Page 7 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)

The chandelier light cascaded over the Orchid Isle Resort's grand ballroom, casting a golden glow over the sea of designer suits and cocktail dresses. Cassidy maintained her practiced smile as another stranger's arm wrapped around her shoulder, phone extended for yet another selfie.

"One more, Ms. Reynolds. My poker group back home will lose their minds."

"Of course," she replied warmly, though her skin crawled at the uninvited touch. Three months of feeling watched had made her hyperaware of every interaction, every casual contact that could be something more sinister.

Still, this tournament represented exactly what Haven House needed—a two million dollar prize pool and a room full of billionaires with philanthropic potential.

As she'd told Sophia on the plane, this was like a pro-am golf event: wealthy amateurs testing themselves against professionals, all of them potential donors for her foundation.

Sophia materialized at her side, tablet in hand, auburn hair swept into an elegant updo that complemented her charcoal pantsuit.

"Senator Williams would like a word before his flight tomorrow," Sophia whispered, her Australian accent barely noticeable in professional mode. "And the Macau casino delegation requested five minutes of your time before the satellite tournament begins in the morning."

Cassidy nodded, scanning the room with the same interest she applied to poker tables. The ballroom had transformed into a playing field of a different sort—one where connections meant funding for Haven House.

"Reynolds. Still breaking hearts and bankrupting billionaires?" A jovial voice boomed behind her.

She turned to find Mickey Gaines, a sixty-something poker veteran with a salt-and-pepper beard and the pallid look of someone who spent more time in casinos than sunlight.

"Mickey," she greeted him with genuine warmth.

"I already saw the seating chart. We won’t meet up until the fifth or sixth round." His eyes twinkled as he sipped his whiskey. "I plan to win this one. Enjoy it while you can, Angel."

Before she could respond, Adriana Radu glided past, the Russian pro's ice-blonde hair pulled into a severe ponytail that matched her expression. "Cassidy," she acknowledged with a curt nod.

"Adriana." Cassidy returned with equal formality. They respected each other's skill, but warmth had never characterized their relationship.

"Nice dress," the woman remarked, her gaze coolly appraising. "Very... charitable."

Cassidy smiled as Adriana moved on. Their rivalry was well-documented, though Cassidy had never reciprocated the animosity.

"Ms. Reynolds," drawled a twenty-something in a blindingly white suit, gold watch flashing as he extended his hand. "Tyler Reed. They call me the Hurricane on the circuit."

"Do they?" Cassidy replied, accepting his handshake while noting his dilated pupils and the slight tremor in his grip. High on something. Probably cocaine.

"Absolutely. I sweep through tournaments leaving devastation." He leaned closer, cologne overwhelming. "Maybe I could buy you dinner later? Compare strategies?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm literally booked until the main tournament starts," she responded smoothly, catching Sophia's amused glance.

As Tyler retreated, Cassidy's attention was drawn to a figure by the exit—a man whose disciplined posture stood out amid the casual wealth.

She recognized him from the lobby earlier when that overenthusiastic young man had returned her "dropped" passport—though she knew Sophia had engineered that little test.

"The one who was at registration," she murmured to Sophia. "Military?"

Sophia's fingers danced across her tablet. "Kenji Marshall," she announced moments later. "Former Navy SEAL, combat medic, currently with Knight Tactical security firm." She tilted her head. "He's registered for the satellite tournament."

"A SEAL playing poker?" Cassidy couldn't reconcile the image. Even in resort casual—khaki pants and a blue button-down—the man looked like he belonged in a tactical unit rather than a casino.

"Maybe he's moonlighting as security," she mused. "Or maybe he likes poker. Even SEALs have hobbies."

Sophia's lips quirked. "Expensive hobby. The buy-in alone is five thousand."

Before Cassidy could respond, she felt it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched. Not the casual interest of poker fans or potential donors, but the focused attention of someone with purpose. Her gaze swept across the room until it locked with dark, penetrating eyes.

At the far end of the ballroom, on a raised dais that took up the entire corner, a man held court like a medieval king. Even in the dim lighting, his presence commanded attention. He raised his glass in her direction, his stare unwavering.

"That's Xavier Vega," Sophia whispered, following her gaze. "Estimated net worth around $5 billion. Shipping magnate, real estate developer, and—" she paused, scrolling "—owner of this entire resort."

The host with the most, Cassidy thought, automatically calculating philanthropic potential. Five billion could fund Haven House operations globally.

"He's staring."

"He's interested," Sophia countered. "This could be huge for the foundation. Want me to research his charitable giving history?"

"Definitely," Cassidy murmured, but something about Vega's intense focus made her uncomfortable. This wasn't the usual wealthy man's interest in the "Angel of the Felt."

"Excuse me, Ms. Reynolds." A deep voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to find a massive man—broad-shouldered, with a scar tracing his jawline. His suit couldn't hide the bulge of a shoulder holster. "Mr. Vega would appreciate a moment of your time."

The words were phrased as a request, but the tone suggested declining wasn't really an option.

Cassidy exchanged a glance with Sophia, who was already pulling up more detailed information on her tablet. "Of course," Cassidy replied, smoothing her dress. "Lead the way."

The security man escorted her through the crowd, which parted seamlessly before them.

As they approached Vega's elevated seating area, Cassidy mentally prepared the Haven House pitch she'd delivered countless times to potential donors.

If she could get even a fraction of his wealth directed toward saving children. ..

Vega rose as she approached—taller than she'd expected, with the lean build of someone who maintained discipline despite wealth's temptations. His custom suit probably cost more than most people's cars, yet he wore it with the ease of everyday clothing.

"Ms. Reynolds," he greeted, his accent carrying traces of Spanish roots mixed with American education. "The famous Angel of the Felt. I was hoping we'd meet."

"Mr. Vega. Thank you for hosting such an impressive event."

"Please, sit. Can I get you something? The champagne is excellent—vintage Krug."

"Sparkling water, thank you," she replied, settling into the offered chair.

He smiled, signaling a server. "You don't drink when you play. Smart." He accepted his own drink—something dark and brown and undoubtedly breathtakingly-expensive. "I've been following your career. Not the tournaments—your charity work as well. Haven House has a reputation."

"We do what we can. There are always more children who need help."

"Indeed." His dark eyes studied her with an intensity that made her shift slightly. "You've disrupted a few... operations. Made some powerful enemies."

The words carried weight, but before she could respond, he continued smoothly. "Which is why I wanted to meet you. To offer my congratulations on your courage. And to mention that I have a proposition that might interest you."

"Oh?"

"I'm hoping we can connect sometime during the tournament. We could discuss... possibilities for collaboration."

"Collaboration?"

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I have resources. You have a cause. Perhaps we could find mutually beneficial arrangements. But that's a conversation for another day. Tonight is for celebration."

Something in his tone set off her poker instincts—the same feeling she got when an opponent was slow-playing pocket aces. But she kept her expression neutral.

"I appreciate the invitation. Let me know what works for you and I'll check my schedule with my assistant."

"Of course. Though I do hope you'll make time. I can be a very... generous supporter when properly motivated." He stood, clearly ending their brief meeting. "Enjoy the reception, Ms. Reynolds. I look forward to our future conversation."

The dismissal was polite but clear. As the security man escorted her back, Cassidy's mind raced. That hadn't been a donor pitch—it had been something else entirely.

Not that she had a clue what.

Sophia intercepted her halfway back. "Well?"

"He wants to meet tomorrow night. Private dinner. Says he has a proposition."

"That's either very good or very bad for the foundation."

"My thoughts exactly." Cassidy forced her smile back into place as they moved through the crowd.

As they navigated the ballroom, Cassidy caught sight of Marshall again. The SEAL was watching her, and when their eyes met, she saw he'd noticed her encounter with Vega. There was something in his expression—recognition? Warning?

At least she wasn't the only one sensing undercurrents in paradise.