, falling into step behind me. “You’re stuck with me, young man.”
I grit my teeth, but I keep it together.
The boulevard’s still bustling, but I feel eyes on me, and not just Connor’s. I glance over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of a guy in a dark jacket across the street, his posture all unnatural.
My heart skips, but I don’t say anything.
I just clutch my hands together and keep walking.
The hotel’s not far, but every step feels like a countdown. Carla’s list is burning a hole in my bag, and I know it’s the first real key to cracking Haynes’s operation.
But with Connor breathing down my neck and shadows lurking in every corner, I’m starting to wonder if I’m ready for what’s coming.
My Little side wants to curl up with Swift and my sketchpad, but Luke Modine, journalist… well he isn’t backing down.
I’m breaking this story and exposing Haynes for the bad man he truly is no matter what—and I’ll do it with or without Connor…