I swallowed hard, picturing Ryan tearing through his designer apartment like a hurricane. “Yeah.”
“Andy.” Ryan’s voice softened, though I could still hear him moving. “We’ll find him. Matt’s too stubborn to—” He broke off. “Shit, where’s my—? Never mind, got it. Car’s on its way. Try not to murder anyone before I get there.”
“No promises,” I muttered, but he’d already hung up, probably still cursing and searching for matching socks.
My reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows looked haunted, the Vegas lights behind me creating a halo of neon around my mess of black hair. I dialed James next. He answered before the first ring finished.
“Already in the air,” James’ cool voice held an edge I’d never heard before, like arctic ice about to crack. “Twenty minutes out. Eddie’s briefed me.”
“James, I?—”
“Breathe, Andy.” The command in his voice was pure Maxwell, the kind that made casino high-rollers fold with their full houses. “Panic helps no one. Especially not Matt.”
I forced air into my lungs, watching my reflection steady itself. “Right. Yeah. Breathing. Though technically, panic is just the body’s natural response to?—”
“Andy.”
“Breathing. Got it.”
“Good. Now—” He paused. “I’ve told Mia to stay in LA. After Herbert… we can’t risk both Donovans.” His voice softened slightly. “She’s calling you. Stay put. I’ll be there soon.”
The call ended before I could respond with something appropriately snarky about him being bossy. I stared at my phone, counting seconds. Three… two… one…
Right on cue, Mia’s call lit up my screen. “Hey, sis.”
“Andy!” Her voice was tight with worry, the kind that always made her sound exactly like our mother. “James just told me everything. Said I have to stay here, that it’s too dangerous to come to Vegas. Are you okay? I hate that I can’t?—”
“No,” I cut her off, remembering the terror of nearly losing her to Herbert. “James is right. Stay in LA where it’s safe.” The words tasted bitter, like the burned garlic still lingering in the kitchen. “I’m fine. It’s Matt who’s—” I couldn’t finish.
“Oh, Andy.” I could hear her fighting tears, could picture her pacing, probably stress-baking like she always did in a crisis. James would have his security team watching her place, keeping her safe. After Herbert, none of us took chances anymore. “Promise you’ll be careful?”
“Always am.”
Her snort of disbelief could have registered on the Richter scale. “Liar.”
The penthouse doors swung open with enough force to make the art on the walls tremble. Tory strode in like an avenging samurai, flanked by two men whose sharp suits and sharper eyes screamed Yakuza. His usual easy smile was nowhere in sight, replaced by something ancient and dangerous that reminded me his family had probably been ruling Japan since before America was even a concept.
“Mia, I have to go. Tory’s here. With backup that looks like they eat small countries for breakfast.”
“Call me. Please?”
“Promise.”
Tory’s men took up positions by the windows, the city lights cast shadows behind them, making them look even more intimidating. If that was possible.
“My people are already searching.” Tory’s normally playful voice was steel-edged. “If he’s in Vegas, we’ll find him.”
“Thank you.” The words felt inadequate. I ran a hand through my hair, probably making it stand up worse than usual. “I was thinking… maybe Xavier?”
Tory’s laugh held no humor. “Xavier’s many things, but he’s not stupid enough to kidnap the king of Sin City.” His dark eyes met mine.
I slumped onto the couch, the leather cool against my overheated skin. “Yeah. You’re right.” A thought struck me. “That Porter guy was there too. He always watches Matt like?—”
“Like he wants to eat him?” Tory pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the screen. “I’ll have my people look into him.”
I’d watched the sun rise over Vegas, a spectacular show of pink and gold that I barely registered. The penthouse had transformed into some kind of crisis command center overnight, with people moving in and out like a particularly well-dressed ant colony. If ant colonies wore Armani and carried concealed weapons, that is.
James stood at the dining table—now covered in laptops, papers, and enough technology to make NASA jealous—barking orders into two phones simultaneously. His usual perfect composure had cracked just enough to show the steel underneath. “I don’t care if he’s the Pope’s personal secretary,get me those security feeds… No, all of them. Yes, including the maintenance corridors.”
