Chapter Twenty-Four

Pool cue in hand, Ryan stared down the eight ball and the corner pocket. He tapped the ball lightly then followed its path as it rolled across the green felt, hell-bent on its destination and impending victory.

C’mon, he said silently.

The ball veered to the right, bumping the edge of the table, and missing the mark by an inch.

“Damn.” Ryan let out a long, frustrated sigh.

Brent pulled back on his stick and knocked the eight ball flawlessly.

“You’re killing it today,” Ryan said, extending a hand to congratulate his brother-in-law on his third win of the afternoon.

Brent shook then waved his hand as if Ryan’s utter demolishment in a game at which he usually excelled was no big deal. “Just lucky today, that’s all,” Brent said.

There was a time when Ryan hadn’t been a fan of Brent Nichols because the man had broken his sister’s heart long ago. But that was then, and as Ryan had gotten to know Brent anew these days, he’d let the past go. Brent made Shannon immensely happy, and he loved seeing his sister like this—glowing.

“Go again?” Ryan asked, holding up his cue.

“You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

“Seems that way,” Ryan said. But he was determined to right this ship. He never lost three games in a row. Never ever. This was unprecedented, and he had to get his act together, because he didn’t like being so off his game.

He racked the balls as Shannon walked into the den, holding up beer bottles for the crew. “Are we ever going to eat lunch?” she asked as she doled out bottles to Brent and Ryan. She had one left for Colin, since he’d texted that he’d be there any minute, and she set it on the edge of the table. “Or are you boys going to play all afternoon?”

“I’ll stop when I break my streak,” Ryan said, as Johnny Cash barked happily from the other room. He must have spotted one of his favorite lady dogs walking along the sidewalk from his perch staring out the front window.

“Brent, please let him win. I’m hungry,” Shannon said to her husband, who simply laughed.

Ryan shot a sharp-eyed stare at Brent. “Play fair and square.”

“I’ll play.”

Ryan spun around to see his brother Colin walk in, with Johnny Cash trotting by his side. “What the hell? You don’t knock?”

“Yeah, some asshole who owns this house didn’t lock the front door. I was able to wander in and your guard dog greeted me with a big lick,” Colin said with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he petted the dog’s black furry head. Then he looked at Ryan. “You’d think a man who works in the security business would lock his door.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I know you used your key. Don’t even try to pretend that stuff would slip by me.”

Colin grinned widely and held up his key. “Ha. Got you. Where’s Michael?” he asked, looking around.

“He said he’ll be here soon. Just finished up some work on this new client deal we signed this week. White Box. These guys are awesome, and they fucking love us,” Ryan said as he clapped his brother on the back in greeting. “How’s it going? Haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”

“Good. Busy. Been training for the Badass Triathlon next month.”

“You are hardcore. Is that the one where you do some crazy rock climbing too?”

Colin nodded. “Yup. Was up at sunrise on a climb. Gotta go for it after the other time I tried to do it. We all know what happened then.”

“You’re gonna do great this time, man.”

“I hear you’re busy too these days.” Colin wiggled his eyebrows. “Getting it on with some new lady.”

Ryan swiveled around to face Shannon. She held up her hands. “Ryan, you had me get her a dress. It’s not a state secret that you’re seeing someone. But I don’t even know her name.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” he said, cutting this conversation off at the knees. He missed Sophie like a hungry man misses food, and it had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d seen her. He missed every single thing about her, from her clever banter, to her sexy winks, to her giving heart, to her beautiful body that he wanted to ravage. He’d spent the morning burying himself in work, then in Frisbee time with his dog, then in a long swim in his pool. Now he had some of his favorite people to help keep his mind off the woman who’d nabbed center seat in his brain and his heart.

A picture of Sophie in her black cherry dress and white sunglasses, inviting him to the gala, popped into his head then, unbidden.

Tempting and tantalizing, the image of her was like a summons. And he wanted to do nothing more than appear before her. Tell her how he felt. Tell her he wanted her in his life, not out of it. But he was no good at talking. Despite what his grandma had said, he was no more skilled at opening his heart to a woman this morning than he had been last night.

He desperately needed the diversion of this game. “Colin, grab a cue and join us. You’re on Brent’s team. Shan, you’re on mine.”

Shannon arched an eyebrow. “You must really want to win, Ryan. You know I can beat the two of you blindfolded.” She did have a knack for the game. Their dad had been a bit of a pool shark and had taught all of them to play at a young age. Maybe Shannon would help him regain his mojo.

Shannon handed Colin the remaining beer bottle, the non-alcoholic kind, then she grabbed a stick, leaned over the table, narrowed her eyes, and assessed the best angle for the break shot. She pulled back the cue, snapped it seamlessly, and sent the top of the table into motion, balls scattering, with an orange one landing easily in a corner pocket.

“Nice,” Brent said with an appreciative whistle. “Can’t even get annoyed because that was such a perfect shot.”

Ryan pointed his beer bottle at Brent. “Sucking up to the opposing team—I approve only because it involves my sister, and you should always compliment her.”

“And I always do,” Brent said with a laugh as he held his beer in an air toast. Ryan lined up the next shot and then proceeded to whack the purple ball neatly across the table, sinking it easily. Shannon held up a hand to high-five him, and they smacked palms. Ryan turned to Colin as Shannon set up another shot.

“Hey Colin, I heard your firm is one of the sponsors for the big fundraiser for the community center. I knew you were a volunteer, but I had no idea you were putting your money where your mouth is too. That’s awesome. Another one of your quiet give back projects?”

His brother nodded. “Yup. They do great work, and Elle, the director, is passionate about helping. Some of the kids there have had rough childhoods, so the center is all about giving them a place to hang out, and, man, do they ever need the help to refurbish that place.”

Ryan tipped his chin. “Proud of you, bro.”

“Hey,” Brent cut in, setting down his beer. “That reminds me. I heard from my friend Mindy earlier today. I already told Shan, but I wanted you both to know, too. Remember the guy I saw hanging outside her house a month ago?”

The pool game ceased and all eyes turned to Brent. After the murder case was reopened, Brent had mentioned spotting a guy in a Buick idling outside Shannon’s old condo. He’d snapped a photo at the time, and while the guy in the car hadn’t done anything suspicious, he’d spent far too long doing a whole lot of nothing in the car while staring at her building. Turned out Shannon had seen him at another time too. Shannon was living with Brent now, so she felt safer. Still, Ryan and his siblings all wanted to know more about the guy in the Buick, in case he’d been watching Shannon for some reason.

“Mindy talked to her friends on the force. Asked them if the ink on his arms looked familiar.” Ryan flashed back to Luke’s comments about the Royal Sinners, and the tattoos that bore their mantra, as Brent continued. “The picture I had of him wasn’t perfect, but we zoomed in as close as we could and it looks like one of the tattoos says ‘Protect.’”

Ryan’s blood chilled. Protect our own. “That’s the ink of the Royal Sinners,” he said, dread laced through his voice.

Shannon moved closer to Brent, visibly shivering, and he draped an arm around his wife. “Are you serious?” she asked.

Ryan nodded. “You need to be careful, Shan. I’m going to get you a security detail right away.”

“I can take care of her,” Brent said protectively.

“I know you can, man. I don’t doubt it for a second. But I’m talking about when you’re not with her,” Ryan added. “And you need to make sure you’re carrying, Shan.”

“Ryan,” she said, chiding.

“These guys don’t fuck around. Stefano has friends on the outside. And he had a kid at the time he went to prison. I heard the kid’s been getting into some trouble. What if this guy watching us is Stefano’s son? He looks young enough. We need to be careful,” he said firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument, then turned to Colin. “Same goes for you.”

“You’re getting me a bodyguard?”

“If you want one, I will.”

Colin shot him a look that said hell no. “Let me see the picture,” he said, and Brent called it up on his phone and passed it to Colin.

He stroked his chin and appeared deep in thought.

“What is it, Colin?” Shannon asked.

“This is going to sound strange, but I think I’ve seen this guy shooting hoops at the community center.” He tapped the screen and spoke to Brent. “Send me this picture. Let me do a little more digging.”

Brent swiped the screen a few times then said, “Done. And listen, we haven’t seen him around in a month, so my thought is maybe he was just trying to keep an eye on Shan before the case got reopened?”

Luke’s warning rang in Ryan’s ears.

You bump into a guy like Stefano on the street and you run the other way.

But he didn’t need that man’s words about the Royal Sinners to take the threat seriously. His father in the ground, courtesy of a gangland shooter, was all Ryan needed to make sure he did everything to keep his family safe. “We’re not taking any chances, because we don’t know what’s going on. That’s the issue. We don’t know everything that’s happening with the investigation. The only one who knows is the damn detective.”

They speculated more on the case while finishing the round of pool. When Shannon landed the winning shot, she declared victory for the two of them. Then she raised her cue, tapped Ryan on the shoulder from across the table, and poked him with it. “Now, fess up. What’s the story with the woman you had me buy the dress for? I want to know.”

“She’s pissed at me,” he said, heavily. He hadn’t heard a word from her since last night, so that was probably the end of Miss Peach Pie. A black cloud engulfed him at the prospect of never seeing her again.

“What did you do wrong?” Brent asked as he knocked back some of his beer.

Ryan parked his hands on his hips. “Now, why do you assume it was me who did something wrong?”

Brent nearly spat out his beer. “Dude. You just said you did. You said she’s pissed at you.”

“It’s a long story,” he muttered. “I don’t even know if she wants to hear from me again.”

Shannon hung up her cue, marched over to Ryan, and stared at him, her eyes saying we’re waiting.

Ryan gritted his teeth, pressing them hard together, locking up his words, and shutting the details in his head.

Old habit.

This was his way.

This was how he dealt.

Jam all the personal, private information into his mind vise, then crush it and let the tension live in his bones for years, like a coiled spring. The one time lately he hadn’t felt like a taut power line was when he’d given John the initials he’d gotten from his mom. Instead, he’d felt a sense of freedom from the weight of the past.

The memory of that feeling was a soft knock on the door. A gentle reminder that he’d gotten in this predicament with Sophie by keeping his secrets airtight.

Maybe it was time to try a new approach.

“So here’s the story,” he said, then told them about the only woman he’d ever even started to let into his heart. He kept it short and simple, sticking to basic facts.

When he was through, Shannon slammed her hands against his chest. “You ass.”

He stumbled into the pool table, surprise racing through him.

Brent cracked up. “She doesn’t pull her punches. You gotta watch out for Mrs. Nichols,” he said.

“Tell me about it,” Ryan said, straightening up.

“Why are you here? Seriously? Go,” she said, pointing to the door. “Go find her and tell her you weren’t using her, and that she’s the first woman you’ve ever felt a damn thing for, and that you’re all sorts of messed up in the head,” she said, tapping her temple, “but that you want to try for her. Or maybe do you want to wait ten years for her to come back into your life?”

Brent raised a beer. “Can’t think of a better advertisement for going after the woman you want this very second than our example,” he said, gesturing from Shannon to himself. “Go get her now, man. Get her now.”

Shannon turned to her husband, and the look in her eyes and the smile on her face said it all. They were in mad love.

He didn’t know if that was what he was pursuing with Sophie. It felt more like…possibility.

And hell, possibility seemed worth it. When it came in a package of brains, beauty, and heart, wrapped up in a peach dress, it seemed worth it for sure.

He searched through his mental files, trying to remember where Sophie said she’d be on Saturday. Something about the fundraiser. Doing some work with her ex. Was she at home? At her office? He snapped his fingers when he remembered.

“Fine,” he said, then leaned closer to Shannon and whispered, “But can you give me that dress?”

She smiled widely. “Of course. It’s in my car.”

He turned to the rest of them. “All right. Wish me luck. You gonna stay here and keep Johnny Cash company and eat the sandwiches?”

“We are, and then we’re going to spend the day in your pool and wreak havoc,” Colin said. “Leave now so we can start this pool party.”

* * *

The ballroom at the Venetian was perfection.

Sophie had just walked Clyde through a quick rehearsal of his opening remarks, showing him where he would enter the stage, and demonstrating how the podium would be set up for his introduction at the fundraiser.

She thanked the operations manager for the quick use of the room and then headed to the elevator with the event’s biggest donor. Clyde wagged a finger at her as they stepped into the elevator. “I can’t wait ’til next Saturday.”

“It’s going to be a great event,” she said with a bright smile she hardly felt.

Inside, her mind was a cluttered mess. She still didn’t know what to make of Ryan, or whether she wanted to keep moving forward with him. Too bad relationships weren’t math problems with precise answers. They were essay questions in a philosophy class, and they came down to judgement.

She wasn’t sure what choice she wanted to make, or even if there was a choice anymore. For all she knew, Ryan might have closed the gates on that flicker of possibility she’d sensed last night. Shut it off like a switch. She was willing to bet he was good at that. That the man had a built-in eject button, and could easily parachute himself to a soft landing far away from her.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant that I’m looking forward to meeting your gentleman at the event,” Clyde said with a wink, mentioning the man in limbo in her life. “The man who has captured the attention of Las Vegas’s most eligible bachelorette.”

Oh God. She cringed, absolutely cringed from head to toe, and stem to stern, at that designation. The feminist in her wanted to brandish her claws. The shrewd businesswoman in her affixed her best shiny, happy face. “Oh Clyde, you do shower me with compliments,” she said as they reached the ground floor. She attempted to steer him back to the matter at hand, so she could avoid the issue of her date, since she might not have one anymore. “I’m glad everything is in order for the benefit. Thank you again for stopping by on a Saturday morning to have a look-see.”

He was undeterred. “Sophie, I want to say, if it doesn’t work out with this fellow for whatever reason, you have an open door with me to connect with Taylor.”

In the blink of an eye, her wishes went from blurry to crystal clear.

She didn’t want an open door with Taylor. She wanted Ryan. She wanted the one and only man she’d felt such passion and lust and desire for.

There it was. Her answer. Her choice. This relationship was a math problem. Two plus two equals four, and four was Ryan Sloan.

Now she needed to figure out what to do with the result of her simple addition.

“You are so very sweet. And now I have an appointment I must race to,” she said, and pointed down the hallway.

Once out of earshot and eyeshot, she breathed a huge sigh of relief and headed to the Grand Canal Shops to meet Holden for a cup of coffee and some much-needed retail therapy. A beat of happiness played in her heart as she neared the cafe—she’d always enjoyed Holden’s company, and she needed her best friend even more today. Over lattes and quality time with Kenneth Cole, Coach, and Christian Louboutin, she caught him up to speed on her latest news, showing him Ryan’s photo from his corporate website.

“I hope it’s not over,” she admitted.

“So on a scale of one to ten, how much do you like him?” he asked as she tried on a peep-toe silver stiletto with a strap over the heel.

“One hundred,” she said, peering at the red-soled shoe in the mirror of the boutique. “But I don’t know where we stand.”

He met her reflection in the glass. “Those look amazing. And honestly, it sounds more like you’re in a holding pattern.”

“I detest holding patterns. I hate uncertainty. Not to mention, the whole thing just makes me feel stupid.”

“So tell him as much. Tell him what you need. That he needs to be open with you,” he said, as she slipped off the shoes and gestured to the counter so she could pay for them.

“And I feel stupid, too, because Clyde is breathing down my neck. It’s like everyone is using me. I’m sorry if that sounds dramatic, but Clyde clearly has his sights set on me because he thinks I’ll never try to touch his money. And then I have to wonder if Ryan had his own agenda.”

“Did it seem like that?”

As the saleswoman rang her up, Sophie let the reel of her time with Ryan play before her eyes. Date by date. Night by night. Email by email. Moment after moment of intoxicating, inescapable pleasure. Ryan had always seemed focused on her. Only her. Her pleasure, never anything else.

She floated back to the diner and his heady words.

If you were mine, I’d never let you want for anything. I’d take care of you, and all your needs. All the time. Anytime. Whatever you needed, I’d give you.

A current of longing swirled inside her. Of missing. Of wanting.

“No,” she admitted, taking the bag from the employee. “I was his only agenda.”

“Then,” he said, as he patted her shoulder, “it seems you might want to let him know you’re falling for him. Especially since I think he’s here right now.”

“What?”

He gestured to the entryway of the Louboutin store. “I’m assuming the insanely handsome man in the University of Michigan T-shirt, holding a shopping bag and looking just like the guy in the photo you just showed me, is here to see you?”