The building doesn’t appear guarded at all.
Not necessarily a good sign.
Could be a trap or a colossal waste of my time.
And my mind continually distracts me with memories of Maeve’s warm, willing touch…
I almost destroyed her last night.
I wanted to ravish every last drop of her soaking wet form.
And I meant what I texted her too.
I’ll have that rain check.
Get your shit together, Kellin. You’re on the job.
Up ahead, a door comes into view on my left. I strain to catch any noise on the other side and then shoulder in, weapon drawn.
Eerie, echoey, shadowy silence.
So far, the place is a ghost town, but I still conduct a thorough sweep of the compound before declaring this trip a bust and returning to the Cypress.
Still no sign of Doyle.
That only reinforces my gut instinct. They must be keeping him somewhere in the hotel, probably in the penthouse with Declan. No matter how I think about it, that’s the only logical explanation. Every other place we’ve checked—in person or virtually by hacking into security feeds—has led to a dead end.
Doyle in the hotel would be ideal for me anyway. That puts him within spitting distance and simplifies my job. But part of me clings to some hope that they hid him somewhere else.
That way, I might stand a chance of minimizing my guilt around Maeve.
If completing this mission involves her hotel, she’ll view it as a betrayal of trust.
I try not to think about that on the drive back.
After handing over my rental car to the valet, I shoot a quick text to Finn to update him on the warehouse. I’m still staring at my phone when I waltz through the front doors into the Cypress lobby and catch Maeve’s frazzled voice.
Perking up like a watchful guard dog, I scan the room and find her near the elevators, engaged in a heated argument with someone over the phone. A quick read of her lips suggests she’s bickering with Brody…about…an employee.
Something’s wrong. I squint at her mouth, which now moves almost faster than I can read…
An employee just quit.
Why would that be of interest to Maeve’s brother?
I hang back, hidden behind a giant potted plant, hoping to overhear or lipread important details, but Maeve ends the conversation before I can parse anything else.
She appears ready to stomp off in a huff by the time she spots me approaching. Her anger visibly dims.
Quelling my satisfaction over her reaction is a losing battle.
Maybe because her hungry expression matches my own greedy craving.
Either way, the longing in her eyes throws me off my game. Every damn time.
I stop in front of her and touch her arm. “What’s wrong? You seem stressed.”
Maeve rubs her temple, then shakes her head. “There’s this big wedding scheduled for next weekend.” She heaves a sigh. “Long story short, we’re short-staffed, and it’s causing problems for the vendors and…”
