Las Vegas
My knee bounced under the cold, metallic table of the interrogation room while my hands, still cuffed, rested on the smooth surface. The lack of a clock in the small room made it impossible to gauge how long I’d been in here, but considering the fact that I was hungry, I had to guess it had been hours.
Hours since I’d pulled my shirt on and gone into the hallway to see what was taking Penelope so long. Hours since I’d been shoved against a wall like I was some kind of threat and had my hands cuffed behind my back. Hours since they had dragged me down to this station, put me into this room, and promptly forgotten about me.
No phone call.
No bathroom in sight.
No information about where Penelope was.
Penelope. I tried to keep my mind from wandering to her—it would only drive me crazy when there was nothing I could do to help her from here, but she was on my brain every other minute.
Hopefully she was okay. Hopefully she wasn’t scared. The woman had a backbone of steel—I’d known that in the first moment I set eyes on her—but there was also something fragile about her, like all that armor she wore was held together by only a fraying string.
What the hell had I been thinking? For fuck’s sake, I was due to fly out of Vegas in what had been less than twenty-four hours. Had the last couple of hours cost me what I’d been working my entire adult life for?
I’d been so damned stupid to jump off that thing with her.
But she’d needed someone, and I could admit that I’d wanted to be that someone.
Besides, holding her? Touching her? Feeling every soft curve of her flawless body against mine? Worth it. I’d never felt that kind of chemistry with someone before, and with Penelope I’d been a moth drawn to the flame she was—wild, beautiful, and hypnotically irresistible.
My gaze drifted to the mirrored wall. I’d watched enough Law & Order to know there was a good chance cops were on the other side of that glass, watching me. For the first time since meeting her, I was glad I didn’t know Penelope’s last name. I couldn’t give them any more information to use against her than what they already had. How the hell had they found us?
The doorknob turned and immediately had my full attention. First an officer came in and wordlessly unlocked my cuffs, removing the metal from my wrists. As he left, two men walked in, both dressed in tailored suits. The older, short, heavyset one held a file while the taller one behind him obviously held the power. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, watching me in a way that I recognized all too well from my years in the military—he was analyzing every one of my details. That smirk he wore told me he wasn’t too impressed. He looked equal to me in the age department, but he was definitely winning in the asshole category.
The chair in front of me squeaked as the older one scraped the legs on the linoleum floor before sitting in it. He swallowed nervously, adjusted his glasses, and slid a paper and pen toward me.
“Mr. Delgado,” he said, “if you’ll sign that, I will officially be your attorney, and anything we discuss will be privileged.”
I blinked. “I haven’t had a phone call.”
“You won’t need one. They’re not booking you or pressing charges,” the younger one answered. “But that deal sticks only on two conditions. The first is you sign that paper to secure Mr. Schur here as your attorney.”
Who the hell were these people? I read the simple document that was exactly as he said, but hesitated at signing it. “Are you a public defender?”
Mr. Schur scoffed. “Hardly.”
Given the threads he wore, I believed him. “Then why represent me?”
“Because it’s what Penelope wants,” the younger one answered, his tone low.
“Is she okay? Where is she?”
The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She’s fine, and she’s outside, waiting for us to finish up here so she can catch her flight.”
“No charges against her, either?” There was zero chance in hell I was taking any kind of deal to walk away if she was going to be punished.
The corners of his mouth tugged upward, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “No charges for her, either,” he assured me in a softer tone.
I swallowed, weighing my options, and decided to trust Penelope, scrawling my name across the line that read: client.
That was twice tonight that I’d put my life in her hands.
Mr. Schur visibly relaxed across the table from me. “Okay, now that’s taken care of, if you’ll simply sign this nondisclosure agreement, you can be on your way. No charges. No mug shot. No record of this ever having happened.”
“Nondisclosure?” I asked, reading over the document. “Why?”
“Because while Penelope wants you clear of any implication of wrongdoing, this is what she needs,” the younger one answered, still leaning against the wall.
“And who exactly are you?” I asked.
“The one who ends up fixing everything they inevitably fuck up.” He let loose a rough sigh.
“They?”
“Sign the paper, Mr. Delgado.”
My eyes narrowed at him. “How do you know my name? I never told Penelope.”
“You told the officers when they brought you here, and the moment Penna demanded your freedom, you became my business. So let me fix this shitstorm. Sign the paper, and you get to leave.”
“Penelope is outside?”
“Only until we’re done here. Don’t expect to ever see her again.”
Who the hell was this guy to her? A brother? A friend? A…lover? I swallowed the flash of rage that came with that thought. There was no use going primal over a woman I was never going to get to see again.
So why did I have a quick fantasy of bashing his pretty little face into the wall?
“Look, Mr. Delgado. You can sign that paper and show up at UCLA on Monday like you’re supposed to, or you can get booked on trespassing charges, which I’m sure the university wouldn’t be too happy about. What is it going to be?” He arched a superior eyebrow at me.
He might have more money than I did—scratch that, of course he did—but he was in no way superior. I had two college degrees and a chest full of medals at home to prove it.
As much as I hated it, he was right. I needed to sign the paper. It promised that any of the events that transpired tonight would never be made public.
“Her name isn’t on here,” I said.
“No, it isn’t,” Mr. Schur said.
“I don’t even get to know her last name?” I asked as I signed the damn thing.
The guy reached over Mr. Schur and snatched the paper from the table. “Thank you.” He turned, striding out of the room with Mr. Schur hot on his heels.
I pushed away from the table and headed after them, half expecting the cops to grab me and tell me there had been a mistake. They were already through the door that led to where the cops had brought me in, and I broke into a run to catch them. I needed to see Penelope, to know she was okay. To at least have a way to check on her…to have the slightest chance to see her again.
“Hey!” I called out once I saw him in the waiting room, realizing I still had no idea what the hell the guy’s name was.
He turned, his hand on the door that led outside. “Yes?”
“What’s her last name?” I asked, needing to know.
He held the door, and Mr. Schur walked out.
My chest tightened with a desperation I hadn’t felt since I’d last been deployed. “Please,” I said softly, hating that I had to ask him for anything.
The guy shook his head. “Sorry. No glass slipper, either.” He shot me a cocky smirk that I wanted to immediately rip off his face, and then left.
I ran to the door, but by the time I swung it open, I caught only the taillights of a stretch limo that Penelope was in. I knew it in my bones.
That one glimpse told me what I’d already known.
That girl had been way out of my league.
