If Katrina’s sarcasm were liquid, it’d drown the world.
Instead of snarking back like she’d expect me to do, I saunter out to the casino floor.
Same as it always does when I leave the relative protection of the bar, my heart races and my palms grow sweaty.
The lounge area has cream colored tile flooring, and the gaming tables sit on gaudy red carpet. Separating the two areas is a row of black tile. I’ve always looked at that row as the danger zone. A barrier for me.
It’s a metaphorical police line. But it’s one I don’t cross even with my badge.
There’s a twitch in my jaw that grows stronger with each step. The cling and clang of the slot machines threatens to distract me, but I focus on my target. I can resist slots easily. They were once my warm-up while I waited for a lucky table to open.
The familiar bounce and rattle of the roulette ball make me clench my fist and inch closer to the black tile border.Thatgame is dangerous for me.
My pulse thrums in my neck wildly. Yet I march on so I can keep whatever is happening with Lila in my sights.
Rather than so much as glance at the craps tables coming up on my right, I let the rhythmic sway of Lila’s flowing hair stealmy focus. With each of her steps, it bounces lightly. It’s gotten longer these last few months.
As a blast of air conditioning sails over the top of my head, I notice dampness on my forehead.
I’m fucking sweating.
This is bullshit. I’m better than this.
Rolling my shoulders, I saw out a serrated breath and get my shit together.
Better.
Lila safely leaves the floor via an employee-only door, disappearing from my view. With her secure, my sole focus shifts to the man she’s obviously been communicating with. Is he friend or foe?
On the surface, you’d think they were adversarial based on the break in her polished veneer. However, only a dipshit believes what people reveal on the outside.
The guy freezes about ten feet from the door Lila used. Abruptly, he spins to face me.
And fuck. He’s staring straight at me.
Which means he knew I was following him. I’m getting sloppy.
After flashing me a slimy smirk, he breaks to the left, turning on a dime to dart down a row of slot machines.
I set my glass down on a planter box. “Shit,” I mutter as I break into a light jog, weaving through the masses to trail him.
Although I have no legal cause to apprehend him, innocent people don’t run from law enforcement.
I pursue him through the casino, my pace picking up as he breaks into a full-on sprint. Definitelynotinnocent.
After I blow by a security guard, he falls in line a few feet behind me. “Hey, stop!”
“I’m FBI,” I yell at the guard, not breaking my stride.
“Yeah, right,” he scoffs. “Stop running and show me some ID.”
Idiot.
“Not until I catch the unsub.”
“Don’t make me take you down,” he warns, his speech becoming choppy.
Something tells me he won’t catch me if he’s this out of breath already. Call it a wild hunch.
