22. Sam #2
She sighs and starts typing. “My family owns a security company. That's why I have contacts all over and can generally get certain information. Well, I can’t; it comes from my older cousins, but still, they pass it along to me. The other weekend one of them was working security for a private event in Las Vegas. They sent me this info because Jameson’s name was flagged. ”
“Flagged?” I question, staring at one of my best friends like she is someone I’ve never met before but is kick ass.
She nods. “I’ve flagged everyone who’s important to me and their significant others.
Therefore, if anything ever happens or there’s potential PR nightmares, I can help out.
With half our friends on their way to becoming famous athletes and all the trouble Cater already gets into, this is my way of protecting all of you. ”
I stare at her, and tears fill my eyes. “This may sound creepy to some, but I absolutely love that you protect all of us that way.” I lean over and hug her tightly. She hugs me back, her chin on my shoulder. “Carter is a freaking idiot.”
Isla smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. The confrontation from my birthday night still weighs heavily on her, even though we’ve reassured her a hundred times that it's him and not her.
“Anyways, Jameson’s name was flagged as being at the event.
It was a dinner party with a lot of influential men and women.
One of those men being Court Nieland. He’s a big deal with the Las Vegas PWHL board.
” Isla clicks through some images and I see Jameson and Luca.
Both wearing suits that cost more money than is in my savings account.
Jameson’s usually messy hair is styled back and his neck tattoo of my lip mark is on display.
He looks like he’s made of money, which doesn’t coincide with the man I know.
“Do you know why he was there? I know he was visiting our friend Luca. Was it a school thing?”
Isla clicks her mouse again and this time it's the three guys, the other of whom I recognize from our night downtown. “Romeo.”
“Romeo is a big deal in the underground racing world. He sponsors Jameson. Your man is famous on the dark tracks. He competes in many races, but mostly only those with a lot of money on the line,” Isla explains further. My stomach sinks. It feels like Jameson is living a second life.
“How much money?”
Isla clicks more buttons and a number flashes on the screen. “Quarter of a million dollars. That's just this race.”
I blink at the screen. My mind scrambles. “Off one race?”
Isla glances at me, her face etched in concern. “Yeah, babe. And this isn’t his first race. Jameson’s been racing for the past three years for Romeo.”
It feels like my world is crashing in; yet, at the same time, some things start to make sense.
The garage. His move. Why he didn’t go to a university like he planned.
Spots dance in front of my vision and I stand, almost knocking over my chair.
Just like I’ve been taught, I raise my hands above my head and breathe deeply, trying to keep myself from panicking further and passing out.
I need proof. I need to see with my own eyes.
“Well Romeo is based in Chicago. We could get in the garage there, find Jameson’s car. See if it's the one you remember,” Isla offers, and I realize I spoke out loud.
“You can do that?” I glance down at her.
“If I say we can take the private jet, you can’t say anything about being a spy,” she tells me seriously, and I can’t help the nervous laughter that erupts out of me.
“You are a spy, Isla.”
Rolling her eyes, we gather our stuff to leave. “How are you going to do this?”
I slip my phone from my hand and pull up my text thread with Jameson. “I feel like anything I say he can check. Or he’ll offer to get me.” I blow out a breath. “He picked up Dylan from daycare, I’m supposed to go there after practice.”
“Which ended an hour ago, no,” Isla says, biting her lip nervously, her eyes on the front doors like she expects him to barge through at any second. “Don’t tell him.”
I raise my brow at her, sort of seeing her logic. “Okay. Let's just leave. We don’t tell anyone.”
Isla nods and leads me out the back of the building.
We get into her car, the trunk completely full of our bags.
The second my buckle clicks into place, my phone rings, KANE flashing on the screen.
I wait for it to stop, biting the inside of my cheek.
I don’t want him to know what I’m doing, but I also feel bad just not showing up.
I can’t do that to Dylan. Quickly I type out a message.
ME: I won’t be over tonight. Hanging out with Isla.
There, not the complete truth but not a lie. Something he should be able to understand. With a renewed sense of anger and drive, I power off my phone.
I may have seen one too many spy movies or read one too many mafia books because the private terminal is not at all what I expected.
It's just an extension of the airport. A sleek little white jet waits on the tarmac for us with a small crew. Isla seems to know everyone and I just roll with the punches. I can’t talk.
I can only keep my head down. I’m two seconds away from puking if I think too much about the risk I’m taking.
The need to know about Jameson’s secret life, to see it in person plagues me.
The flight to Chicago takes less than two hours, and soon, we’re landing and getting into a blacked-out SUV.
“Is this part of the family perks too?” I ask Isla, and she blushes, looking sheepish. “You’re so cool, Isla. I want to be you when I grow up.”
She laughs and grips my hand while we’re driven through the downtown streets of Chicago. My eyes take in all the sights, but my stomach is a mess. “You didn’t turn your phone back on.”
“I don’t want to lie any more than I already did. Knowing Jameson, he’s probably already called and texted a hundred times.”
“Well, you’re not wrong. He’s pretty much notified everyone you’re MIA. Since I didn’t answer, he went down the line of our friends and their boyfriends. He reached out to Leif and Carter even.” Isla grins, watching me closely.
“This is bad. I’ll have to apologize to our friends.”
“No need. I told the girls. Although, knowing them, they probably told Reign and Hawke, but those two wouldn’t rat you out,” she assures me. I start to feel better until we pull in front of a secure fence rigged with an electric lock.
“So much for getting in.” My head tilts back against the headrest. Our driver laughs, his eyes scrunching in the rearview mirror.
“Oh ye of little faith,” Isla mutters under her breath before sliding out of the vehicle.
I watch fascinated as she pulls out a different looking device with a long antenna attached to the top and places it on the lock.
Two minutes later, the light flashes green and the automatic doors begin to open.