Before heading to the main house, he took the stairs to the security office above the garage. Russell Elander, one of the new guys—quiet, around forty, ex-military like a lot of the others—sat at the desk, his eyes shifting between ten live feeds covering the property.
“Anything happening tonight?” Alec asked, letting out a long, tired breath as he dropped into the second chair.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Russ replied, still scanning the monitors.
Alec grunted. “It’ll liven up when everyone tries to leave. Have you seen the parking lot? It’s a nightmare.”
“Dev isn’t happy,” Russ said, tapping the main gate feed, the lot visible beyond it. “The paving contractor was supposed to finish the striping before tonight.”
“Someone’s going to have to direct traffic, or nobody moves.”
“Lucky for me, I’m on duty in here until the last member’s out.”
Alec’s stomach rumbled loudly. “Have the vultures picked the buffet clean? I’m starved.”
“You took a long side trip for grub. Didn’t you sign off the McKenzie case an hour ago?”
“Yeah, but I was told there was shrimp, meatballs, and those spicy Southwest egg rolls. I couldn’t face a protein shake at home after that.”
“You might snag a crumb or two, but you’d better hurry.” Russ nodded at the monitor on the far end. “The caterers are packing up as we speak. Before you go, can you spare thirty seconds for me to take a leak?”
He didn’t wait for an answer before he was out of his chair and striding down the short hall to the facilities.
“Sure,” Alec drawled. “After eight hours of surveillance where the highlight was the subject letting his dog out to piss, I’m fresh as a daisy.”
Tailing cheating spouses ranked as Alec’s second-least favorite part of the job. His mandatory biweekly control-room shift at headquarters downtown was worse. Between around-the-clock surveillance cases—sometimes two and three at a time—and running security at Devil’s Pointe two nights a week, everyone had to do their time at the monitors. Some didn’t mind—Alec did. Staring at video feeds for hours was duller than watching paint dry. When he returned to work after his head injury, he’d gotten his fill of it for four weeks straight.
“Yet here I am—again,” he grumbled. Sliding his chair over, he began scanning. Boring or not, it was the job, and what the clients paid for.
At least at the club, a few feeds offered some action. Couples soaked in the hot tub and pool. Jesse had a sub strung up by her wrists from a tree out on the playground. The other play areas were mostly quiet. He quickly scanned the perimeter cameras and saw the two guards making rounds. Next, he homed in on the patio, where he’d much rather be, and the parking lot where the catering crew was loading their vans.
Amid the black-and-white uniformed staff, a slender figure with waist-length dark hair caught his eye. He sat forward, zooming in. With no moon and minimal lighting in the parking area—this was Dev’s private home, not a Publix, after all—he couldn’t make out her face.
His pulse kicked up. What were the odds Emily would show up at Devil’s Pointe, of all places? Eight years living with a promise to Ethan had trained him not to let hope get ahead of the evidence. Still, the possibility tightened his chest. If the universe was throwing him a bone, he wasn’t about to look the other way.
Russ took a helluva lot longer than thirty seconds. By the time the bathroom door reopened, Alec was already headed for the exit.
“You need to get that low flow checked, old man,” he called over his shoulder.
“Kiss my ass, Yarborough. I’ve got a few years on you, not a century,” Russ grumbled. “Nothing wrong with my plumbing that less coffee and fewer of these surveillance shifts won’t cure.”
Ah yes. Another less-than-enthusiastic fan of the command center in their ranks.
Alec was down the stairs and out into the lot in seconds—just in time to watch the last van clear the gate.
“Dammit,” he bit out as the taillights disappeared and the metal gates clanged shut. He lingered in the dark, telling himself it couldn’t be her. Finally, he headed toward the rear of the house.
On the sidewalk between the house and the maze, he ran into Lorenzo “Ren” Clement, their newest hire, recruited from the FBI out of Boston.
“Leaving so soon?” Alec asked. “The night is still young.”
“That may be, but the skip I just got a lead on doesn’t seem to care.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Tallahassee.”
Alec clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s better than the Everglades or Tim-buk-fucking-tu.”
