CHAPTER 9
SLOANE
The UNLV campus is exactly what you'd expect from a Nevada university: strategically placed palm trees, modern architecture trying not to melt under the relentless sun, and students wearing sunglasses even indoors.
"You guys really don't need to walk me to the lecture hall door," I say through gritted teeth, aware of the curious looks following us as we cross the main lobby.
Bodyguard One—I think his name is Sergei, though he's barely spoken ten words since picking me up this morning—remains unfazed. Bodyguard Two—I don't even know his name—just constantly scans our surroundings as if expecting an imminent attack from students armed with textbooks.
"Orders from Mr. Morozov," Sergei replies with that Russian accent that turns every word into a death sentence.
I grit my teeth. Of course, orders from Mr. Morozov . The same asshole who almost... last night... No, I'm not going to think about last night. About how his gaze dropped to my lips. How, for a second, I almost wished he'd lean in those few inches separating us.
"At least stay outside," I insist as we reach the Criminal Law building. "I don't need you intimidating my professors on the first day."
They exchange a look, and finally, Sergei nods.
"We will be at the entrance. When you are done, call."
"Great," I mutter sarcastically. "That way I'll have time to make friends between classes."
I head into the crowded hallway, feeling a momentary relief as I get away from my Russian shadows. It's my first day of class, and I already feel like a circus freak. The girl with the goons. Brilliant strategy for flying under the radar.
I locate room 320 and enter just in time. The lecture hall is half full, with students scattered in small groups. I pick a seat in the second-to-last row, far back enough to observe, but not enough to look like I'm hiding.
At 9:00 sharp, the back door opens and Agent Cooper walks in, though today he seems completely transformed into the role of university professor.
"Good morning," he greets, placing his briefcase on the desk. "Welcome to Legal Ethics and Criminal Procedure. I'm Professor Cooper, and I promise to try and make this semester not quite as boring as it sounds."
A few polite chuckles ripple through the room.
Cooper starts with the typical syllabus intro, and I let myself relax slightly.
Around me, the aroma of coffee brought by various students mixes with the unmistakable scent of new books and academic ambition.
For a moment, it almost feels like a normal day.
I can almost pretend I'm really just here to study.
The class passes without incident, with Cooper proving to be surprisingly competent as a professor. When the hour is up, he gathers his things with deliberate slowness.
"Ms. Murphy, could you stay a moment?" he says, not looking up from his papers. "I'd like to talk about your transfer."
And there goes my little moment of normalcy.
I wait for the room to clear out while pretending to organize my notes. Cooper closes the door after the last student leaves and walks over to my seat.
"Everything okay with the transfer?" he asks loudly for the benefit of any curious ears, while dropping a flash drive onto my notebook with a subtle movement.
"No problems," I reply, pocketing the drive with the same stealth. "Although the paperwork was a nightmare."
Cooper sits on the desk in front of me, maintaining a perfectly calculated professional distance. His cheap aftershave invades my nostrils—something generic that seems to scream "federal employee on a budget."
"What have you found out?" he whispers, leaning in slightly.
"I've been there exactly two days," I reply in the same low tone. "I've barely had time to unpack."
"Time is crucial, Sloane." His smile vanishes. "Every day that passes is one more day Harper stays in that situation."
A flash of irritation shoots down my spine.
"What situation, exactly?" I ask, keeping my voice controlled. "Because from what I've seen, Harper seems pretty happy."
Cooper narrows his eyes.
"It's Stockholm syndrome. Victims develop an emotional bond with their captors as a survival mechanism."
"Or maybe we're wrong," I suggest, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
"We're wrong?" His tone hardens. "You already consider yourself one of them?"
The accusation hits me like a slap to the face.
"Of course not. I'm just saying Harper doesn't look like a hostage. She's pregnant, for God's sake. She has a design studio. Alexei treats her like she's made of glass."
"That is precisely the problem." Cooper leans in closer, deliberately invading my space. "They're showing you exactly what they want you to see. The surface. We need to know what's underneath."
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my mounting frustration.
"I'm trying, but I've been assigned two bodyguards who won't even let me go to the bathroom alone when I'm not at the casino. How am I supposed to investigate anything?"
"Find a way." His tone leaves no room for argument. "According to our sources, the real business happens in the underground levels of the casino. Three floors down. That's where we need you to get to."
An incredulous laugh escapes me.
"And what do you suggest, Professor? That I crawl through the air vent?"
"You're smart. Improvise." He stands up, ending the conversation. "There's new intel on the Morozov organization on that drive. Memorize it and destroy it afterwards. See you next class."
And just like that, he gathers his things and leaves, leaving me alone with my increasingly conflicting thoughts and a flash drive that weighs like lead in my pocket.
I walk out of the lecture hall feeling a sharp pain starting to form in my temples. The hallway is almost empty now, except for a few stragglers running to their next classes. My bodyguards are waiting exactly where I left them, like well-trained dogs.
"Everything good, Miss?" Sergei asks as I approach.
"Just fine," I reply, forcing a smile. "Just first-day stress."
As we walk toward the exit, my mind replays the conversation with Cooper. Find a way. As if it were that easy. As if I could just say to Alexei Morozov, "Hey, mind showing me where you keep the bodies?"
The Las Vegas sun hits me like a fist when we step outside. Intense, relentless, revealing. Like the pressure I feel coming from all sides.
"Where to now, Miss?" Bodyguard Two asks as they open the door of the black Escalade for me.
"Back to the casino," I answer automatically. "I don't have any more classes today and I need to study."
The vehicle starts up, gliding through the streets of Las Vegas with that silent elegance only money can buy. Through the tinted window, I watch the city gradually change: from university campus to casino after casino, each one more ostentatious than the last.
Three floors down. Cooper's words echo in my head. What the hell does he expect me to find down there? And how am I supposed to get there without getting shot along the way?
One thing is clear: I'm trapped between two forces that see me as a tool. The FBI wants information. The Morozovs want... well, I'm not sure what they want, but it's certainly not my freedom.
And Harper... Harper just wants her friend close while she waits for her baby. My stomach twists at the thought of betraying her, whatever the truth is.
"They're all fucking assholes," I mutter under my breath, so low not even my bodyguards can hear me. "The FBI, the mobsters... all of them."
The reality is so cruel I almost laugh.
Or I'd cry, if I allowed myself that luxury.