Chapter Sixteen
Two days later…
Sage stepped out of the jet-black Range Rover Autobiography and paused.
The door shut with a quiet, expensive click—blacked-out glass, nothing flashy but money all the same.
The heat hit first—dry, sharp, bouncing off pale stone and manicured gravel like the whole neighborhood had been designed to reflect sunlight instead of absorb it. His gaze moved across the street in a slow sweep.
Wide streets. No clutter. Lawns cut precisely. Desert landscaping placed with intent—stone, cactus, low palms arranged like someone had paid to make it look effortless.
The search at the store turned up nothing. The owner had been no help either.
The woman in the photo turned out to be Monica Westfall.
Which was how they’d ended up in Summerlin, just west of Las Vegas, Nevada, running on the chance Rook would show up at her place. He’d almost caught him in Arizona. Not much of a stretch to think he might try Nevada next.
Sage glanced around.
The quiet neighborhood reeked of wealth.
Nothing about the house in front of him read temporary. Nothing about it read safe house.
It read money. It read quiet. It read people who noticed things that didn’t belong.
The SUV door shut behind him with a muted thud.
“Yeah,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “This’ll do.”
The passenger door opened.
Buckshot launched.
Sage’s attention snapped with him, tracking the movement before the thought fully formed.
The dog cut across the driveway in a straight line, heading for the house across the street.
A woman stood with a leash in hand—cream linen blouse tucked into tailored slacks, dark hair pulled back, oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes but not the way she held herself.
Upright. Composed. Like she’d never had to hurry a day in her life.
A small, carefully groomed dog waited at the end of the lead, coat trimmed exactly, and nails short.
“Buckshot,” Law called, voice even, carrying without effort.
The dog didn’t slow.
Sage moved a step forward, already adjusting—distance, timing, how to intercept without escalating it into something that drew more attention than it needed to.
Buckshot skidded to a stop in front of the woman like he’d been expected, tail moving, posture open and easy.
The smaller dog yapped once.
The woman laughed.
“Oh—hi there,” she said, bending slightly as Buckshot leaned in, friendly and unbothered.
Sage slowed at the edge of the drive, taking in the angle of the street, the houses, the sightlines that now included them.
Law headed toward the dog.
“Sorry about that,” Law said easily, reaching down to catch Buckshot by the collar. “He’s still working on manners.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” the woman said, smiling. “We were just out for a walk. He’s sweet. A purebred?”
“Yes,” Sage said, the lie smooth. In truth, he didn’t know.
His gaze shifted to her, then past her—windows, reflections, the slow turn of a car at the far end of the street.
Normal.
Close enough.
“You guys moving in or just looking?” she asked, glancing toward the house behind them.
Law didn’t hesitate. “Just closed escrow,” he said. “Figured we’d get in before it got any hotter.”
Her expression brightened. “Oh good, I’m so glad. It’s been sitting for a few weeks—I was starting to wonder.” She gestured lightly toward the house. “It’s a great place. We have a neighborhood watch. Plus, everyone gets together for a social once a week.”
Sage filed that away.
Buckshot leaned into Law’s hand, settled now, the smaller dog edging closer to sniff.
“Looks like he’s settling in just fine,” she added.
“He does that,” Law said easily.
“The Carltons down the street are gay. I just adore them,” she went on.
Sage almost snorted at the assumption, but held it back.
Not father and son this time.
The thought came quick—sharper than he expected.
Something had shifted.
He didn’t know what it looked like from the outside.
His gaze slid to Law.
The man stood easy at his side, broad shoulders, steady presence, that quiet confidence that didn’t ask for space—it took it.
Did they read as a couple now?
…were they even a couple?
Law smiled and released his hold on Buckshot. The dog circled once, then moved in to sniff the smaller one. Both tails wagged—easy, unguarded.
Sage’s attention flicked once more across the street, mapping the area.
Nothing out of place.
Which didn’t mean anything.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” the woman said, finally running out of steam.
“Appreciate it,” Law answered.
Sage inclined his head slightly—acknowledgment without invitation.
The woman walked away with her small dog in tow.
Buckshot trotted back toward him a second later, falling in at his side like he’d always been there.
Sage’s hand dropped briefly, fingers brushing over the dog’s head—automatic, grounding—before his focus shifted again to the neighborhood.
Everything about it looked right.
Which meant it probably wasn’t.
Law came to stand beside him, solid and unhurried.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Sage shifted his weight forward, already done with the outside.
“Let’s go,” he said.
And headed for the door.
Inside, the house swallowed sound.
The door shut behind them with a quiet click that carried farther than it should have. Empty space did that—held onto noise, stretched it thin.
Sage moved first.
Not fast. Not slow. Just enough to take the room apart piece by piece as he passed through it—corners, sightlines, windows. The kind of scan that didn’t look like anything unless you knew what you were seeing.
Clean.
Too clean to be lived in. Not clean enough to be untouched.
Staged.
He dropped his bag on the kitchen island and flipped it open, already pulling out his laptop, cables, and a compact scanner. Screens came to life in low blue, set at angles away from the windows.
Behind him, Law moved through the house in a wider sweep—bedroom, back exit, a pause at the rear window. Different pattern. Same result.
Clear.
Or close enough to it.
Time settled in after that.
Not quiet—never quiet—but stretched. Measured in passing cars, the shift of light across the floor, the low hum of the system kicking on and off. Nothing urgent. Nothing pushing.
Waiting.
Sage set up at the island, feeds pulling in, signals mapping across his screen. No chatter. No anomalies. No reason for his shoulders to stay as tight as they were.
Across from him, Law took the far side of the counter.
Not planned.
Just… there.
Close enough that Sage didn’t have to look to know where he was. He tracked him anyway—the shift of weight, the subtle repositioning when Law leaned to check the front window again, the way he settled back into place like he wasn’t going anywhere.
Shared space.
No distance to hide in.
His phone rang.
A known number.
He stared at it for a second, irritated, then shut the fucking thing off and tossed it onto the counter. They had Law’s phone if anyone needed to get in touch.
His fingers moved faster across the keys of his laptop, the rhythm picking up without him deciding to push it.
Forcing himself to slow it down, he scanned the room, the windows.
Everything looked right.
Which didn’t mean shit.
Not here.
Not with Rook close enough to matter.
Something outside caught his attention—just enough to pull him away from the counter.
Sage’s head turned first, then the rest of him followed. Movement at the front window. Subtle. Wrong enough to matter.
He pushed off the island and crossed the room, steps quiet, already narrowing his focus down to the glass, the angle, the reflection—
Nothing.
The street sat the same as before. Quiet. Still. A car turning two houses down, slow, normal.
Sage didn’t move right away.
Didn’t trust the stillness.
“Yeah…” he muttered under his breath. “No.”
He shifted closer, adjusting his angle—
A step behind him.
Close.
He felt it before he turned.
Law.
Not across the room anymore.
Right there.
His shoulders tightened, awareness snapping sideways—window, street, Law—
—and there the memory was again.
Law’s mouth on his. Fireworks.
That split second he hadn’t stepped back.
Yeah… not helping.
“Anything?” Law asked, low.
Sage blinked once, dragging his focus back to the glass. “Thought I—”
He cut himself off.
Because whatever had pulled him over here was gone.
And now there was something else sitting in its place.
Something tight and hot and… Closer.
He turned his head just enough—
—and found Law already looking at him.
Not past him.
At him.
Sage huffed a quiet breath through his nose, jaw flexing once as he held his ground.
“Nothing,” he said.
Didn’t sound like he meant it.
Neither of them moved.
Sage didn’t step back.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t give himself the space to.
He moved.
Closed the distance that wasn’t there to begin with and caught Law’s mouth hard—he’d been holding it back too long and didn’t care anymore.
No hesitation.
No second check.
Just contact—sharp, immediate, controlled right up until it wasn’t.
Law didn’t miss it.
Didn’t question it.
His hand came up fast, catching Sage at the back of the neck, pulling him in instead of away—turning it into something deeper, heavier, less contained.
Sage’s grip tightened at Law’s shirt, dragging him closer like there wasn’t already enough of him there, like closer was the only direction left.
The room didn’t matter.
The house didn’t matter.
Nothing outside that space mattered.
Just heat. Pressure. Contact.
And no room left to pretend they weren’t a thing.