Page 155 of Hard Pass

She studies me. “But . . .?”

I don’t take the bait. Because the rest? The tremor. The pattern. That stays with me.

Sure, I’ve broken a lot of rules lately, but sharing the details of an investigation won’t be one of them.

“If it’s someone inside the Rebels—staff, janitor, teammate, anyone with access to him—that’s considered insider information and it’s illegal. They have special information no other bettors have.”

“And if it’s not? If it’s pure luck?”

I snort. “The probability is highly unlikely. But that would mean it’s someone reading him in real time. Watching for a tell others don’t catch.”

“That would mean they’re crazy observant.”

“Mmm,” I say. “And if that’s the case, whoever Marcus has on the case will probably find the results inconclusive.”

“But you wouldn’t?”

“I need a name. A person. That’s the only way to truly clear Cole.”

She nods. “And I’m assuming you haven’t found anything yet.”

“Manny is chasing down some small internal errors the bettor made, but it could be a wild goose chase. Technology’s getting too good such that it’s getting harder and harder to trace those discrepancies.”

“And last game? Were there any of these bets placed?”

I think back to Sunday. To the guys. To the tequila. To the suite and the corner afterward. I fight the smile because that’s the last thing I want to explain right now.

I don’t think there’s any sound barrier that would contain Willa’s shocked and excited shriek if I told her what Cole and I did in that corner.

“No large or notable bets,” I say.

She frowns. “Do people normally just . . . stop?”

“That’s the problem,” I say. “They don’t. And if they did, it would have been the first public mention of the investigation. But they placed bets the next two games after the world knew. Then it’s been sporadic since. The why behind it though is what I’m trying to figure out.”

“So something changed.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t know what.”

“Not yet.”

She nods and bides her time asking the next question. “So do you think you’ll get your job back when all is said and done?”

My inhale is slow and measured. “I think Marcus would have fired me already if he was done with me. But I’m not—so far. So . . . I’m hopeful.”

“He’ll take you back. I know it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but it’s feeling rather desperate. I don’t have a job. My investigation’s going nowhere. And—”

“And you’re living with a star quarterback in his ritzy house where you’re safe in a gated community while thumbing your noses at the press.”

I snort and choose the easier of those two points to tackle first. “Thumbing my nose at the press is really just code word for my personal life is apparently everyone’s business now.” I sigh. “It’s a mess.”

“Mm-hmm.” She takes a sip of her wine. “Such a mess you’re eating out and going to football games and making sure the world knows you don’t give a fuck what they think of you.”

“Oh, I care all right. That perception comes to you courtesy of Cole. One hundred percent.”