3. Chapter 3
Victor
The click of the door latch echoes behind us when Owen and I walk into his command center and main security office at the Pink Sapphire later that afternoon.
Walls lined with monitors glow softly in the dark, each showing a different angle and area of the casino floor.
From here, Owen can see the patrons lost in their neon-lit revelry as chips slide over soft felt, smoke curling lazily over crowded card tables.
Every drunk guy getting handsy with a cocktail waitress, every twenty-one year old who discovers they can’t handle their liquor in the most unfortunate way all over the craps table.
It’s all visible from this room. This is a fortress meant for monitoring, a spider’s web where every twitch and flinch is caught.
But my head isn’t here. It’s back at the house, specifically focused on the two women I left there and the conversation I walked away from to take a nap.
I blamed it on the fact that I needed to be at work in a few hours and had been up all night, but really, I’m still wrestling with what to tell Grace about Kara and Sampson.
Grace, of course, insisted I go upstairs and sleep. Lili shot daggers at me as I left.
Owen moves to a console, his fingers dancing over a keyboard as he brings up the folder I requested hours ago.
The screens shift, and a faded document appears on the largest monitor in high definition.
Sampson Lindon’s suicide note, printed in shaky, desperate handwriting.
And right there, in harsh black letters, Grace’s name and an accusation.
“You sure about this?” I ask, as I lean closer. The question sits like lead on my tongue.
“One hundred percent,” Owen replies. “This was found among his personal effects after he took his life six months ago. He blames Grace outright.” His finger taps the line in question as he reads it out loud.
“She stole my will to live.” He shakes his head.
“That’s some seriously fucked up emotional manipulation even for a suicide note. ”
The room seems to narrow, the name in the letter my only focus.
Grace. The woman I swore to protect dragged into someone else’s grief-fueled nightmare.
I rub a hand over my face, rough with unshaven stubble.
The focus of my concern had tried to talk me into shaving before I left the house, but I wanted to get to work early enough to meet with Owen, so I kissed her, teasing her that we could have fun with my facial hair later.
The note reads as if an old wound had been torn open.
Grace left Kara and Sampson years ago. What caused this now?
I push back from the console and pivot to a series of photographs now arrayed across the next monitor.
A woman dressed impeccably in designer black, her posture cold and composed.
Kara Lindon, widow of Sampson, a woman of means.
I’d known that back when Grace was dating them, but the details were fuzzy, and at first Grace seemed happy so I didn’t pry.
Kara’s smile is fake, stretched across her face, but absent from her eyes.
I sense danger lurking beneath the expensive outfit and dark red lipstick as she stares back at me from the photo.
Owen gestures toward the images. “She’s been active since Sampson’s death, liquidating assets and hiring private investigators. And Kara may be in town now, too. I’m still trying to confirm that part.”
I tighten my jaw, muscles tensing beneath the skin.
“The flowers,” I mutter. “When Grace first told me about them, she said that Kara, Sampson, and I were the only ones who knew they were her favorite. It’s got to be her sending them.
Like she’s taunting Grace while quietly threatening to tear her life apart. ”
Owen nods. “She’s convinced Grace caused her husband’s suicide. There are a bunch of vague Facebook posts referring to a homewrecker. Which makes no sense. Weren’t they all in a relationship together that ended like six years ago?”
I nod as I stare at the letter on the screen. “It was a complicated ending from what I understand. I never liked the way they treated her.”
Owen shifts and leans against the desk. “The PI Kara hired has a reputation for finding ghosts. If she’s serious, this is going to escalate.”
The weight in my chest gets heavier. “Dig deeper,” I insist. “Every financial transfer, communication, anything out of place. We need to know who’s feeding her paranoia and how much damage she can actually do.
And find out what happened in Sampson’s life that caused him to go off the deep end all of a sudden. ”
Owen taps keys with practiced calm, bringing up ledgers, transaction records, travel itineraries.
It’s terrifying what this man has access to.
I thank my lucky stars he’s on my team almost daily.
“There’s movement. Significant cash withdrawn and transferred offshore.
That tells me she’s planning on doing more than taunting Grace.
And whenever she’s finished her mission, she’ll disappear.
Also, I see some contacts I don’t recognize on her call logs.
I’m pulling everything I can. I’ll get another search going for Sampson.
And before you ask, I’m still digging into who slashed Grace’s tires and who worked on her car the day it broke down.
The list of things I have to delve into is huge.
Kara has an active TikTok account I haven’t even started on yet. ”
I’m comforted by Owen’s list. Grace may be in danger, but I will not let that danger lurk in the shadows. With Owen’s help, it will be forced into the light where it can be neutralized.
I shift my gaze back to the largest screen where the security feed shows the casino floor. Neon swirling through smoke and bodies, laughter, drinking, and an entire world oblivious to the dangers they were protected from every day thanks to Owen and his team.
“Keep this tight, Owen,” I command, my voice rough with emotion. “I want Grace blissfully ignorant until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
His nod is the only answer I need.
My pulse throbs at my temples as dozens of scenarios swirl in my head. There are so many angles here, and we are short on information.
Lili is in danger, but we’re familiar with the threat, and I’m confident I can put a bullet in Phineas Draven’s head before the week is done. Grace, however, is unknowingly tangled in ghosts and danger. But so am I.
And I’ll kill anyone who tries to touch what’s mine.