SIX
Something was off.
From the moment Duke had stepped into the lobby, he’d spotted the man pretending to read a newspaper across the room. His baseball cap was pulled low, his jacket collar turned up despite the warm air, and his posture too stiff for someone “relaxing” in a hotel lobby.
Every so often, the man’s gaze flicked toward the group.
Finally, Duke caught a glimpse of his face.
He recognized the man from Pam’s photos.
Colin Hoffman.
Gina’s ex.
Ofcoursehe’d show up. Men like him always did.
Without shifting his stance or giving anything away, Duke murmured to Andi, “Take Rupert and everyone else upstairs.”
Her brows knit together. “Duke, what?—?”
But she’d already followed his gaze.
She saw Colin, and her body went still.
“What’s he doing here?” she murmured.
“I’ll find out.” Duke stepped away from the group, cutting through the lobby with deliberate calm. “Colin Hoffman.”
Colin’s head snapped up. Behind the rim of his glasses, his eyes widened—not with confusion but with shock.
For one solid second, the two of them locked eyes across the lobby.
Then Colin darted from his seat.
He ran.
He shoved through the revolving door so hard that the glass panels stuttered as they spun. A guest yelped as the door nearly swallowed him.
Duke was already moving, his long strides slicing through the space between them.
He burst outside and caught sight of Colin darting down the sidewalk, the glow of streetlights smearing across damp pavement.
“Colin! Stop!” Duke shouted. “We just want to talk!”
Colin didn’t slow. He pumped his arms harder, sprinting along the narrow downtown street. Friday-night traffic was thin—just the hiss of tires on wet asphalt, the distant blare of a horn, and the sharp echo of their footsteps ricocheting between tall buildings. Somewhere nearby, a cable car bell clanged, the sound floating up through the fog like a warning.
The street pitched steeply enough that Duke had to adjust his stride, leaning back slightly to keep from gaining too much speed. San Francisco never let you forget its hills—not when you were chasing someone on foot.
Two blocks in, Duke could already tell Colin wasn’t built for this. His breathing turned ragged and his shoulders hitched with each step, his pace uneven as the incline punished muscles unused to real exertion.
That hesitation—that weakness—gave Duke the edge.
Colin veered sharply into an alley wedged between brick buildings, with dumpsters lining the walls. The air smelled of sour trash and salt blown in from the bay. A stray cat hissed andshot under a splintered pallet as Colin clipped a recycling bin, sending bottles clattering across the concrete.
The sound exploded in the narrow space, magnified by the close walls and the slope of the ground, which dropped away sharply toward the next street.
Duke hurdled the debris without breaking stride, boots thudding hard as he pushed deeper into the alley, the city closing in around them—tight, vertical, unforgiving.
