Page 136 of Restless Hawke

Not just to the Hawke Hotel, either. I can never come back to New Orleans.

That thought finally makes the tears begin to flow, and the driver comes out and holds the door open for me.

I slide into the back seat, the door closes, sealing me inside with my own misery.

It was the right thing to do.

No matter how many times I remind myself of that fact, it doesn’t make the twisting in my gut any better. It doesn’t solve the problem I’ve just created for myself by savinghim.

I helped the Hawkes in a way only I could have.

If they had openly defied his order to fix the game in favor of Alan, there would have been catastrophic repercussions. But they’ve done nothing wrong, and that’s the true beauty of my plan.

Coen did exactly as asked—he put the stacked deck into the dealer’s hands.

That should have been the end of it.

That should haveensuredSatriano’s plant won the tournament and firmly held the Hawkes in a stranglehold.

I was the factor he never counted on…

But he should have.

That man never should have underestimated me.

The driver raises a brow in the rearview. “Where to, miss?”

“Airport, as fast as you can.”

He nods and glances at his side-view mirror before he starts to pull out from under the massive awning and onto the drizzly, damp New Orleans street. But my door flies open before he can pull away from the curb more than a foot or two.

I jerk away from the open door, prepared to face the wrath of the man I betrayed.

But the one who slides in and settles next to me in the back seat isn’t the one I thought would be following me.

It isn’t Alan or any of Satriano’s other planted men.

It’s theotherone I betrayed.

Coen stares at me, those unbelievably blue eyes of his somehow a mix between flinty ice and warm Caribbean blue.

The driver either hasn’t noticed that Coen joined me or doesn’t care, and he pulls off into traffic.I press the button to raise the partition, unsure what Coen might say that I might not want him overhearing.

Once it’s fully up, I turn to Coen. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He holds my gaze, giving nothing away about his intent. “You ran again.”

I set my purse down on the seat next to me, my body already heating under his assessing gaze that I can’t quite figure out. Angry? Shocked? Thrilled? “I have every reason to run, Coen. He’ll come after me now.”

Coen’s hard jaw tics as he looks at me. “You knew exactly what you were doing, the danger you were putting yourself in.”

I nod, and he flips the card I handed Savage up so my message is visible.

I’m sorry. It was all real.

“And this?” He flicks it with his finger. “Was this just another move in the game?”

Even now. Even after what I just did for him. He still doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t understand how important he is to me.