Chapter 3 #2
Ford shot him a look. “I’m capable of picking out an engagement ring without your wife’s intervention, thanks. I’ll have you know I’ve been holding onto this ring since before your wedding.”
“Just checking.” Chase smirked. “You’re not exactly known for being in touch with your emotions.”
Ford scoffed. “Says the man who almost let Andrea walk away because he was too stubborn to admit he had feelings.”
Tate chuckled. “He’s got you there, Chase.”
I planned to just keep walking. This wasn’t my conversation, and I wasn’t part of this group, not really and not in that close-knit way.
I was glad Ford was taking that step with Violet—I’d met her a few times, and she was as prickly and feisty as they came, but clearly head over heels for him.
I was sure she’d say yes. They’d already taken all the other steps—buying a house together, building a life and future even without marriage.
I wasn’t one to judge how a couple chose to do things as long as it made them happy.
But before I could escape, Austin spotted me. Chase’s younger brother was the opposite of his more serious and reserved sibling. Austin had the kind of open, friendly face that made it impossible for him to hide his emotions, and right now he was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Kane!” He raised his hand in an enthusiastic wave. “Hey, come look—Ford’s finally doing it! He’s proposing to Violet tonight.”
“ Finally ?” Ford repeated, narrowing his eyes at Austin. “Look who’s talking. Last time I checked, your love life consisted of swiping right and hoping for the best.”
“At least I’m putting myself out there,” Austin shot back cheerfully.
“Congratulations,” I said to Ford, and kept walking.
“We’re dragging Ford out to lunch to celebrate,” Austin added, ignoring my clear attempt to exit the conversation. “Why don’t you join us? There’s this new steakhouse downtown that’s supposed to be incredible.”
“I haven’t asked and she hasn’t said yes yet,” Ford pointed out. “And isn’t it bad luck to celebrate before she says yes?”
Austin slapped Ford on the back, grinning. “In that case, we can take you to a strip joint and call it a pre-engagement morale boost.”
“Why would I want to go to a strip joint when I have Violet, who is ridiculously skilled when it comes to knowing her way around a stripper pole?”
Tate groaned. “TMI, though now that I think about it, I do recall seeing Violet doing some impressive moves on the stripper pole they have on the stage at The Players Club.”
Ford frowned at Tate. “Now that you have Stella, I’d appreciate you keeping your eyes off my girl.”
“Oh, please. I wasn’t looking at her in that way.” Tate rolled his eyes. “It’s hard to ignore Violet when she’s in a public area at The Players Club putting on a performance.”
Xavier laughed. “You have to admit, he’s not wrong. Violet isn’t exactly subtle.”
I took advantage of their distraction to edge toward Sutton’s office. “Thanks for the invite, but I’m good,” I said when Austin glanced my way again. “But congratulations, really,” I said to Ford. “I’m happy for you guys.”
Tate and Chase exchanged a look—the kind people gave each other when they were having a silent conversation about someone standing right in front of them. Austin opened his mouth like he might push harder, might try again to include me in their friendship circle outside of work.
I cut him off before he could. “Sutton is expecting me.”
The words worked like magic, providing me with an acceptable excuse to retreat. The guys nodded, turning back to Ford and his ring, and I made my escape.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like these guys.
They were good men, all of them. Solid, capable, the kind of people you wanted at your back when things went sideways.
Under different circumstances, I might have let myself become part of their group.
Might have joined them for celebratory lunches and after-work drinks and all the casual bonding that turned coworkers into friends.
But every time I felt the pull toward connection, I remembered how it had felt to watch those connections dissolve. To realize that people I’d trusted with my life had never trusted me the same way. Forming friendships now felt like putting my hand back on a stove that had already burned me.
Some lessons you only needed to learn once.
Sutton’s office was at the end of the hall, behind a heavy wooden door that seemed as imposing as the man himself.
His latest secretary sat at the desk just outside—a harried-looking young woman with glasses and a perpetually nervous expression.
It felt like there was a new one every time I came by.
The guy went through administrative assistants like other people went through coffee pods.
Not because he was cruel or unreasonable, but because Sutton was the kind of man who expected excellence, and most assistants simply couldn’t keep up with his standards or found him too intimidating. He was gruff, demanding, and had zero patience for incompetence.
“Mr. Adair,” the secretary said, glancing up from her computer. “He’s expecting you. Go right in.”
I nodded my thanks and pushed open the door.
Sutton’s office was exactly what you’d expect from a man who never did anything halfway. Dark wood, leather furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Vegas skyline. The man himself stood behind his desk in an impeccable suit, phone pressed to his ear, but he waved me in when he saw me.
“I’ll have to call you back,” he said into the phone. “There’s something I need to take care of.” He hung up without waiting for a response and turned to face me fully.
Sutton was a good-looking man in his late forties. He was former military—Special Forces, from what I’d heard—and he carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man who’d seen real danger and come out the other side harder and more disciplined.
“Kane.” He extended his hand, and I shook it firmly. “Thanks for coming in on short notice.”
“No problem, sir.” I settled into the leather wingback chair he indicated in front of his desk. “What do you need me for?”
I was usually contracted for specialized security work or brought in to assist others, filling in the gaps when they were understaffed. I’d helped Tate when Stella had been kidnapped, providing tactical support and backup while he ran point on the rescue.
Before the scandal, when I’d still been on the force, I’d worked with Noble and Associates as one of their police contacts, coordinating on cases that overlapped between law enforcement and private security, sharing information and expertise, and letting them know when they had enough evidence for an arrest. It had been a good partnership, back when I still had a badge to leverage.
Now I was just another freelance contractor, one more body to throw at problems when the regular team was stretched thin or a specialty case came in that was more directed at my personal skill set.
Sutton sat down and leaned back in his chair, studying me for a moment before speaking. “We just got the kind of job that isn’t your standard security detail and I need someone with the right kind of experience to handle the parameters of the case.”
I nodded. “What’s the assignment?” I asked.
Sutton’s expression shifted with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher.
“Before I explain the details, I want you to know that I made the decision to bring this assignment to you specifically because you’ve seen the darker side of this city with Las Vegas Metro, and I trust your judgment because of that experience. ”
High praise from a man who didn’t give it lightly. “I appreciate the trust, sir.”
Sutton reached for a file folder that had been set aside, but he didn’t hand it over immediately. Instead, he set it on the desk between us, his hand resting on top of it.
“We have a journalist who needs protection. She’s stumbled onto something big—potentially very big—and her primary source for this investigation—the key person and witness she’s been building the entire case around—was murdered three days ago.”
Despite my own personal aversion to journalists given that one reporter’s story had single-handedly dismantled my career and my life, a cold knot settled in my stomach at the word murdered . “Murdered how?”
Sutton slid the file across the desk, his expression grave. “See for yourself.”
I opened it. The first pages were crime scene photos, and even with everything I’d seen during my years on the force, I had to take a breath to steady myself.
The victim was a young woman. I could tell from the shoes she was wearing—six-inch platforms, the kind that required serious skill to walk in—indicating that she’d probably been a dancer or something similar.
Exotic entertainment, most likely. Vegas was full of women who’d come here chasing dreams and ended up in clubs, making ends meet the only way they could.
But her face... I grimaced. Someone had done a thorough job ensuring she wouldn’t be easily identified.
The damage was extensive and deliberate and gruesome.
This wasn’t a crime of passion—it was calculated.
Methodical. The work of someone who knew exactly what they were doing and wanted to send a message.
I cleared my throat. “Looks like someone is trying to make identification difficult,” I said, scanning the copy of the coroner’s report.
“That’s my assessment as well. The victim had a small tattoo that our client was able to recognize. That, combined with the fact that she found the body when they were supposed to meet for a follow-up interview, allowed for identification.”
I glanced up at Sutton. “Were dental records pulled for confirmation of identity?”
He shook his head. “According to the coroner’s report, she doesn’t have any on file. Our client says the woman was trafficked into the country. No official documentation of any kind.”