Chapter Fourteen
The hotel’s fitness center was set up for the casual user, with treadmills set up near free weights, and wide-screen televisions scattered around the room.
It wasn’t as well-furnished as the gym in the basement of the Devil’s Playground, but it didn’t have to be.
Trey started off with a series of pushups before moving on to the weights, enjoying the exercise. The stress in his body eased as he focused on the here-and-now, pushing himself to the edge and a bit beyond. He stripped off his T-shirt—he was the only occupant of the gym at the moment, and he wasn’t shy about hiding his battle scars.
A half-hour later and he was sweaty and loving the burn in his muscles, the familiar sensation helping chase away the tension of the past few hours.
Vincent was alive and they’d find him.
After that…
A soft cough broke his concentration, causing him to put the weight down with a grunt.
He looked up to see Ally standing just inside the doorway. She’d changed out of the power suit and was now wearing a T-shirt and jeans, looking nothing like the tough businesswoman he’d been escorting for the day.
“I’m sorry.” Her cheeks pinked with embarrassment. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”
He chuckled and picked up the hand weight, moving to put it back on the rack. “No. Just thinking too much.” He pulled down one of the nearby hand towels. “What can I do for you?”
“Ah…” She hesitated, and for a second he thought she’d bolt. “I don’t mean to be forward, but would you like to join me for dinner? I’m tired of room service and would like to go out. But I don’t want to sit in a restaurant alone.”
“Sure. Let’s go back upstairs, and I’ll grab a shower, get changed.” He reached for his T-shirt and tugged it on over his slick torso.
A shadow appeared at the back of his thoughts, tampering with his growing desire for the lovely Ally Sheldon.
As soon as I confirm it’s Vincent, I’ll tell her.
It was a promise he couldn’t let himself break.
He grinned as he followed her out of the fitness center and toward the elevators.
…
Ally sat on the edge of the bed, her head spinning. The smartest thing would have been to leave him alone, order something in for herself, and go over the latest data on the Las Vegas project. The smartest, but not the wisest.
She didn’t know what to make of Trey. He was kind, gentle, and helpful on the outside, but she sensed a battle going on under that facade. Every time they spoke about Vincent, the shift in his body language told her something was wrong. She needed to find out what that was and figure out if there was something between them, something more than just the job.
She flashed back to when she’d seen him in the fitness center. His loose sweatpants had been tied with a slender white cord hanging free at the front. For a wild, crazy second, she thought about reaching for the strand, seeing if what she’d suspected lay under those tight jeans was correct. His sweat-soaked chest had been marked by a number of scars, the six-pack of perfectly toned abs almost screamed for her to reach out and count them off, one by one, with her fingertips. She itched to follow her touch with her tongue, committing each battle mark to memory.
It was a naughty thought, a decadent thought to have. But it’d started back when Trey had come to her at the bar in the nightclub, and she could only resist temptation so long.
Ally swallowed hard, forcing herself to take a deep breath.
Oh. Yeah.
There was something going on here, something she needed to discover and explore.
This seemed as good as any place to start her search.
Edgar rapped at the bedroom door. “Miss Ally? The car’s waiting at the front of the hotel. I’m going to take a break, stay here in case someone calls.” He smiled. “I’m glad you’re going out. You’re looking a bit pale; the fresh air will help you recover from recent events.”
“Thank you.” She ran a hand through her hair, steadying herself.
Keep it together.
She looked at Edgar. “What’s your take on Trey Pierce?”
“I sent you the memo I put together on him.” She saw the shift in his stance, the military man coming out. “He’s solid. Not a security risk.”
“I know. I read it.” She studied his face. “But I’m asking what you think about him. Your personal assessment.”
“He’s smart, savvy, and steady. He’s seen battle and knows when to fight and when to stand back.”
She eyed him. “You’re picking up on all this by just looking at him?”
Edgar shrugged. “Men like us, we recognize each other. You’re safe with him.” One eyebrow rose. “As much as you would like to be.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she walked past him into the living room.
Trey was already there.
His short hair was still damp from the shower, the light blue dress shirt and jeans giving him a casual look. A gentle smile disarmed her, tamping down the nervousness.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
“No idea,” she confessed. “This isn’t my hometown. I can give you plenty of restaurant referrals in New York, but…”
Trey took her hand. “I’ve got a place in mind. Just promise me you’ll try to relax. It’s not healthy to worry all the time. We’ll have our phones—if they need us, they’ll call.”
Soon they were settled in a little Italian place, a lovely small cafe with enough customers to be comfy but not crowded. From the look of the place, it was off the beaten path, more for the locals than for the tourists.
She rolled her shoulders back, the muscles beginning to relax as she listened to Trey talk about the area’s history. It was as normal a date as she could imagine and just what she needed to settle her nerves.
The talk turned to Trey and his own family.
“My mother lives in a trailer park in Florida.” He took a sip of water. “Works in a nearby bakery.”
“Isn’t she old enough to retire?”
“Long past. And she could—between my dad’s military pension and her own, she definitely could. But she loves the smell of the ovens, and I think there’d be a riot if she ever gave up making her cookies.” His grin was infectious. “They carry them at the local restaurants for dessert.”
Ally ran her hand over the top of her glass. “Your father passed away when you were young. I saw it in the memo Edgar put together for me.” She studied his face, trying to sense if she’d gone too far.
Trey nodded. “Edgar’s a good man. He wouldn’t let me near you if he thought I was any danger.” He fiddled with his napkin for a second before continuing. “My dad died in the nineties in a training accident. Drowned while trying to save another recruit who was drowning as well. Guy pulled him down while panicking, and the other pool instructors couldn’t get there in time.”
“That’s awful.” She shook her head. “I’d feel guilty as hell if that were me.”
He shrugged. “The man came to our house, to the funeral. Cried like a baby and my mom put her arms around him, hugged the hell out of him. I didn’t understand it at first, how she could do that. But later on, she told me he’d carry the weight of that for the rest of his life—she didn’t need to add to it.” He tapped the fork against the edge of his plate. “When I was older and went into the military, I understood. Killing a man changes you—whether it’s accidental or not, it scars your soul.”
Before she could decide how to answer that one, the server arrived with the dessert tray, and the topic changed.
She made it all the way through coffee and the tiramisu before she pulled out her phone and checked for new messages. Nothing there.
“Jessie will call if there’s anything. So will Edgar,” Trey reminded her.
“I know.” Ally rubbed her forehead. “Just hard to figure out whether I’m going to slap Vincent first or hug him. He’s put me through a lot, put Edgar through hell. We’ll weather this one, though—like all the other issues we’ve dealt with over the years.”
Trey nodded. “Guess that’s why Sheldon Construction has done so well.”
There was a bite to his words, one that ground against her skin like sandpaper.
Enough.
“What’s going on?” She put her fork down. “You’ve got this whole passive-aggressive thing happening, and I’m done with it.” She dabbed at her mouth with the cloth napkin, using the time to choose her words carefully. “Were you fired by our company at some point in the past? House collapse because of shoddy construction? What?”
He entwined his fingers and leaned forward, ignoring his coffee. “What else did your research tell you about me?”
“You played football through high school, defense. Went to college on a scholarship and graduated with a degree in computer science, bounced from that into the military.” She studied his face, watching for any reaction. “Delta Force.”
He nodded.
“Tours overseas. You mustered out and ended up here in Las Vegas, working at the Devil’s Playground.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then you’ve got it all.” He drained his glass and motioned for the check.
“No. That’s not all.” Ally cleared her throat. “A man like you doesn’t end up playing with security cameras for a living. Not when Dylan McCourt has the same type of background, along with a lot of your co-workers.” She couldn’t stop talking, the words tumbling out. “I did a little research of my own. Overqualified hardly scratches the surface when it comes to the staff.” She lowered her voice, almost afraid to ask. “Tell me who and what you really are, Trey Pierce.”