Teaser Excerpt from Broken Like Me

Here’s your sneak peek of Broken Like Me by Jackie Walker

I hope you enjoy the first five chapters of Reed and Lila’s love story. Good news! After you read the beginning, you don’t have to wait for the rest since it’s already live on Amazon (International readers click here instead) and signed copies are available here on my website. Thanks for reading and supporting human authors!

Chapter 1: Who doesn’t love a good goring?

Lila

Perhaps I’m part bull. Not only because of the way I’m built, but because I’m drawn to red.

More specifically, red flags. The bigger and redder the better.

If only I had the strength of a bull to match. Maybe the other half of my genealogy is a bird. Not a cool one like a falcon or an eagle. I’m probably like a turkey, just shuffling around in the dirt, waiting for the hunter to strike.

And boy did he this time.

I should have known Silas was a weasel the first time he winked at me. He was too sexy and far too charming. And the piece of bleepity-bleep made me break my number one rule—never trust a guy with dimples.

Dirty dimples. They’re my downfall every time. When will I learn?

No sense huffing about it now. At this point, the only way out of this mess is to push through.

I can do this.

The nauseating protein, veggie, and fruit smoothie I downed in the car stirs in my stomach, the sensation compounding my mounting dread.

Because if I fail . . .

Well, I’m not going to think about what will happen if I fail. Instead, I’ll do what I normally do and visualize the ending I’m striving for. I’m a manifestation expert. Been training for this my entire life.

Sure, it’s never worked before, as evidenced by my crudtastic life circumstances. However, I’ve never needed to succeed this badly. I’ll manifest my way into manifesting the perfect outcome or die trying.

Oof. Did I really just think the words die trying? Probably not the best phrasing, considering my best and only friend’s life is on the line.

Come on, Lila. It’s manifesting time.

I will save Kenzie. No matter what it takes.

I will.

I’ve flipping got this.

As I approach the building, my feet attempt to prove the ineffectiveness of my thoughts with faltering steps. The tacky silver rings weigh heavily on my thumbs. I wish I could have tossed them out of the car window when I drove over the bridge into Tampa on the way to work. But consequences and all.

Forcing myself to stop thinking about what the gaudy jewelry represents, I scan my badge and enter the casino’s employee door. A solid wave of air conditioning smacks me in the face, causing my eyes to flicker briefly.

Thanks to my guilty conscience, I’m afraid to open my eyes for a solid two seconds. What if someone sees the crimes I haven’t committed yet behind my shame-filled irises?

Sadly, I can’t work my shift with my eyes closed. Nor can I walk another step without falling flat on my face. By sheer force of will, I thrust them open and plaster on an easy smile.

Act naturally, Lila. No one has a reason to suspect that you’re about to help criminals steal thousands of dollars from your employer.

My favorite chatty security guard is working at the metal detector, and he beams as I approach the checkpoint. “Hiya, Lila. Do we have babies yet? I’ve been waiting.”

“Hey, Gus,” I offer casually, forcing a toothy smile.

And by casually, I mean manically with a cracking voice. I cover it by feigning a cough and eventually manage something passing as a nonchalant reply. “Not yet. Hopefully soon.”

“I want pictures as soon as they hatch.”

“I’ll do you one better and get videos so you can hear their adorable chirping.”

He winks and waves me through. “You better.”

The familiar interaction slows my pulse a bit. Bless him for the distraction. Gus is the only person in my life who enjoys hearing about my birding adventures.

Unfortunately, my relief is short-lived since his question reminds me I forgot to feed the neighborhood peacocks. I’ll just layer the failing-bird-mom guilt on top of all the other treacherous emotions rioting through me.

Get a grip, Lila.

Channeling my inner tough chick, I brush away those thoughts and visualize tonight going off without a hitch.

Manifest. Manifest.

Then manifest some more.

The sooner I get through this shift, the sooner I’ll get Kenzie back. Then this will all be a horrible, distant memory. If I keep thinking about her as their captive, I’ll never be able to focus enough to mark the cards.

After changing into my dealer black and whites in the locker room, I check the mirror and attach my name tag. Surprisingly, my hands aren’t shaking anymore.

Excellent. My positive focus is doing precisely what I need it to do. Everything’s going to be fine. Piece of cake.

I chuck my bag into my locker and start to close the door, but I catch it right before it clicks shut. My fingers swipe across my phone screen one last time.

I’m not looking for messages from Silas. I certainly don’t need a refresher of his veiled threats and secretly coded instructions. We’ve gone over the plan ad nauseam during the last week since they took my best friend. I know exactly what’s required of me.

Instead, I open my photo library. First, I pull up one of my favorites—it’s Kenzie and me, slightly tipsy and beaming brightly during the surprise party I threw for her thirtieth birthday last year. A weary smile plays at my lips at the memory. Next, I swipe to a different photo of her. One that makes my veins congeal into a thick sludge of hopelessness.

Bloody lip. Black eye. Messy hair. Tear-soaked face.

How could they hurt an innocent woman like this?

Disgusting monsters.

If I ever figure a way out of this mess, at least I’ll have this photo as some sort of evidence to back up my story.

Silas and his cronies have been meticulous about not letting me have any proof that could implicate them. This blurry image is all I have. And I have it because the dirty-dimple-having weasel made a tiny error on the night I found him waiting in my living room.

The small picture of a battered Kenzie sat on my coffee table, proof of how serious they were. He turned his back on me to take a phone call, leaving the Polaroid in front of me. In a moment of either stupidity or brilliance, I opened the camera app on my phone and stealthily snapped this picture. When he left that evening, he took the Polaroid with him. All he left me were these rings, an earful of instructions, and a host of threats haunt my dreams every night.

I stare at the picture for a long few seconds, feeling my gut sink lower with each breath. It’s only the fiftieth time I’ve looked at her face today. Give or take a dozen.

Am I torturing myself or using it as motivation? Maybe a bit of both.

After swallowing around a jagged lump in my throat, I throw my phone in my bag and close my locker. No more time to waste. It’s felony o’clock.

The shift briefing is the standard fare. Nothing special happening in the casino tonight, which is fortunate. I do my best not to wince when my supervisor gives his customary reminders about what to look for to catch the cheaters. Tonight, I’d only need to glance in the mirror to catch a thief.

Willing thief or not, the prison time is the same.

My steps are heavy as I weave through the hallway. I swipe a road map off the counter to get my table assignment and break schedule. Oh bugger. Looks like I’ll be at one blackjack table for my entire shift since I’m not the relief dealer.

A blade of disappointment jabs me in the gut. If I were floating from table to table tonight, I’d have had a built-in excuse to delay this nightmare by another day. After all, Silas’ crew couldn’t expect me to mark the cards if I were only at a table for twenty minutes at a time.

Alas, I don’t have that excuse. Pity.

After tonight, I’ll be a criminal.

The only silver lining I can cling to is that my table assignment puts me another step closer to getting Kenzie back.

A soft voice shakes me from my doom spiraling. “You’re quiet today. You okay?”

I feign a smile at Kiona, aiming to appear natural but likely failing. She’s one of the other blackjack dealers coming on shift with me. She’s a sweet woman in her late twenties. Unlike me, she’s a member of the Seminole tribe that owns Oak Winds Casino.

“Oh, nothing.” As my incoherent response teeters through my mind, I quickly amend it. “I mean, I’m a bit tired. But it’s fine. This is fine. I’m fine.”

Terrific. I just memed myself.

Kiona chuckles melodically. It sounds natural and normal, so I use it to ground myself.

Thankfully, she lets me have my lie, and we make our way to our assigned tables.

After I set up my station and go through all the card and chip verification procedures, I fall into a groove. My plan is to wait a few hands before I start marking the cards. I’ve practiced the movement at home so much that I could do it in my sleep. However, I won’t do it here until I’m more relaxed. Last thing I need to do is get all jittery and draw the floorman’s attention.

After a few minutes, one of my regulars takes the next-to-last open seat at my table.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite brunette,” Keith drawls as he lowers his aging frame to the chair.

When I went through my red hair phase, I was his favorite redhead. And before that, I was his favorite blond.

I flash a beaming smile, genuinely happy to see him. Sweet elderly men are my catnip. “I’m only your favorite when you win.”

The old flirt winks at me as he slides a large stack of bills across the table toward me to cash in. “Well, any time I see you, I’m a winner.”

Keith’s so cheesy that he can’t stay out in the heat too long or he’ll melt.

I shake my head, my grin widening. “You’re shameless.” Over my shoulder, I call out the buy-in to notify the floorman that cash is going into my drop box. I slide the stack of chips over to Keith and clear my hands for the cameras, flipping them over and wiggling my fingers so the eye in the sky can see I’m not palming chips.

Here’s hoping they don’t notice my new jewelry. On each thumb, I have a ring that will deposit a tiny smudge of invisible ink when I press it against the card in the right way. Only the special contact lenses that Silas’ associates will be wearing tonight will be able to view the ink marks. And by associates, I mean the group of cheaters who have been working their way across the country, scamming casinos out of millions.

And they kidnapped my best friend to force me to help them.

As soon as I get her back, I’m going to make them sorry they ever messed with me.

Somehow.

Sketchy on the details of how I’ll pull that off, since I can’t even curse, let alone do something violent. However, I’m nothing if not determined when someone I love has been harmed. Maybe I’ll channel my inner bull and gore Silas.

Eww. That sounds revolting. Let’s go with a nice trampling. Lila the bull will need to work up to goring.

Keith keeps me entertained with his cheeky quips and over-the-top facial expressions. For the thousandth time, I wish I had a dad like Keith. Someone fun and easygoing. A man who smiles and is always genuinely happy to see me.

Oh well. If wishes were fishes, we’d all be fried.

Using Keith’s presence to calm me, I eventually start marking the cards. The ring on my right thumb has the color ink for the aces, and the one on my left has the ink for the face cards.

Aces on the right. Aces on the right.

Here goes nothing. Or . . . everything.

“Blackjack,” I announce with an artificial smile when I turn over Keith’s second card.

Welp, there are two cards that need marking. Scanning the table, I find a few more.

My heart slingshots into my throat.

As I collect the cards and stack them in the discard rack, I roll the appropriate ring on them like I practiced for hours on end over the last few days. I do it so fast I could almost pretend it never happened. Years of working at Oak Winds have made me good with my hands. I should try close-up magic for my next career.

The one I’ll have plenty of time to train for in prison.

Because as of right now, I’m officially a party to a crime. Yet nothing around me has changed.

Odd. I expected streamers or a confetti canon. Or you know, a SWAT team to charge into the casino and wrestle me to the floor.

I mark eight more cards on the next deal. So far, so good.

Someone should tell that to my stomach, though. My indigestion can no longer be blamed on the smoothie. Why did I put beets in it? Beet burps are the worst.

My cheeks warm and pulse spikes, but I keep going. Since my table is almost full, I’m able to mark about half of the high-value cards in the shoe within twenty minutes. I’ve only got two decks tonight, so it shouldn’t take long at this rate.

When the cocktail of panic and guilt pokes through my resolve, I bring forth the memory of Kenzie’s picture for a quick reminder of why I’m breaking the law.

Silas said I’d get directions on where to pick her up at the end of my shift if I did what I was told. So far, the card marking hasn’t drawn notice, as far as I can tell. The floorman and undercover security guards aren’t hovering the way they do when they’re getting suspicious of a cheater. Can’t be sure of the camera surveillance crew, but the vibe here on the floor is perfectly normal.

After the next hand, I pause to shuffle the cards since the dealing shoe is almost empty. I have Keith cut the deck, then reload the shoe and give the signal to the man sipping a beer about ten feet from my table.

Well, I assume that’s him since he’s leaning against a bank of slot machines, which matches Silas’ instructions. Being a good little cheater, I roll my shoulders twice, then crick my neck from side to side as if easing an ache in my upper back. Not a problem, considering every muscle in my body has been tense since Kenzie was taken a week ago.

Silas didn’t tell me how many people were involved in this scam. For all I know, my table is full of those kidnapping mother-truckers. Except Keith, of course. He’s keeping me tethered—a familiar face in the sea of despair.

The last open chair at my table is filled as a man in his early twenties joins the game. This must be one of the members of the cheating ring. He looks dangerous. Dirty.

For clarity, I’m not referring to him having dirty dimples. I’m talking about his filthy soul.

“Is this a lucky table?” he asks in an icy tone.

Yep. That’s him.

Despite wanting to wave over security to restrain him, I offer one of my patented cordial smiles. Under protest, I welcome him to the game.

In the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder if this is one of the men who hurt Kenzie. Does he know where she is? How could I compel him to tell me?

For the umpteenth time, I contemplate calling the cops for help.

And like all the other times I’ve had this thought, I push it away because of what they promised they’d do to her if I did. They’ve been very clear that they’re watching my every move—both in and out of the casino.

I can’t risk it with Kenzie’s life on the line. And mine too.

After a few deals, the newcomer increases his bets. Nothing dramatic at first. Slowly, as his success continues, he gets bolder. He wins more and loses less often. If he keeps going at this rate, he’ll definitely draw the attention of the surveillance team. It’s possible they’ll think he’s counting cards, which isn’t illegal, but it’s enough to get him backed off the table.

As if he’s reading my thoughts, he stops suddenly. Standing, he slides his rather impressive stack of chips out of the betting circle.

“I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead,” he announces. “Cash me out, please.”

I pull his chips to the center, stack and count them like normal, and pass him the larger-value chips he can take to the cashier’s cage.

He’s only up about eight grand. While it’ll get him out of the casino without scrutiny, it’s not enough to make this scam worth it.

Someone please tell me my friend’s life and my freedom are worth more than eight thousand dollars. I have more than that in my savings account. I’d have gladly paid it for Kenzie’s safe return. I offered it to Silas so many times.

Not five minutes later, my break time rolls around, and the floating dealer takes over my table. As soon as I’m off the casino floor, I race to the bathroom and empty the contents of my stomach into the first available toilet.

The tears rolling down my cheeks aren’t only from the violent heaving. I feel dirty and somehow violated. There’s no way I’ll ever be able to scrub my soul clean from what I’ve done.

Although it may seem like a victimless crime on the surface, it isn’t. Not even close.

Sure, the house has the advantage and will always make more than they lose. As I’ve come to learn from working here, the indigenous people use the revenue from casinos to better their society and provide essential services. Thus, I’m helping Silas and his cronies take money from their mouths, quite literally.

Plus, by caving to his demands, I’m empowering him to continue doing this to more people at other casinos. I’m under no illusion that he’ll stop with me. I’d imagine this is only the beginning.

And I’m part of it.

So no. Nothing about this is victimless.

Guilt, shame, and remorse pound the inside of my skull with the heft of a sledgehammer. The throbbing pain nearly incapacitates me.

Kenzie, Kenzie, Kenzie.

I need to remember who I’m doing this for. The poor thing is suffering far more than me. All because I trusted the wrong man. Again.

Once I’ve gathered my composure, I head to the locker room to check my phone.

As expected, there’s a message from the dimple-having piece of monkey scat whom I’ll be murdering at my first opportunity.

As soon as I learn how to fire a gun or fight. Then again, there’s always poison. Which I also know nothing about.

Silas: Did I ever tell you how perfect you are, my sweet girl?

Gross. So dang gross. I’m not his sweet anything. I can’t believe I used to sleep with him. I want to be sick all over again.

Through the haze of moisture obscuring my vision, I type out my reply. As he instructed, I’m careful to avoid including anything incriminating in the text.

Me: Where am I meeting you after my shift?

Silas: I can’t see you tonight. Rain check.

My breath comes fast and choppy.

No, no, no.

This cannot be happening.

He said I would get her tonight after work. That was the deal. He was supposed to give me the location where she’d be dropped. Alive. Tonight. Not tomorrow. No rain checks.

I did my part.

Me: You promised I’d see you tonight.

Silas: Things change, sweet girl. We’ll talk later. You better get back to work so you don’t get in trouble.

Me: I really need to see you tonight.

Silas: Go back to work, Lila.

Son of a curse word. Turns out, I’m not getting my friend back tonight.

Silas better count his days. Him and his dimples.

I’m rapidly changing my stance on goring. If ever there was someone who deserved a good horn to the rectum, it’s him.

Chapter 2: Nice view. Shitty service

Reed

I don’t come here for the drinks. They’re overpriced and watered down. Plus, I’m not a big fan of alcohol anyway. It isn’t the fresh air drawing me in either, especially since this is one of the few indoor spots in Florida where smoking is permissible in some areas. And it damn sure isn’t the peace and quiet bringing me here. After all, casinos aren’t known for being places of tranquility.

No, it isn’t any of that.

I come here to prove something.

To myself. To my past. To my future. And to my so-called parents.

Also, the real ones, wherever they may be.

And yeah, maybe I come for the view. But that’s just a little perk.

Tonight, something’s off about the view. She’s fidgety and nothing but forced smiles and nervous laughter. If I hadn’t been watching her a few times a week for over a year now, I probably wouldn’t have noticed.

But I have been watching her.

It’s impossible not to.

A husky voice, weathered by long nights surrounded by tobacco smoke, pierces my thoughts. “Another drink, Reed?”

I cover the top of my glass with my palm and shake my head at her.

“Oh great.” My usual bartender, Katrina, rolls her eyes at me. “One of those nights, huh?”

The corner of my mouth threatens to quirk. “What type of night is that?”

“The type where you take up a barstool all night while nursing a single drink and leaving one less spot for paying customers.”

“I am a paying customer,” I object, feigning offense.

She tosses a bar rag over her shoulder and sharpens her glare. “The tip I’ll get on your one drink over three hours isn’t going to put my kids through college.”

“Fine. I’ll take a burger.” I crick my head to the side and raise my brows. “Is that better?”

“Not really,” she quips.

“Add bacon then.”

Tutting her lips, she retrieves the little device they use to enter their orders. As she types, she flatly intones, “One porterhouse, medium rare, loaded baked potato, and salad with . . .” Pausing, she widens her eyes at me.

“Italian.”

Grinning like she bested me—and she did—she continues, “Italian dressing.” Her shrewd eyes cut from the screen to mine and back again. “Strawberry cheesecake for dessert.”

I scoff, my nose wrinkling. “I don’t like strawberries.”

She slides the device into her back pocket and bats her lashes at me. “The dessert is for me. It’s the least you can do for scaring off my customers all the time.”

My spine stiffens, and I sweep my gaze around the bar. “What the hell are you bitching about?”

Sure, I usually look like a grumpy ass, but not so much that people fear me.

She leans down, resting her elbows on the bar. “Because you look like a cop. And no one wants to get drunk next to a cop in a casino.” Flashing jazz hands beside her face, she adds, “It’s a trap!”

My face falls as I scan my attire and posture. And yeah . . . she’s right. I look like a cop.

Technically, I’m a special agent at the FBI. But whatever.

Before I can protest, she dashes away as fast as her aging body will let her.

Too bad for Katrina, there’s only one casino in the area. And I had a shitty fucking day, so I need to be here tonight. This place helps me block out all the bullshit I don’t want to think about.

I tug at my tie, loosening it up and yanking it off my neck. Then I untuck my shirt and scuff my hair to look unkempt. Maybe if I’m not so put together, my profession will be less obvious.

Not sure any of that will help, considering the stiffness is on the inside as well as the out. But I don’t want to draw attention to myself. If Katrina is to be believed, I stick out like a sore thumb.

I don’t want that. Not because I’m here in any work capacity—I’m not—but I prefer to blend in. After all, I’m just a man fighting his demons.

And enjoying the view for some sick reason. Probably because I’m a masochist at heart.

On the first night I got this deep into the casino, I recognized the curvy blackjack dealer, despite the change in hair color from the last time I saw her. Ever since, I have found myself picking seats with a view of her. Oddly enough, I’m unsure whether I’m watching her out of old protective habits or because I don’t trust her.

Probably a bit of both.

More likely, it’s the twisted obsession I’ve never been able to shake.

With that, my attention returns to her blackjack table right as another dealer approaches. I toss back my glass and chomp on an ice cube while I study the interaction between Little Miss Perfect and the other woman, who appears to be taking her place. Must be Lila’s break time.

Although there’s nothing unusual happening between the two dealers, I notice Lila’s eyes tracking a man hanging out by a slot machine a few feet from her table.

My hackles rise, along with the hair on my forearms.

Something is . . . off.

As the other dealer takes over, Lila sharpens her glare at the man before leaving the pit. He drifts a few feet behind her, following her as she goes.

If my Spidey Senses weren’t already tingling, they would be now.

Without warning or reason, she pauses to cast a fierce glare over her shoulder in his direction. Instantly, he backs off and looks around the room, trying to act casually.

Damn.

Never saw her make a face like that before. Not when we were kids, and not over the last year of watching her.

I’ve only ever known Lila Kent to be cavity-causingly sweet. She’s a master at pretending to be the kind of sugar that makes your stomach ache when you have too much. Cotton candy and Jolly Ranchers. That’s her.

On the outside.

So what is it about that guy that has her shooting daggers and breaking her candy-coated facade?

Katrina arrives with the salad I didn’t order right as I’m rising to investigate. I need to get to the bottom of this . . . whatever this is.

Once an agent, always an agent.

I grab my drink to give me something to do with my hands. “Kat, I’ll be right back.”

She pouts, glancing at the salad briefly.

“Eat it yourself if you’re hungry.”

“Dessert and a salad? Plus the five dollars you’ll leave me at the end of the night? Wow. You’re such a giver. Another shift of tips like these, and I’ll be well on my way to financial independence.”

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. That game 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 steal my 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. Definitely not innocent.

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.

The beep of a walkie-talkie sounds from a few steps behind me. “Command, I’ve got a runner.” He sucks in a craggy inhale, his voice growing more distant. “Main level. Corridor B. Heading to—” A longer pause to tug in another wave of air. “The main. Lobby.”

My steps slow for a second while I consider whipping my badge over my shoulder at him, but fuck it. He’s likely unarmed and won’t shoot me in the back.

Hopefully.

Unfortunately, my slight falter while deliberating gives the unsub the chance to pull farther away. Son of a bitch. He’s a fast fucker.

If I’m still trailing him from this far back when he gets out of the front lobby entrance, he could lose me easily. There are too many directions he could go. And it’ll be busy out there at this time of night, giving him a chance to blend in with the crowd even more than he has inside the casino.

Pumping my arms faster, I fire up the afterburners.

As predicted, he sails through the lobby and out the main exit. My feet draw me to an abrupt stop once I hit the concrete of the porte cochere. My head swivels from side to side.

There’s no sign of him.

He got away. Dammit. And I don’t even know what he did.

The rent-a-cop finally catches up to me. He attempts to speak, but he has to bend at the waist to gasp for air.

Before he asks again, I flash my bureau ID and badge at him. “Take me to the surveillance control room. I need to review your footage.”

He shakes his head, lips pursing harshly. “I have to call this in. Nobody gets in there without approval.”

My teeth grind. “Just take me to the security office. I’ll discuss it with your boss directly.”

Reluctantly, he nods and leads me back inside.

While we head up there, I’ll figure out what the fuck I’m going to say to his boss. Because let’s face it. I’ve got nothing concrete. Something tells me I won’t get into the video room if I tell them that my little sister’s best friend gave him the evil eye and then he ran from me.

Not exactly much of a case there. And it’s not like my bubbly personality will win over the head of security. More likely to be the opposite.

Guess I’ll need to improvise.

Chapter 3: Lumpy butt squeeze

Lila

With each passing day, I relate to roosters more. For I, too, have considered screaming at the top of my lungs when I awaken.

I flop onto a chair in the break room and immediately put my head down on the table. With a forced exhale, I let my lips flap and flutter in a raspberry. It’s either that or scream, and something tells me that’ll draw more attention my way. And I need to stay under the radar as much as possible.

More than a flipping month of this crud. And no sign of it coming to an end.

I’ve been played, and now I’m in too deep to get out.

Silas doesn’t even bother promising me Kenzie’s safe return anymore. In fact, every time I bring her up, I’m told she’s alive.

For now.

Then they remind me that I’m a party to their crime and how they have captured enough evidence against me that I’d go down with them.

So I’m totally bleeping screwed in the worst bleeping way.

Silas and his thugs have easily made off with at least half a million dollars over the last month. It could be double that if they’re playing after my shifts end, which is entirely possible and highly likely. The cards I mark at the start of each shift remain at the table until the deck is swapped out, which could be hours after my shift ends.

And they’ve got a whole freaking rotation of people blowing through to reduce the suspicion of one lucky player beating the house every night. I’ve identified ten different players. I bet there’s more.

Yet if I turn them in, I’ll be hauled off in cuffs right along with them.

By now, the casino must know something is up with blackjack winnings, which means my days of freedom are numbered. The pit boss has eyes on me, and I can virtually feel security hovering. Even when I can’t see them, I know they’re there. There’s no way they aren’t reviewing the video footage from my overhead camera in super-slow motion with the zoom maxed out.

I’ll be fired or arrested any day now. Probably both.

And then what will happen to Kenzie? She’s innocent too.

Silas knows I want off this hamster wheel. I told him this morning that if I didn’t get her back tonight, I was going to the cops. That’s why he sent his goon to stare me down all night. His little way of reminding me that I’m under their control.

As if I didn’t know that already. I might as well get a butt tattoo that says: Property of Silas the Snake.

Although my terse words to Silas were a bluff, I hope he believes me and returns Kenzie tonight. If he doesn’t? I’ll find another way to break free and save her. I cannot go on like this.

Despite my empty belly, I don’t bother eating. Fortunately, I no longer need appetite suppressants. Just thinking of my life does the trick. Hunger? What hunger?

Who knew that after years of failed attempts at losing weight, all I needed to do was become a criminal? I should start a blog. Follow me for more weight loss tips.

You don’t need food when you’re living a nightmare. After all, nobody eats in dreams, right?

Eh. Who am I kidding? I once had a dream of an all-you-can-eat cheese buffet. The restaurant was appropriately named Fromage Frenzy. I recall feeling proud of my subconscious for the alliteration when I woke that morning.

Memories of the queso fountain are yanked away by a booming voice. “Lila, I need to see you.”

My head jerks off the table. My manager stands in the break room doorway with an expectant look chiseled into his strong features. A quick glance at the clock tells me I’ve still got twenty minutes of my lunch hour left. So he’s not here to scold me for taking too long a break.

Which only means . . . they’ve come to take me away.

“Oh, Mr. Votaw. Um. Yeah. Sure.” I mutter, nodding frantically as I rise, which I’m sure is coming off as totally nonchalant. “Here?”

“In my office,” he tacks on, then stomps down the hallway.

I wonder how I’ll look in an orange jumpsuit. Or do they have the old black-and-white stripes? I saw something online about those making a comeback. I’ll likely find out soon. Hope they come in size eighteen. They must. I’m not the only woman in town who’s not slim but kind of shady.

On shaky legs, I trail behind him.

Should I just confess as soon as I get into his office? Explain what happened and beg him to help me save Kenzie? Or should I march straight past his office door and flee the scene?

Sadly, I don’t have my purse or car keys on me. So that idea’s out.

I tilt my head back and mentally recite my mantra, hoping to find the light of positivity to keep me from crumbling into the darkness.

You’re doing the best you can, Lila. You’ll find a way out. Kenzie will be safe, and you’ll both be free.

The words are hollow after weeks of repeating them to no avail.

It’s official. I’m a manifestation failure.

Mr. Votaw waits at his office doorway for me to catch up. His blank expression gives nothing away. I flash a beaming smile, channeling the sunshine I used to radiate just a few weeks ago. Before every ray of light inside me was snuffed.

For the second time in my life.

“Sorry to interrupt your lunch break,” he says when I’m a foot away.

I wave him off, still cloaked in my typical cheeriness. “Oh, that’s not a problem.”

He opens his palm, directing me toward the small table in the corner of his office. “Take a seat, and we’ll try to get through this as quickly as possible.”

“Sure thing.”

My eyes scan the room, catching on two imposing figures. One of whom is painfully familiar.

Oh, shitake mushrooms. I’m so screwed.

I might need to bust out the mental cuss words for this. For once, it would be nice if my life spiraled into control. Just once.

Locking eyes with the duplicitous devil in the corner, I stop short of the table by a solid five feet. Mr. Votaw clearly didn’t expect me to freeze midstep. So he plows into me from behind, sending me toppling onto the carpeted floor.

“Ah!” he exclaims, sounding pained.

My knees and palms take the initial brunt of the fall as I end in a starfish pose.

Then it gets worse. Suddenly, I’m not the only one on the floor.

“Eep!” I yelp, high-pitched and squeaky, before all the air explodes from my lungs with the force of Mr. Votaw landing on top of me.

I’m flattened like a pancake.

Although I’m a big gal, I’m tiny compared to the panini press of a man on top of me. Mr. Votaw is a gargantuan man. As tall and wide as a linebacker.

And he’s crushing the life out of me.

“Argh,” I groan as I struggle for breath, rapidly losing the will to live.

Why am I bothering to breathe? At this point, I should let nature run its course. Honestly, I’d rather die this way than have to face Satan in the corner. Not to mention the whole multiple felonies thing.

And the last I heard, he finally got his dream job at the FBI, which doesn’t bode well for my chances of leaving here without cuffs on my wrists. Of all the law enforcement officers in the world to arrest me, it’s him.

Figures.

“Sorry, Lila,” my boss sputters while his hands search for a safe place to land.

And right there on the floor, in front of Reed mother-forking Hayes, I’m accidentally groped by my boss. Given my size, it’s understandable that he’d have a hard time steering clear of my mountainous butt cheeks. It’d be like trying to dodge raindrops in a monsoon.

“Sorry again,” Mr. Votaw adds, his voice belaying his physical struggle. And he’s definitely having a hard time of it.

Have you ever tried to get off an old, lumpy couch when it’s too low to the ground and lacks any form of support? That’s probably what it’s like for my boss right now. Poor guy.

The butt squeeze was inevitable.

Once he’s removed himself from my person, I lie there for a few extra seconds. Not due to injury. But because I want the floor to swallow me up. I’m hoping that if I stay here long enough, it’ll happen.

Nope. No such luck. That tracks with my current stage of life.

“Are you okay, Ms. Kent?”

Although I can’t see him from down here, where I’m buried in shame and fear, I know it’s not Reed or Mr. Votaw asking. Pretty sure the third man in here was the head of security, which is just terrific.

Without lifting my head, I answer, “Yeah. Fine. Just need a second to recover from the embarrassment.”

Reed laughs at that. I’d recognize that cocky, irritating sound anywhere. Even after all these years.

I don’t even need to look at him to know he’s laughing at me and not with me. I’d have expected nothing else from him.

Is he here because he finally noticed his sister has been missing for five weeks? Not that he cares. Jerk.

If he wanted to ask me about her disappearance, he certainly didn’t need to haul me into my boss’s office. A phone call would have sufficed.

Not that I’d have answered, which is probably why he’s doing it here. As an added perk for him, I’ll suffer mortification in front of my employer.

Then again, he’s more likely here about the crimes I’ve been committing.

Mustering what’s left of my courage, I shove up to my knees. Mr. Votaw gives me an assist from there. When I get to my feet, his cheeks are as ruddy as mine feel. Excellent.

I can’t meet his eyes. “Thank you. Sorry for stopping suddenly. I thought I saw a rat.”

But it was just Reed—same thing.

Once I’m seated, I force myself to sweep my gaze around the room, pointedly making friendly eye contact with everyone except Reed. When I get to him, my smile fades naturally.

And to think I used to have a crush on him. Younger me was such a fool.

Older me? Not faring much better since yet another lover has hoodwinked me. This time, my heart isn’t the only victim. Poor Kenzie.

However, I will fix this.

Somehow.

Assuming I don’t end up in jail by the end of the night.

Reed stands in the corner with his arms crossed at his chest. The other man slowly lowers to the seat across the table.

My boss clears his throat. “Lila, have you met Steve?” He gestures to the older man who is eying me with suspicion tugging down his facial features. “He’s the head of casino security.”

I nod at the man and force my smile to widen. “Mr. Hanley, right?”

He dips his chin at me, then tips his head toward the soggy potato in the corner. “This is special agent Reed Hayes. He’s with the FBI. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

I guess he didn’t tell them he knows me.

Gasp. Reed Hayes being shady? Who’da thunk it?

Shaking off my inner musings, I attempt to act normal. “The FBI, huh? Wow. Sounds serious. I hope I can help.”

Mr. Hanley flips open a manila envelope and slides a picture across the polished mahogany table to me. “Do you recognize this man?”

Gulp.

I pick up the photo, buying myself some time.

Do I answer honestly? Play dumb?

I’m not a liar. I won’t be able to pull it off. And if I try, I’ll bury myself in an even deeper hole.

After setting it back down on the table, I answer truthfully. “That’s my ex-boyfriend. His name is Silas Everson.”

Mr. Hanley sends another photo my way. “And do you know who Silas is talking to in this picture?”

Biting my tongue, I barely quash the urge to blurt out something comically random. It’s this thing I do when I don’t want to answer a question. You’d be surprised how easy it is to distract someone when you unexpectedly ask them if they’ve seen your pickle.

Instead of resorting to cheap tricks, I crick my head to the side, studying the photo. “Nope.”

Honest. But barely.

“Really?” Reed chimes in doubtfully. “You sure about that?”

I blink at him thrice, fighting an unnatural snarl. “Yes. I’m sure. I’ve never met him.”

Look at me. Spittin’ facts upon facts.

Mr. Hanley slides the photo an inch closer. “Why don’t you look again?”

They don’t believe me.

I need to give them something without linking myself to a man who is obviously a criminal. One who’s caught the FBI’s attention. My ex-boyfriend speaking to him in view of a casino camera is already a glaring connecting point. And since they’re passing something between them, that rules out the odds of their interaction being that of strangers striking up a conversation.

Squinting my eyes at the photo, I lean closer. “Come to think of it, I might have seen him before.” I pause to swallow around an ever-increasing lump in my throat. “It’s possible he’s the man who was hanging around my table tonight before my first break. But as I said, I do not know him.”

“Any idea why he would be lurking around your table?” Mr. Hanley asks, one bushy brow arching higher.

My lower lip finds its way between my teeth. “I assumed he was just a creep.”

So far, no lies. That’s my legit assumption.

My lip nibbling becomes painful, so I stop and switch to under-the-table hand wringing.

The men all trade glances as the silence in here smothers me. It’s a wet blanket of accusation.

I bring my hands above the table, fanning them open. “I’m sorry. What’s this about? Did something happen? I promise you I don’t know his name. I’ve never exchanged words with him. Today was the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on him, and that was from a solid fifteen feet away. I honestly don’t know what you want from me.”

Mr. Votaw stands suddenly. “That’ll be all, Lila. Thank you for your time. You can head back to work now.”

Without hesitating, I shove back from the table, grateful for the escape opportunity. I smile at two of them, then turn on my heel silently.

“Hold up one sec.”

Shut up, Reed. Just shut your damn mouth.

Yes, his damn mouth.

If there ever was a man worth breaking my cursing rule for, it’s him.

It takes effort, but I keep my shoulders from sagging and slowly turn toward them.

Reed arches a brow at me. Even his eyebrow is cocky and irritating. “Ms. Kent, would you be willing to speak with Silas about him for us? Perhaps wearing a wire?”

Involuntarily, my spine stiffens. “I’d strongly prefer to never speak to Silas again.”

Facts.

Reed cuts a scathing look at me and then points his chin toward the door. He’s dismissing me. Such a pompous jerk. He’s the human equivalent of a cheap underwire bra.

Boy, the downshift from what I thought was love to what I know is hate was swift and final.

Turning my other lumpy sofa cushion butt cheek, I ignore the brush off. It isn’t the first time I’ve had to do that with him.

“Well, gentlemen, you know where to find me if you have more questions. Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

Oops. That was a lie. I’m not sorry about it, though. Not at all.

Chapter 4: Ante up

Reed

Reaching into my pocket, I pulse my fingers around my three-year Gambler’s Anonymous coin. The cold metal warms in my clammy palm. A prickle of sweat beads on my forehead.

I can’t fucking believe I’m considering sitting down at a damn blackjack table after all this time.

But Lila won’t talk to me. Not by phone and not when I plant myself in her path.

Sorry, Agent Hayes, but unless you’re arresting me or have a warrant, I’ve got nothing more to say to you.

She’s repeated that same sentence to me five times over the course of the last week since she lied through our questioning in her manager’s office. As much as I’d love to see her in my handcuffs—one way or another—I can’t arrest her. Yet.

My attempts to find out what she’s hiding have yielded jack shit. If I’m going to break her, I need to up the ante—no pun intended. The infuriating woman has left me no other choice.

I release my death grip on the coin, shudder out a heavy breath, and cross the black tiles. With my heart threatening to burst out of my chest, I stride over to her table. Using the back of my hand, I wipe my brow.

Lila’s upper lip twitches when I claim the open chair at her table. “That seat’s for players only. I don’t see any chips or cash.” She tips her head at the sign displaying the table minimums.

The older man, who always seems to be at her table, playfully chides her. “Give him a chance, doll.” He cushions his words with a flirty wink.

Doll?

Well, shit. I don’t like him calling her that.

Lila grins back at him, fluttering her lashes.

I damn sure don’t like that either.

I’ve been hanging out in her eyeline each night for a week, hoping to make her crack. Right out in the open where she can see me. In all that time, she hasn’t once flashed me a grin like that.

Like she did all those years ago. When she looked at me like she wanted me as much as I wanted her. Feels like forever ago.

The longer I sit here, the calmer I feel. No more sweating. No heart palpitations either.

Perhaps it’s because all my focus is on breaking Lila Kent.

“Well?” she presses, widening her sparkling eyes at me. “This table has a ten-dollar minimum. Are you playing or leaving?”

At least she’s not at one of the high-dollar tables. Not that I can’t afford it, but the higher the stakes, the harder it is to walk away.

And I need to walk away once I’ve gotten what I want from her.

As that thought sails through my mind, I’m hit with a vision of me getting what I want from her in a totally different way. My junk twitches as an X-rated parade of my most deprived fantasies dances through my mind. In full color. With a coordinating soundtrack.

Dammit. Not again.

What is it about this woman that makes me into a lust-driven caveman? As soon as I’m within five feet of her, all I can think about is fucking her. It’s as if I’ve totally forgotten how duplicitous she is.

Not only is she my kid sister’s best friend, but she’s also a suspect. Well, a person of interest in a crime. Probably.

And she represents everything I hate—an overly friendly female who uses her wiles to lure you into her web. Then she goes for the kill like a black widow.

No thanks.

Been there. Done that.

Not that it helped cure my hunger for her. If anything, the tastes I’ve had in the past have made it worse. Because I know what I’m missing.

Shaking off the intrusive lust, I don’t answer her question or pull out my wallet. Instead, I merely hold her eye contact. It’s like I’m in a trance.

She does more of that obnoxiously cute lip twitching. Sweet little Lila is fighting a snarl while I decide if I can handle a game or two. And the only reason I’m considering it is so I can pump her for information in a place where she can’t continue hiding from me. She can’t blow me off if I pony up to her table, can she? And I know I can break her if she lets me get close enough.

Her nostrils flare. “Do I need to call security . . . sir?”

Oh, look at her trying to be intimidating. That’s as ludicrous as a Care Bear wielding a knife.

Time to fish or cut bait. Am I in or out?

Fuck it. I’ve done enough exposure therapy to handle this. Besides, it’s for the job. It isn’t real gambling.

Essentially.

Retrieving my wallet, I quickly throw down five twenty-dollar bills. A few seconds later, she passes me a small stack of chips.

And just like that, my three years of gambling sobriety is over. When I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be back at day one.

A lead brick settles in my gut, threatening to drag me down into the abyss.

Nah. That won’t happen this time. I’m stronger now. At least I’m breaking my clean streak for a good cause.

I lose the first hand. Win the next.

Despite the tiny spikes to my adrenal system, I remain calm and collected. Completely in control.

By the third hand, the old guy starts flirting with her again. Then her dainty giggles and batting eyelashes return. At him. Like before, it causes an irrational flare of rage.

Wait a minute.

My trained law enforcement brain takes the whip from my balls and cracks it to get my attention. Maybe this guy is part of whatever’s happening here. They’re obviously chummy, and he’s always at her table unless there’s no open seat.

“What did you say your name is, buddy?” I ask him after the next hand, trying to be casual.

Smirking, he tosses back a sip of an amber-colored liquid. “I didn’t say.”

Lila joins him in muted laughter, which makes my jaw clench.

I try a different approach, facing her. “What about you, doll?”

“Don’t call me that.” A sexy little sneer escapes her. “You know my name.”

And she damn sure knows mine too. I remember how she screamed it when I bit her rosy nipple and sent her spiraling into her third or fourth climax.

“Well, well, well. This is an interesting development. Seems like you two know each other. Or used to, perhaps,” the old flirt says, his gaze flickering between us before landing on me. “I’m Keith. Care to tell me why the sweetest gal I’ve ever met is looking at you like you club baby seals for fun?”

“No. I wouldn’t,” I reply without hesitating, then turn it back on him. “Do you care to tell me how you know Lila well enough to give her a demeaning nickname?”

A player a few seats down huffs and puffs. “Are we gonna play or what?”

“Sorry, ma’am. My apologies.” Frame stiffening, Lila rapidly slips cards out of the shoe one at a time. Under her breath, she adds, “Some people think the world should bow down to them just because they have a badge.”

Her eyes turn molten for the briefest of moments, practically burning through my skull. When she looks at me, she’s not the sweet, polite Pollyanna she pretends to be.

She’s a viper waiting to strike.

Same as every other person I’ve ever met. Given enough time, their true colors will show.

Old Flirty McGee starts humming beside me. He pauses to level a humorous glare at me. “This one’s dedicated to you from my favorite brunette.” With a wink, he resumes humming, louder this time. I don’t identify the melody at first, so I tune him out. Pun intended.

Then Lila meets eyes with him, her cheeks puffing slightly with a laugh that she’s restraining behind tightly sealed lips. She continues dealing cards, moving from player to player, all the while that snicker keeps wriggling free.

I recognize the Gotye song a second before the player on the other side of the table utters some of the lyrics under his breath. “But you didn’t have to cut me off.”

“Ha, ha,” I deadpan with an aggravated huff. “I’m just somebody she used to know. I get it. Hilarious.”

Smugly, he finishes his drink, then busts on his next deal. Justice is sweet.

While contemplating how to get Lila talking, I scratch my two fingers across the felt table toward me, telling her I want to hit on seventeen.

She arches her brow at me as if challenging my decision or warning me against it. I scrape the table again, arching my brow right back at her.

Bam. A four of hearts. That’s twenty-one. My chest vibrates with that familiar zing of excitement, but I shove it down until it’s merely an echo.

Along with me, two other players beat the house on that round. As she passes me the chips I’ve won, she does so with suspicion weighing down her every movement.

Instead of looking at the other winners that way, she smiles at them and offers congratulations. But from this vantage, it’s clear her cheer is only surface level. There’s something hidden in how she interacts with them as well. An underlying tension I can’t quite put my finger on.

As gameplay continues, the old guy is the only person who ever gets her genuine smiles. It seems that for every sneer she gives me, he gets more of her warmth. Like she’s balancing it out.

After placing my next bet, I ask, “So, Lila. Have you seen any creeps hanging around recently?” My phrasing is an intentional throwback to how she described the perp last week.

Her eyes twinkle with mirth. “Actually, I have.”

I realize the error of my words a second before she adds, “And tonight, he finally decided to come over to the table instead of lurking like he’s done for the last few months.”

My pulse spikes, but I don’t let it show.

I’m starting to think I never learned a damn thing about counter surveillance when I was at Quantico. I wonder if they have remedial training.

“I’m serious. Any sightings I need to know about? Here or elsewhere?”

Quietly, she says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, place your bet.”

Her eyes flash wildly at me again. However, this time, she telegraphs more than disdain. Her head sways almost imperceptibly, and her gaze softens with an underlying fear. The fire she’s been scorching me with has been snuffed out. She’s almost . . . pleading with her expression. Begging me to stop.

While I like the idea of Lila begging, not like this.

I slide my chips to the betting line, sticking with the table minimum. For a moment, I’m proud of myself for not getting carried away. Honestly, it’s hardly like I’m gambling. The game fades into the background due to my intense focus on her and the mannerisms of the players at the table.

I fucking knew I could handle this shit.

She deals everyone’s first card of the hand. Although her movements are polished and practiced, a slight tremor makes her fingers dance periodically. Her eyes flicker to mine three times before she’s done dealing the second set of cards, and her throat bobs with a forced smile.

I sit out the next hand, too focused on figuring out what she was trying to communicate. Well, aside from her obvious message of: stop questioning me.

For some reason, my gut says it isn’t merely because she doesn’t want to answer me like she’s been doing all week. It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to speak here.

Prior to joining the bureau, I was a police detective for nearly a decade. In that time, I’ve learned it’s helpful to put people in uncomfortable positions to see how they handle it. That’s part of why I joined the game tonight. And Lila isn’t handling it well. That damn look she gave me told me she was beyond scared.

And not of me.

The thought of her being frightened makes my skin crawl and teeth grind. Turns out, I like the idea of that less than I like the flirty fucker beside me.

At one point, she catches my stare, then darts her line of sight to a man three seats down before coming back to mine.

Who is that man, and why is she pointing him out to me? Is she scared of him? Or was that just her looking around, trying to avoid my gaze?

If I could slip her a note, I would. But that’s not allowed for obvious reasons.

Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I set it to silent and feign scrolling social media. Covertly, I snap a few pictures of the players at the table.

“You can’t have your phone out at the table, sir,” Lila cautions me in a practiced, professional tone. However, fear permeates her in a dense fog.

Shrugging, I put the phone in my pocket. “Sorry. My bad.”

I play the next hand, then cash out my chips and leave the table. I’ve seen all I need to see. I’m more convinced now than ever that she’s hiding something dangerous. I need to go find out what I can about the other players before I press her further.

I’m two steps away when she calls out, “Say hi to your sister for me.”

Record scratch.

Why the fuck would she say that now? And to me, of all people?

Feigning normalcy, I give her an affable nod, then bolt out of the casino.

In the car, I fire a text to my sister, asking her to call me immediately. Odds of her complying are nil, but before I involve our mother, I might as well make the attempt. Dealing with Kenzie is significantly preferable to my mother. Well, my adoptive mother, I should say. For that matter, Kenzie’s my adoptive sister.

Next, I send the pictures I took of the players at Lila’s table to Carson, a fellow agent who serves as tech specialist on our team. She’ll dig into their backgrounds.

While waiting for replies, I tap the envelope icon on my phone and peruse my email inbox.

When I’ve cleared out all the new messages, there’s still one unread glaring at me like it has been for a few days now. The subject line is only four simple words, but they hold far more weight than a fucking Mack truck.

Let’s talk about Perry.

Apparently, this Alan Lancaster guy doesn’t want to let this go. He left me a voicemail a few weeks ago, the day after we met. Naturally, I promptly blocked him and cleared the message. Then the email came, and it’s been sitting unopened ever since. I haven’t been able to delete it. Yesterday, he sent a message through Special Agent Warren Andrews, my quasi-partner. He wanted to know if I got the email. I confirmed I did, then Andrews told me that I should answer him.

As if he has some sway over what I do with my personal life. Give me a break. Does he think he’s my dad or something?

I don’t have one of those anymore.

Not that I ever did.

I don’t need any more family drama. I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime.

Speaking of . . . I’ll find out what Lila meant by that sister comment without calling my mother. I’ve got a better idea.

Fuck family.

With a tap of my index finger, I delete Alan Lancaster’s email without opening it. Gone.

Chapter 5: Gold medal deflecting

Lila

The second I finish my end-of-shift procedures, I storm toward the locker room with flames under my feet.

Once again, Reed Hayes materialized when I was at my worst and amplified my problems without batting an eye. He’s a master of disaster where I’m concerned. No wonder Kenzie can’t stand him.

As he was walking away, I mentioned her to see his reaction. That perplexed little look over his shoulder told me everything I needed to know. He’s clueless. Despite being a flipping FBI agent, he has no idea his sister’s been missing for six weeks.

Six. Weeks.

He’s not only a dunderhead of a law enforcement officer, but a craptastic brother. If I were lucky enough to still have a sibling, I’d be sure to see and talk to them all the time.

Given how devastated he was when his father passed away, you’d think Reed would cherish his remaining living family members, right?

Wrong.

After a week of being under Reed’s microscope, I hoped he found a connection between the creepy dude from last week and his sister. Part of me was excited that he was looking into it. Maybe he’d be able to bring her home.

Cue the buzzer sound.

He’s simply hung up on that guy because he was hovering near me. Classic Reed, snooping around for no reason other than to mess with my head. Guess I’m still his favorite toy.

I never expected him to join my table tonight. Certainly not after loitering for a week in the near distance and all the months before that from over in the bar. In all that time, he’s never played a single game. Not to my knowledge, anyhow.

Of course, his unwanted presence threw me off kilter, and I mentioned his badge in mixed company. Looking back, I bet that slipup was quiet enough that nobody except Reed and Keith heard the flippant comment.

I hope.

If it ended there, I probably would have been fine.

Regrettably, it did not end there. Because he’s Reed Hayes, which makes him unable to interact with me without causing harm.

While I can’t be entirely sure, I suspect two people who were playing when Reed joined the game are part of the ring. More than likely, Silas has other creeps eavesdropping on what happens at my table. I put nothing past that monster. By now, he knows a law enforcement officer was attempting to question me tonight. And if he figures out it’s Kenzie’s brother, it’ll be worse for us all.

Reed might not realize it, but he likely put a big red target on my forehead with his questioning.

Curse him and those stupid dimples.

Related . . . who in Hades has dimples while frowning? What sorcery is that? It’s unfair to look that good and be that horrible.

Clearly, he was sent to punish me for my past. In that pressed dress shirt and dark blazer that do their best to disguise his strong shoulders. Pants that fit him impeccably. The way he loosens his tie and unbuttons just the top button. It’s barely enough to give me a glimpse of the ink I know covers parts of his chest and arms. I remember how the darkness contrasted with my ivory skin as I ran my hand over his taut flesh.

Reed Hayes is my penance. Looking like the most delicious snack when I’m on a permanent juice cleanse.

Metaphorically, of course. I don’t do juice cleanses anymore. It’s too hard to get off the casino floor for the frequent bathroom breaks required. I’d rather stay fat than need to wear diapers to get through a work shift, unlike certain elected officials.

I slam my locker door closed with a bit too much vigor. Despite causing the noise, I’m startled by the deafening sound.

Beside me, Kiona makes a show of jumping back. “Damn girl. What did that locker do to you?”

“Sorry.” I throw my bag over my shoulder and give her a tight smile. “I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.”

Her mouth turns down, and she places a hand on my forearm. “Are you okay? You’ve seemed off lately.”

“Just tired,” I fib. “I’ll feel better tomorrow.” Another fib.

There is no chance of me feeling better. This nightmare is never-ending.

She locks our elbows together. “Are you too tired to join me for a drink? My tips were fantastic tonight. It can be my treat.”

I shake my head. “Nah. I can’t. Thanks, though.” Attempting to throw her off, I fling an out-of-pocket distraction her way, one from my frequently used arsenal. “Do you think anyone really enjoys kombucha? I doubt it.”

Her face screws up comically. “Oh, hell no. That’s like drinking salad dressing.”

“Good point. However, now I’d like to amend my opinion. Because have you ever had Ken’s Steakhouse Italian? I could chug that goodness straight from the bottle.”

Once upon a time, salad was a dressing-delivery device for me and nothing more. When the lettuce was gone, I was known to put the bowl to my mouth and drink it straight like other people do with cereal milk.

Kiona kicks her head back with a melodic laugh. “I’ll take your word for it. I’m not a salad fan.”

As we stroll through the bowels of the casino, she relentlessly tries to get me to change my mind. I stand firm because there’s no way I’ll drag her into my drama. I bet Silas will be looking for me tonight. It’s better for her if she steers clear.

Chills run through me at that thought.

“Good night,” Kiona tells the guard as we clear the last security checkpoint.

We retrieve our purses from the bag check station and trounce away. She prattles about a guy she started seeing, but I lose focus on what she’s saying almost instantly. My earlier morose thought demands attention, pounding raucously inside my mind.

I cannot let anything happen to Kiona. I need to protect her.

My vision freezes on the exit door—the final barrier between me and whatever Silas has planned. Panic surges through my nervous system, making my stomach plummet.

Instinctively, my legs stutter to a jerky stop while a horrific image skitters through my mind. I jump backward, putting distance between the two of us.

Kiona’s always so touchy-feely, which normally doesn’t bother me. Yet what if Silas is watching and he sees her being too chummy? He might take her next. Like he did Kenzie.

No, no, no.

I won’t let another person suffer at the hands of this monster.

“What’s wrong?” Kiona asks, reaching for me.

“You go on ahead. I forgot something.”

Before she can object, I sprint in the other direction.

Unfortunately, the guard blocks my path before I can get five feet away. He casts a disapproving look at me. “You need to go through the metal detector again.”

Working to control my breathing, I flash a forced smile and divert my path as instructed. “My mistake. Sorry.”

Kiona hollers at my retreating back. “Should I wait for you, Lila?”

I wave over my shoulder at her, offering a fake smile. “No, thanks, sweetie. I’m good. See you tomorrow.”

With a resigned shrug, she waves at me and heads out the door.

Thank goodness.

The night guard studies me closely. His penetrating gaze says he doesn’t trust me one bit. Smart man.

“I forgot something in my locker,” I tell him, attempting to explain my odd behavior.

His stern expression doesn’t change as he waves me in. And since I’m sure he’s watching me go, I briskly scamper all the way to the locker room to sell my malarkey. Definitely getting my steps in today. I’ll need to grab my hairbrush from my locker so my purse has something in it when he checks my bag again. Otherwise, I’ll be even more suspicious.

Lies, lies, and more lies.

When I catch my reflection in the locker room mirror, I barely recognize myself. Look at what I’ve become.

Not only am I a criminal, but a habitual liar. I hate this so much.

When I finally make it to the parking lot several minutes later, I bolt straight to my car with quick strides. My gaze sweeps around me, watching for danger with each step.

The lot is brightly lit, and security patrols often. Yet my heart slams violently against my ribs as fear overwhelms my senses. Even though I don’t need to take my key fob out of my purse to get into my car, I grip my house key so it extends from my tight fist, poking out between my index finger and middle finger like a makeshift knife.

Tomorrow, I should get a real knife. Or a gun. At a minimum, a taser.

Can’t believe I haven’t bought something like that already. I’ve been so focused on getting Kenzie back or figuring out how to solve things that I never considered my personal safety.

Perhaps Reed isn’t the only dunderhead among us. The call is coming from inside the house.

My pace picks up when I spot my car. I check the back seat and jump in, locking the doors immediately. After a relieved exhale, I start the ignition and motor out.

Twenty minutes later, I struggle to unlock the front door to my apartment with shaky hands. Convinced danger is lurking, I strain to decipher every little sound. The crickets and frogs in the woods nearby perform their nightly symphony. But I keep listening for the telltale signs of an attacker. Any second, Silas’ thug will pounce.

Instead of detecting footsteps on the sidewalk or rustling of leaves under a pair of men’s boots, something else comes into auditory focus—the ominous scratchy hoot of a barred owl. Nothing like setting the mood, Mother Nature. Apparently, a cheery song from a nocturnal whippoorwill was too much to ask on a night like this.

I peek over my shoulder three times before I get the key in the slot in the right direction.

My shoulders slump forward, and a whoosh of air shoots past my lips when that familiar click of the bolt unlocking reaches my ears.

I hurriedly enter and lock the door behind me. And in the dark, I lean against the foyer wall and attempt to catch my rioting breaths. My purse drops to the floor with a thud. My head hits the wall with another thud.

Since there’s nothing fragile in my bag, there’s no worry of breaking anything. As for the second thud, I’m already broken.

Dispelling the morose thoughts, I swipe my bag from the floor so I can bring it into my room. After flicking on the light, I take a step into the living room.

And I freeze.

I’m not alone.

There’s a man on my couch.

Oh no, no, no. Not again.

Instincts taking over, I scream bloody murder and hurl my purse at him with all my might. He swats it away easily.

Without hesitating, I find two more items within reaching distance, preparing to heave them at the intruder.

He puts his hands out in front of him protectively. “Dammit, Lila. It’s just me. Calm down.”

The familiarity of his voice soothes my nerves.

A tad.

Now that I’ve had more than a second to process what’s happening, I return the remote to the coffee table instead of throwing it at his head. However, I keep the flower vase in my other hand.

Just in case.

He’s only a slightly preferable option to Silas.

Chest heaving with nervous breaths, I eye him down. “What are you doing here, Reed?”

“What kind of a greeting is that? I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Aw, I thought you liked me.”

This cheeky SOB.

“Those days are long gone. If they ever existed at all.” I shift the vase to my right hand so I’ll have better aim. “Why did you break in just to sit in my living room in the dark? What kind of creep does that?”

If I had a nickel for every time a man has done this to me, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice.

Reed narrows his absurdly captivating eyes at me. “Thought I’d pop by to visit my sister.”

“Why now? I mean . . . how long has it been since you’ve seen her? Two years? Three?”

“Well, you mentioned Kenzie earlier, and it got me thinking about her. I miss her.”

Liar.

He drags his palms along the tops of his thighs like he’s offering me a seat. “Is she gonna be home soon?”

I can’t answer out of fear he’ll hear the anguish in my tone. So I simply shake my head and resort to my typical way of dealing with uncomfortable conversations. “Did you know male black widow spiders are too weak to bite human skin?”

Rolling his eyes, he rises to his full height of about six feet and eases around the coffee table. His eye contact is unnerving because of how much I like the way he’s looking at me. With heat. It’s a far cry from the harshness he’s been giving me all week at the casino.

With my brows raised to the ceiling, I take a step back and adjust my hold on the vase, giving him a silent warning. Naturally, he ignores it.

“Don’t come any closer,” I order when he keeps stalking toward me. “State your business, citizen. Explain why you’re really here. Or I’ll call the cops and tell them you broke in.”

Those delicious cocoa eyes take another roll around his obnoxious skull, making my mouth water and core clench.

“I didn’t break in. I have a key.”

“Who gave you a key?”

He resumes prowling toward me. “Your roommate is my sister.”

I retreat two more steps. “Kenzie hates you too. No way she’d give you a key.”

“Too?” He cricks his head to the side and grins. Both of his friggin’ dimples pop, sending a blast of heat straight to my ovaries. “That implies someone else hates me.”

“You’re brighter than you look,” I quip.

His eyes and voice heat. “You don’t hate me, Lila.”

My legs freeze, no longer backing me away from him. I try my dandiest to force them to move, but they won’t. My body is under his control. Probably the dimples.

And he knows it.

“Yeah-yes, I do. I hate you.” I nod overzealously. “It just so happens I’m the founder and president of the Reed Hayes Hate Club. Florida chapter. Membership is way up.”

He licks his dumb lips. “You didn’t hate me the last time we were alone together.”

I feign confusion, letting my eyes search the ceiling. “Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten all about that night. Probably because of how unmemorable it was.” I shrug, acting like I don’t relive it every day.

He stops a foot away from me, looking me up and down. “If I were to frisk you, would I find any weapons?”

Excuse me. The nerve of this guy. He’s using that deep voice and those smoldering eyes along with both his dimples? And now he’s adding innuendo while threatening to feel me up?

That’s low. Even for a gutter-dwelling rat like him.

“Other than the vase,” he adds through a tight-lipped grin as he reaches for it.

Knowing it’s a pointless weapon, I pass it to him. But I roll out my lower lip when I do it so he knows I’m doing it under protest. He probably still thinks I’m a petulant child anyhow, so I might as well embrace the pouting.

Nonsense bursts from my mouth. “I bet you count your eyelashes for fun.”

Reaching to the side, he sets the vase down on the credenza. I use the brief moment when his eyes aren’t on me to take stock of the situation.

He’s in my home. Uninvited. Unwanted. And likely about to haul me to jail.

Plus, he’s using my former crush on him to lure me into a confession.

Sadly, my reprieve doesn’t last, and those beautiful brown eyes burn into me a second later. And just like that, I can’t remember ever hating him.

Wait. Yes, I can remember it.

I blink free from the hold he has on me and exit his space bubble. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk to you.”

I hit him with my most plastic smile. “I hope you’re a fan of disappointment. I have nothing to say to you.”

“That’s not what you told me earlier tonight.”

My head draws back. “Huh? I think you need to get your hearing or head checked. I most certainly didn’t say anything of the sort.”

“Not with your words, Lila.”

“Oh, so you’re a body language expert now?”

His gaze caresses every inch of my face and neck. Why does he look at me that way?

And why do I like it?

This is Reed. His attractiveness should be tempered by how big a D-bag he is. And he’s the biggest one of those in the state.

Second, if you count Silas’ D-baggery.

“Some bodies are easier to read than others,” he grits out, sounding pained.

His throat bobs with a tight swallow.

“Talk to the wall—at your own house—because you and I have nothing to say to each other.” I brush past him, steaming toward my bedroom. “Lock the door on your way out.”

Once I’m in my room, I close the door and drag my palm down my face. As if I could wipe away the lust.

After a dozen or so cleansing breaths, I toss my clothes in the hamper, throw on my pajamas, and get ready for bed.

He better be gone when I get back out there, or I will call the cops. Not sure it will help, though. Knowing him, he’ll play the whole I am the law routine.

With a washed face and minty fresh breath, I cautiously open my bedroom door. It’s silent out there, which gives me hope that he may have left.

However, it was also silent when I first walked into the living room to find him there. So the odds aren’t great.

But a girl can dream.

Padding quietly down the hall, I peek around the corner at the couch. “Excellent,” I say to the empty room.

Ignoring the blend of disappointment and relief in my gut, I enter the kitchen.

And scream at the top of my lungs. Again.

Maybe I’m finally turning into a rooster with all this screeching.

This time, I don’t have anything to throw at him other than my fists, which I’m not ruling out.

“Argh! Reed!” Pointing a stiff arm toward the front door, I huff and stamp my foot. “Get out of my house.”

He doesn’t even flinch, just trails his gaze up and down my body. His eyes linger on my chest. And I don’t even give a hoot.

All I want is him gone.

“You need to leave,” I restate in a calmer tone, hoping it conveys how done I am with this.

Leaning against the counter with his legs crossed at the ankles, he flatly asks, “Where is Kenzie?”

I’m certainly not answering that, so I resort to random distraction. “I’m beginning to suspect Humpty Dumpty was pushed. Do you have an alibi for that night?”

He groans, shoulders drooping with his exhale. “Where is Kenzie?”

“I recently fell in love with doors. Especially those slammed in your face.”

“Where is Kenzie?”

Here’s to hoping I can get through this interaction without lying to a federal agent.

“She’s not here.”

“That isn’t what I asked, Lila.”

“Do you still yell ‘cows!’ when you see one?”

He cricks his head to the side, darkening his eyes at me. “Where. Is. She?”

I turn my foot outward and park my fists on my hips. “I don’t make it my business to track her every move.”

“How long has she been gone?”

“How’s your toe fungus? Get that cleared up yet?”

He rolls his head around. “Lila, quit it with the random distraction shit. Answer my questions. Where is Kenzie, and how long has she been gone?”

Raising my chin, I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t have to answer you. I’m not under arrest, am I?”

“Should you be?”

And that’s another question I won’t be attempting to answer for fear he’ll see the truth. “What is your problem with me, Reed? Why are you really here? For that matter, why have you been hanging around my table all week?”

I cut myself off before I ask why he’s been watching me for months before that. I’d rather not know the answer.

My coworker Katrina told me I had a fan who was hanging out at her bar for hours, staring at me half the time. I told her we had a harmless history and left it at that.

Maybe I should have told her it was a nasty history so she could have had him escorted out or banned.

Why am I so nice to someone who’s been such a jerk to me?

He doesn’t answer my questions, not that I expected him to. “Who was the guy watching you last week? What does he want?”

Heat flares through my chest. This time, it’s from anger rather than arousal. “The one you had me hauled into my manager’s office to question me about with the head of freaking security? At my farking job, Reed. I was humiliated. Is that the man you’re talking about?”

“Who is he, Lila? Why was he watching you? Be honest this time. I know you lied about not knowing him when we questioned you. That’s why I’ve been hanging around all week.”

“It wasn’t a lie,” I insist, clinging to the strands of honesty I weaved together that night to sell my story. “I honestly don’t know his name.”

He clicks his tongue. “There it is again. Same act as the night we questioned you.”

“There’s what act again?”

“You’re answering an adjacent question instead of the one actually asked. Because you’re hiding something.”

“I didn’t lie.”

Uncrossing his ankles, he presses off the counter and gets right back up in my face. The heat of his body mingles with mine. “I didn’t ask his name. I asked if you knew who he was or what he wanted. How about you try answering honestly?”

“I don’t owe you a thing.”

He whispers his response. “No, you don’t.”

Languidly, he swipes a thick bunch of my hair over my right shoulder. He lets his gaze linger on the now-exposed spaghetti strap of my tank top.

After gently biting his lower lip, he slowly returns his focus to my face. “Lila, you know I’m eventually gonna figure out what you’re hiding. If you’re honest with me now, I can help keep you out of trouble.”

My voice quavers as I ask, “Who says I’m in trouble?”

“I know when I’m being lied to, Lila. Especially by you.”

“I asked you to leave.”

“Tell me who he is and why he was there.”

“Leave. I don’t want you here anymore.”

He tsks at me. “It’s such a shame that you insist on lying. You’re wasting time.” Reaching up, he skims his thumb from my neck toward my shoulder, toying with the strap of my tank. “Time I’d much rather spend doing other things.”

My core heats in response to the molten lava in his tone. When he touches me, I turn into a puddle of need. He knows it too.

Leaving one of my straps hanging on my upper arm, he switches to the other side, repeating the motion. “Wouldn’t you rather be doing something else with me?”

He’s so close he might as well be inside me. And doesn’t that sound heavenly.

My thighs press together, and my mouth waters. But common sense prevails over my hormones. I channel every ounce of disdain I harbor for him to shove away the arousal.

This man is the most infuriating person on the planet. I can’t believe he’s trying to manipulate me like this.

Again.

He got me once with this sexy act. Not a second time.

Through panting breaths that are part arousal and part fury, I seethe, “Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me.”

His face waxes over, all traces of heat snuffing out in an instant. “Sorry.”

I knew he was full of crap with this whole desire act of his. Real arousal—like I feel for him—can’t be turned off that fast. He’s just playing with me. Same as always.

“You need to leave, Reed. This isn’t happening. Never again.”

With his normal grumpy jerk face mask back in place, he asks, “Where’s my sister, Lila?”

“Shh. The avocados are sleeping.”

“Lila,” he scolds me. “Where is Kenzie?”

“Why are you asking?”

He crosses his arms at his chest. “Because of what you said to me when I left your table tonight. There’s no way you’d think I’d speak to her before you would. You were testing me, and I want to know why.”

I regret so many things where he’s concerned. That dumb test from earlier is the tip of the iceberg.

Closing my eyes, I fist my hands at my sides. I can’t answer. He’ll know I’m lying if I try. And my random distraction technique has failed spectacularly. He knows me too well.

I resort to begging. “Please just leave, Reed.”

Instead of complying, he opens the fridge, takes out the milk, and plops it on the counter. “This is expired.” He grabs a package of bologna. “Expired.” The half-eaten roast beef comes out next. “Expired. And oh, look. Moldy cheese.”

In hindsight, I should have thrown out all of Kenzie’s food when it started spoiling. But I didn’t because that was like admitting she was never coming home.

“Congrats. You’ve cracked the case. We don’t empty the fridge as often as we should.”

He opens the produce drawer, waving at all my rabbit food. “Oddly enough, all this is fresh.”

From the top shelf, he takes out a two-liter bottle of Coke. An inch in front of my face, he twists the top to open it. Of course, there’s absolutely no carbonation remaining.

“Did Kenzie start drinking flat soda and spoiled milk?”

“Maybe we get a lot of takeout and don’t grocery shop that much.”

His head kicks back, and he marches over to the dishwasher, flinging it open. “That’s a lot of pots and pans for someone getting takeout all the time. Not to mention the fresh produce. Why are you the only one eating here?”

“What makes you think I’m the one cooking and eating the produce?”

If answering questions with questions were an Olympic sport, I’d win gold.

“Lila, why are you acting like I haven’t known you for most of my life?”

“Wishful thinking,” I snark.

“You’re always on some stupid, unnecessary fucking diet. My sister eats nothing but junk food. So why the fuck isn’t she eating here?”

I blink at him while visualizing a piano falling on his head, ala Roadrunner and Coyote.

Still proving his case, he piles on more evidence. “She hasn’t been here in a while, has she? There’s a ring from nonuse in the toilet bowl in her bathroom too. The kind when it hasn’t been flushed in a long time.”

I fling my arms out wide. “What do you want from me, Reed?”

His eyes double in size, and he mashes his lips closed like he’s holding back his words by force. After a beat, he grits out, “A lot of things. But right now, I want the truth. How do you know the guy I chased out of the casino? Why was he passing something to your boyfriend? Where is my sister? And why do I have the feeling those questions are related?”

Like two stubborn goats, we stare at each other, butting heads and fuming. The smoke detector will blast out any moment now from the fire raging between us.

Reed’s the only one who does this to me. It’s like he has the key to turning my world upside down. Always has.

Even still . . . I want this to go away.

It needs to end.

Not only the confrontation with him, but everything. All of it.

I’m so freaking done.

My anger at him gradually melts away, leaving room for the desperation and helplessness I’ve been living with for weeks. There’s no way out. I’m tired, and I need help.

I surrender.

Best I can do is hope he’ll help me instead of locking me up. If that happens, at least he can start searching for Kenzie.

“Reed,” I begin, my voice meek and unsure.

The cashmere cushioning his voice surrounds me with reassurance. “You can talk to me, Lila.”

I hope he’s right about that because I don’t have any other options.

“Listen, Reed, I need to—”

My cell rings, severing my connection with Reed as if it were slashed with a sword.

I dart into the living room, searching for the purse I hurled at him when I got home. My phone’s beside it on the floor, along with my wallet and keys.

When I swipe it off the carpet and check the screen, my heart freezes, and my throat threatens to close.

It’s Silas.

Considering an overly suspicious FBI agent with a history of ruining my life is in my home, it’s only logical that a criminal would call me.

Perfect timing to go with my perfect life.

Thanks for reading the first five chapters of Broken Like Me by Jackie Walker.

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