Chapter 32
Jase
The elevator doors slid shut, and the second we started for the ground floor, Dylan leaned his shoulder into mine, wearing that lazy, satisfied grin he’d worn since the call from Marcos last night.
“So,” he began, “we’re really doing the whole ‘pick her up like it’s a real date’ thing?”
I let out a laugh. “Don’t act like you aren’t into it.”
“I’m into anything that involves her in a dress,” he replied, then glanced at me. “And anything out of one.”
“That part’s not new, but I like the idea of us taking her out on a date.”
Dylan’s smile widened. “With us playing in the same city now, maybe we can take Faye out on more dates.”
I looked at him. “You mean actual dates?”
“Yeah,” he answered, eyes bright. “Not just squeezed-in dinners between flights or hiding in hotel rooms. Real stuff. Her dressed up, us picking her up, the three of us walking in together.”
“Are we ready to go public?”
“I am, if you two are.”
“Maybe we can discuss that with Faye tonight. I think it’ll make more sense now since we’re going to be on the same team.”
“Maybe she’ll move in with us when we get settled in Portland.”
My eyes widened. “I’d like that, but it might be hard with all her trips to D.C. She’d be on longer flights.”
“Only one way to find out.”
“We’re growing,” I teased. “Look at us wanting to move in with our girlfriend.”
Dylan’s brow lifted. “We’re growing?”
“We’re horny and want our girl in our bed every night,” I corrected. “I just tried to pretend we were maturing for a second.”
His laugh came out. “Both can be true.”
The elevator slowed, and the doors slid open to the Sky Suites lobby. Dylan straightened immediately, his expression shifting into the public version of himself without a second thought. I did the same.
My eyes swept the lobby out of habit and landed on a guy sitting alone near the far wall. His body was angled toward the elevator bank. Something about his face tugged at my memory.
I slowed, trying to remember where I knew the guy from.
Dylan noticed right away. “What?”
I kept my voice low. “That guy over there. Doesn’t he look familiar?”
Dylan turned his head, following my line of sight, but the guy moved at the same time, as if he sensed the attention. He stood, turning his body away as he lifted his phone to his ear, then walked toward the front desk, his back to us.
“I didn’t see his face.”
“I did,” I answered, still watching him even though I knew it was pointless. “And it’s bugging me that I can’t remember who he is.”
“You sure it isn’t just some random guy who looks like somebody?”
“Maybe,” I replied.
“Come on. We’re here to lose money, not to people-watch.”
I forced myself to move, but I glanced back anyway.
The guy stayed turned away.
We headed toward the casino floor, and the noise hit us fast—slots going off, chips snapping together, someone talking way too loud.
I forced myself to focus on the plan. Gamble for a bit, pick up Faye for our seven o’clock reservation, and pretend we were two regular guys meeting our girl for dinner.
Easy.
Except two steps into the casino, Dylan patted his front pocket, then his back pocket, then froze.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
I stopped. “What?”
“My phone.” He checked again, as if it might magically appear if he tried hard enough. “I don’t have it.”
I stared at him. “How do you not have your phone?”
He shot me a look. “Because I’m an idiot.”
I exhaled hard through my nose, then immediately checked my own pockets anyway, because if we were turning back upstairs, I wasn’t about to do it twice.
Mine was there.
His eyes darted toward the elevators. “I think I left it plugged in by the bed.”
“Do you even need it?” I asked.
His brow furrowed. “I feel naked without it.”
I chuckled. “Okay, let’s go get it.”
We cut back toward the elevators, and I tried not to look toward the front desk again.
I failed.
The spot where the stranger had been standing was now occupied by someone else, and whoever that guy was had disappeared.
And now that I was thinking about it again, a flash of something made my brain lurch, a memory of salt air, music, and bare feet on sand, a bar in St. John where we’d been laughing too hard and drinking too fast, and a guy who didn’t belong anywhere near Faye.
My pace stuttered.
Dylan’s voice dropped. “What?”
“That’s where,” I muttered, then caught myself because I wasn’t about to spiral in the middle of a lobby. “St. John.”
“St. John what?”
“The guy I saw a minute ago was that Callum dude.”
Dylan looked around. “Are you fucking serious?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s him.”
“Where’s he now?”
I searched again, but didn’t see him. “I don’t know.”
We both sucked in a sharp breath, our eyes widening, and we said at the same time, “Faye!”
We raced for the elevators, and I pressed the call button repeatedly until the doors finally opened. We stepped inside.
Dylan swiped his room key, jabbed the button for our floor, and turned toward me as the doors slid shut. His jaw tightened. “If it’s him, why would he be here?”
I didn’t have an answer that didn’t twist my stomach.
The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and we hurried down the hallway.
I expected quiet. Maybe a couple walking from their room.
Instead, a man was at our door.
He wasn’t dressed like hotel staff, and it wasn’t Callum. He wore dark clothes and was kicking at the door. He looked up quickly at the sound of our steps, but he didn’t back off. If anything, he kicked harder.
Every alarm in my body went off.
“Hey!” I barked, my voice bouncing off the walls. “Get the hell away from that door.”
Dylan was right beside me, already picking up speed. “Step back, man!”
The guy turned, his eyes sharp, and appeared neither startled nor guilty, not anything I expected. He lifted one hand, palm out, as if stopping traffic. “Stop,” he ordered.
That didn’t work for either of us.
Dylan took another step. “Who are you?”
The guy reached into his pocket and flashed something so fast it barely registered. Gold. Official. A badge. “Secret Service.”
Dylan’s face hardened. “Why are you here?”
“There’s a threat inside,” he replied, his eyes already back on the door. “Key. Open it.”
My stomach dropped. “Is it Callum?”
“I don’t know,” he answered immediately, as if he didn’t have time for anything else. “Now open the door.”
Dylan swiped the keycard that was still in his hand. The lock clicked, the door cracked open an inch, then stopped dead.
“The latch is on,” Dylan snapped, shoving the door.
It didn’t budge.
He hit it again with the heel of his hand, then leaned his shoulder into it as if he could bully the door into moving. The latch held.
The agent stepped in front of the crack, blocking it with his body. “Back up.”
Dylan’s head whipped around toward him. “No. We need to get in there.”
“You don’t know where she is on the other side,” the agent shot back. “Back up.”
My chest felt too tight to breathe. “What do we do?”
“We get help here now,” the agent replied. “Call 911 and hotel security.”
Dylan’s gaze flicked toward the elevators. “There’s a phone right there.”
“Use it,” the agent ordered. “Tell them we need security up here now for an assault in progress.”
Dylan didn’t hesitate. He spun and sprinted to the phone across from the elevator doors, yanked the receiver off the hook, and punched the buttons.
I pulled my phone out, my hands shaking, and dialed 911.
My call connected. “Um, yes, we’re at Aria Sky Suites,” I managed to say. “A guy broke into my hotel room and he’s in there with my girlfriend, and we can’t get inside. The door is latched from the inside, and we need help now.”
The dispatcher started asking questions, and I answered on autopilot, eyes locked on the door like staring could help.
A muffled scream cut through the door. “Get off of me!”
My body went rigid. “Faye!”
Dylan lurched away from the phone, taking two steps back toward the door, and the agent stopped him with one arm without even looking.
“Stay back,” the agent ordered again.
A few moments later, the door flew open, and Faye shot into the hallway, moving so fast she didn’t lift her eyes until she collided with the agent and bounced back, her breath torn from her.
Her hands came up, and she swung, wild and desperate, trying to get past him and out of the room. “Let me go!”
The agent blocked her without grabbing and wedged his body into the doorway to stop the door from closing automatically. “Faye. I’m Secret Service. Where is he?”
She tried to shove past his arm, her eyes flicking back toward the suite as if she expected Callum to be right there.
Dylan stepped into her line of sight, his voice cutting through the panic. “Princess. It’s D. Look at me.”
I moved in on the other side of her and kept my hands visible. “Faye, it’s Jase. This man isn’t Callum.”
The agent didn’t argue with her. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his credentials. “Secret Service,” he repeated, then tucked them away. “Behind me. Now. Where’s the guy?”
Faye swallowed, her eyes glassy. “Inside the bedroom.”
The bedroom? I didn’t want to imagine why he’d want her in the bedroom. If I did, Callum might not walk out of there alive.
“Does he have a weapon?” he pressed.
“Knife,” she rasped. “I hit him with the lamp and ran.”
The agent shifted his stance, then looked back at us for the first time. “Keep her behind you. Don’t let her get near that door.”
The fight drained from her and her knees buckled.
Dylan wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve got you.”
Faye clutched him, shaking hard, then reached for my hand without looking as the agent stepped into the room. The door clicked shut, leaving the three of us alone in the hall.
I took her hand and squeezed. “We’re here, Princess.”
Relief hit so hard it felt like my lungs had unlocked. She was safe. She was breathing. Then my attention snapped back to the suite’s door because he was still inside.
A shout cut through from inside the room. “On the ground. Hands behind your back.”
Faye flinched as if the words had hit her.
I kept my voice steady, even as my chest felt like it was caving in. “Faye, keep your eyes here. He’s not getting to you.”
A soft chime came from the service elevator farther down the hall, and the doors slid open. Two hotel security guards stepped out quickly, radios in hand, eyes already scanning the corridor.
One of them spoke quickly. “Everything okay?”
“No.” I shook my head. “This is the president’s daughter. Secret Service is in the room, getting the guy.”
The other guard glanced at Faye, then caught Dylan’s expression and backed off without pushing. “Understood.”
The main elevator dinged, and two uniformed officers stepped out, scanning the corridor as they moved.
“Vegas Metro,” one called. “Which room?”
I lifted my hand toward ours. “That one.”
The second officer’s eyes flicked to Faye, then snapped back to the door. “What’s going on?”
Before I could answer, our suite door opened.
The agent stepped out with a handcuffed Callum in his grip. Callum’s shirt was twisted, and blood was running down the side of his head.
Faye gasped against Dylan’s chest, and her fingers tightened on my hand so hard it hurt. Dylan shifted, keeping her tucked in close.
“Don’t look,” he murmured.
Both officers closed in.
The taller one looked toward the agent. “You federal?”
“Secret Service,” the agent replied, handing the officer what looked like a wallet. “Agent Webster, and this is Callum Whitmore. He forced entry into her suite with a knife.”
The officer’s posture shifted immediately. “You see the knife?”
“Yes,” Agent Webster answered. “It’s inside the bedroom of the suite.”
The other officer looked past the agent toward the door. “Is anyone else in there?”
“Negative,” Agent Webster answered.
The first policeman stepped in, taking control of Callum. “All right. We’re taking him.”
Callum twisted, trying to turn his head toward us. “But she attacked me! I’m the one bleeding!”
The second officer’s gaze shifted to Faye. “Ma’am, are you injured?”
Faye tried to straighten and winced, her hand coming up to her shoulder. “My shoulder hurts a bit.”
The cop keyed his radio. “Dispatch, confirm medical en route to Aria Sky Suites, fifty-second floor. Have them stage at the elevators.”
The other policeman kept his grip on Callum. “What’s the victim’s name?”
Dylan’s jaw flexed. “Faye Donnelley.”
“And you two are?” the cop asked, his eyes moving between Dylan and me.
“Jase Matthewson,” I answered. “And this is Dylan Statler.”
Agent Webster cut in. “Ms. Donnelley is my protectee. I’m relocating her from this hallway. I’ll provide a written statement and walk you through what I observed. The FBI will likely be taking over the investigation and they’ll coordinate with you.”
“All right,” the first officer said.
The other cop glanced toward the suite. “We’ll go ahead and get that room secured as a crime scene.”
One of the hotel security guards was already there, hovering a few steps back. Agent Webster pointed without looking away from Callum. “Lock this corridor down. No one is allowed in this area until the investigation is complete.”
“Got it,” security replied.
The officer with Callum started toward the elevators. “Walton, stay with them for now. Get names and quick statements. I’m taking him down.”
Callum jerked again, trying to talk over them. “You can’t do this! Do you know who my father is?”
The policeman didn’t blink. “Save it.”
The officer marched Callum down the hallway toward the elevators, with security clearing the way as more police officers stepped off the elevator.
One cop approached us. “EMS is coming up. Where do you want them?”
“My room.” Agent Webster pulled a keycard from his pocket and opened the door.
Dylan’s head snapped up. “We’re not leaving her.”
Faye hesitated, her eyes flicking to the latch as if it were going to hurt her.
Dylan leaned in. “We’re with you.”
I squeezed her hand. “Right here.”
Reluctantly, she stepped into the room, Dylan and I close beside her.
Agent Webster came in last and shut the door, flipping the latch. Faye flinched at the click, then sagged as if her body had finally given up.
Dylan guided her to the couch and helped her sit, keeping his voice calm even as his face looked wrecked. “Sit for a second.”
Faye buried her face in her hands, trembling. “I thought he was going to kill me.”
I crouched in front of her, placing my hands on her thighs. “He didn’t. You got out, and I’m so proud of you.”
Someone rapped on the door.
“Security,” a voice called. “EMS is here.”
The agent cracked the door, spoke in a low voice, then opened it wider to let them in.