Page 19 of Sweet Deception

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My body goes cold as the pieces click together in my mind.

She…playedme.

That nameless woman wasn’t a gold digger at all.

She was a spy who got exactlywhat she came for. Sensitive data about the Irish Kings Mafia.

And it’s all my fault.

“Fucking hell.” I rip the robe off, throw my suitcase open, and toss on some clothes.

In all of sixty seconds, I storm out of the suite and bound for the elevators.

I don’t stop moving until I’ve reached the hotel security office on the first floor. They recognize me immediately.

Kings are easy to spot at this hotel. We should be, after all the money Shane dropped on this double wedding.

They let me in at once and don’t object when I inform them one of their hotel guests stole from me and insist on finding out which room she’s in.

“Right away, sir.” The security director is my height, but he’s stockier and gruff, with a dull, square face. “Your suite’s on the thirty-first floor, correct?”

“Thirty-fifth.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see some of the other security staff flinch.

They’re obviously afraid of me.

Anyone would be when I’m this furious. At myself. Ather.

How dare she con me like this? Who does she think she is?

The director rewinds through some video footage. “Let me know when?—”

“There!” I cut him off, bracing against the extra-long desk upon which many, manysecurity feeds sit.

My body heats up as I point out the frame and watch her streak down the hallway in that dress I nearly ripped off her with my teeth.

Wrath mounts inside me.

I should’ve shredded that thing, then she never could’ve left my suite without my permission.

“Where’d she go?” When I growl out the words, an uneasy silence settles over the entire office.

The security director keeps toggling. The next video shows her in the elevator, yanking on her shoes and grimacing at her face in the mirror, appearance still slightly untidy from her tour through my bed.

In another video, she’s navigating through the lobby right out the front door to the curb. I’m about to demand he tell me which way she went when he pulls up the next feed. We all witness her getting into a cab and disappearing into the early morning light.

“I’m sorry that she got away, sir.” The security director scratches his neck. “But if you give us her name, we should be able to pull up her room details and any travel plans. We’d be happy to file a police report if you’ll leave us a full list of what she stole.”

“That’s not fucking good enough.” I don’t even glance at him. Instead, my eyes zero in on the tag number of the taxi she slipped into.

She’s not getting away from me that easily.

“Sir?”

I whip around and take off from the security office, jogging through the lobby toward the exit. I know I should call my friends, or my father, or tell Shane, but I refuse to do any of those things.

This is more than just a work problem. This is personal.