Page 22

COLTER
“Get me to the Pink Panther, now.”
I grit my teeth and clutch the stilled image from the surveillance footage of the Daily Press’s front entry. It was the best the editor could get me of the identity of the woman who came to them with the tip concerning my extracurriculars.
“Boss?”
“Drive the fucking car, Oliver.”
Oliver quirks a brow at me before putting the car in drive. As we take off, I glance at the photo again, sending a fresh pot of red hot lava flowing through my veins.
It isn’t Abi. Or Abigail, or whatever her real name is.
It’s the fucking hooker who showed up after her.
I crack my neck and shove the photo in my pocket before I can torture myself anymore with it.
“Want to tell me why I’m driving to a strip club?”
I glance at Oliver but don’t give an answer. With every other guy on my security detail, I sit in the backseat, and now I wish it was the same with Oliver. If I have to answer any questions right now, my head might explode.
“We’ve been tailed by the press for days, and there’s a good chance we’re being tailed now,” he says, his voice calm like it always is. “You know what it’s going to look like, don’t you?”
“Like I’m a pervert? It’s a little late to change that, isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t help.”
I clench my jaw hard enough to feel pain and welcome the distraction as I peer out the window. Oliver is right. We should head home. I can call Settimo later and ask for an update on what they found. They never need to know about the girlorabout Abi.
Except, he isn’t answering his phone. And the number I had my guy find for Abi has gone to voicemail since last night when I caved and got it.
“Still no answer for that number?” I ask.
“No.”
I drum my fingers on my thigh and think.
I don’tknowthat they have her. It could be a coincidence that her phone is shut off, or she could have ditched it altogether. It shouldn’t be too surprising to see her apartment packed with boxes this morning when I went to warn her. She was scared, sheshould’vebeen scared. But the dumped out purse lying on the floor… that’s suspicious.
I should’ve gone last night.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, raking a hand through my hair.
“Colter.”
I turn to Oliver, a little taken back by the use of my name. Despite me telling him to use my first name when off the clock, he never does.
He takes his eyes off the road to look at me seriously. “Is this about the girl from the other night?”
Several seconds go by before I nod.
“Is she in danger?”
My face hardens as a habit anytime someone implies that I’m linked to my family by anything other than blood. I don’t speak of them,ever. Not to anyone. It’s the only thing that’s given me some form of my own identity over the years, my own legacy. If they hadn’t come to me with an opportunity to advance my political career, I would have nothing to do with them now.
Regret seeps through me as I remember the first meeting with Settimo. It seemed so much more innocent at the time. Grant them some permits just like any other councilman would have done when elected and use my power to make an actual difference in Las Vegas.
How fucking naive.