“Hello?” My voice was rough with sleep and worry, a charming combination I’m sure.
“Andy Donovan.” Xavier Kingsley’s smooth voice filled my ear, cultured and amused like we were at a charity gala instead of in the middle of a kidnapping crisis. “I hope I’m not interrupting your beauty sleep. Though from what I hear, you could use it.”
I sat up so fast my head spun, Matt’s oversized t-shirt sliding off one shoulder. “How did you get this number?”
His laugh was rich with amusement, the kind that probably made board members nervous and shareholders reach for their wallets. “Please. I’m a tech mogul. Getting a phone number is child’s play. Like taking candy from a baby, if the baby was using a ridiculously outdated firewall.”
“What do you want?” My fingers clutched the phone tighter, knuckles white. Through the bedroom door, I could still hearthe muffled sounds of the ongoing search operation—voices raised in urgent discussion, phones ringing, the constant tap of keyboards. The sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets that still smelled faintly of Matt’s cologne.
“To help find Matt.” His voice turned serious, dropping the playful tone like a discarded mask. “I know he’s been taken.”
“And why would you want to help?” I couldn’t keep the suspicion from my voice, pacing the length of the bedroom. “Last I checked, you two weren’t exactly sharing friendship bracelets.”
“Let’s just say I have information you need.” Xavier paused, perfectly timed for dramatic effect. The man probably practiced these conversations in a mirror. “Though, of course, nothing comes for free in Vegas. Not even good deeds.”
My stomach clenched, doing that uncomfortable flip thing it did whenever someone was about to complicate my life. “What do you want?”
“A favor. To be collected later.” I could hear the smile in his voice, like a cat who’d not only got the cream but had managed to frame the dog for the theft. “Nothing too dramatic. No hotels or casinos involved, I promise. I’m not trying to build an empire here.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring. In fact, that’s about as reassuring as a shark promising it just wants a quick chat.”
“And yet you’re still listening.” Keys clicked in the background, a rapid-fire staccato of purpose. “I know who took Matt.”
My breath caught, heart doing that gymnastics routine again. “Who?”
“Lucas Porter.” The name dropped like a stone in still water, ripples of implications spreading outward. “And before you askhow I know, let’s just say I’ve had my people watching him for… reasons.”
“Why would you be watching Porter?” The pieces started coming together in my head like a particularly ominous jigsaw puzzle. “Unless… wait, is he stalking Matt? And you noticed because you’re also playing Billionaire Big Brother with Matt’s life? Ha! I knew there was a reason you alwayshappenedto be at every event he attends. You’re into him too!”
Xavier’s laugh cut me off, rich and genuine this time. “Oh, darling, no. Matt’s not my type at all. Too tall, too brooding, too… Matt. I prefer them smaller, feistier. More… golden. Like a particularly adorable Labrador puppy with hacking skills.”
The penny dropped with enough force to dent the floor. “Ryan.”
“Smart boy. I can see why Matt keeps you around.” More clicking, probably coordinating some elaborate tech-billionaire scheme. “Now, shall we discuss Porter’s current location? I’m heading to the penthouse. And Andy?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember, you owe me one.”
I ran a hand through my sleep-mussed hair, probably making it worse. “As long as it’s nothing illegal or impossible?—”
“Nothing like that. Just… personal. Though your definition of illegal might need some flexibility.”
My eyes narrowed. “This is about Ryan, isn’t it? Because if you’re planning some elaborate tech-mogul courtship ritual involving stolen satellites or reprogrammed billboards?—”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He hung up before I could finish my totally reasonable concerns about Ryan’s future safety and the integrity of national security systems.
I stared at the phone, torn between hope and wariness. On one hand, we had a lead. On the other hand, I’d just potentiallysold Ryan’s soul to the devil who probably had the GDP of a small country in his checking account.
“Sorry, Ryan,” I muttered, climbing out of bed and heading for the shower. “But needs must when the devil drives. Or in this case, when the devil knows where your kidnapped boyfriend is and has probably already hacked your Spotify playlist to learn your music preferences.”
Time to face the chaos again. And maybe warn Ryan to update his security settings. And possibly invest in a bunker. With very good Wi-Fi, of course. He was still a Caine, after all.
I took the world’s fastest shower, probably setting some kind of record. My hair was still damp when I emerged from the bathroom, tugging on a pair of jeans and one of Matt’s t-shirts that hung on me like a designer tent. The fabric still smelled like him, a mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely Matt that made my chest ache.
“Back to bed.” Ryan materialized in front of me like some kind of sleep-deprived ninja, his inside-out shirt now sporting not just coffee stains but what looked suspiciously like donut powder. “It’s been what, four hours?”
“Xavier’s coming over.” I ducked around him, heading for the living room where the command center was still in full swing. “He knows where Matt is.”
