He’d punched his father in front of his mother. Something he promised himself he’d never do. Yet, he would have done worse to keep Craig from insulting Alexa.
His cell phone rang, and he picked it up from the coffee table. “Hello,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“Brooks. It’s Alexa,” she said, as if he’d have a sliver of doubt after he heard her say his name. No one pronounced his name like that, with the seductive tone that sizzled his scalp.
He straightened himself up on the sofa and sat the beer bottle on the side table. His body tensed up, his heart flipping in his chest. “Alexa.” That was all he could say glancing around his living area to make sure this wasn’t a dream. She called me. She called.
“A sex worker from Kace’s ranch contacted me, and she gave me some information you should know.”
Shock surged through him, and he clenched the phone tighter. “What?”
“She said one of the security guys we talked to was your sister’s boyfriend. He was against her doing the virgin auction, but she insisted. I don’t know if this will take us anywhere, but he lied to us when he said he didn’t remember her.”
He rose to his feet, dashing to his bedroom and grabbing some clothes. Why the hell would that guy lie unless he was hiding something? “That’s Mike, right?”
“No. Mike led us to Kace. The other one was Tony.”
“And he was working that night.”
“Yes.”
He gritted his teeth. The bastard had said he didn’t remember Pamela. “Thanks for telling me. I’m leaving for Vegas now.”
“I’ll pick you up from the airfield.”
Hours later, he sat next to Alexa in her BMW. She’d probably offered to pick him up to be helpful, and perhaps a side of her wanted to know how it all unraveled. She’d gone too far to go back. He trained his eyes to focus on the road, to glance at his phone, and to shoot her a blank stare when she spoke with him.
“We should call the gym to see if he’s working. Pretend we’re clients. If he’s not there, we can go straight to the address Liam gave you,” she said, driving fast through the green lights.
“Good idea,” he said, scrolling through his contact list to find the number of the gym where they’d visited Tony once. As the phone rang, an automated message picked up and put him on hold. He slanted a look her way, almost as if something inside of him was so drawn to her, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to bask in her beauty.
His chest squeezed. Damn it. He should be mad at her—she’d broken his heart when she’d decided not to fight for them. Hell, she didn’t even want to give him time to try. One inconvenience, and she’d abandoned ship. A current of resentment made tides inside him. Had he been wrong all along? Had their affair meant so little that she could act like nothing had ever happened? The Alexa behind the steering wheel reminded him of when he’d first met her—no-nonsense, focused and professional. “Why are you here?” he asked, chastising himself for doing so. He’d thought he was a stronger man, but even with everything going on, she was still his weakness.
She made a wide turn, then shot him a coy smile. “I have to be here. That woman came to me to say these things, and she risked her job and God knows what else. Wouldn’t be fair to just hand you the information without following through.”
“And you’re great at following through,” he said, his voice almost as bitter as his mood.
She didn’t reply, which only added to his frustration. Damn, the last week had been miserable. He’d missed her too much—her sexy voice, her warm smile, the one she flashed just for him. Or so he’d thought. What if he’d misread everything? Imagined them, because he’d wanted to see them so badly—wanted her so badly?
She drove through the streets of the old part of Vegas with grace and speed. When she parked in front of an old apartment complex and they slid out of the car in tandem, he decided not to throw jabs at her anymore. Whether she had her reasons or not, she was helping him, and he had to grow a pair and move on. Moving on from a woman like her was the toughest thing he’d ever do, but fuck it, he’d have to.
Moments later, he knocked on the apartment door. Adrenaline pumped in his blood. When the door opened, the flow of blood stopped in his veins, much differently than a second earlier.
In front of him, wearing shorts and a sweatshirt, stood Pamela, in flesh and blood. “Pamela?” he asked, needing to hear himself speak to make sure this was real.
Besides longer dirty blonde hair, she looked exactly like she had before. Maybe a few pounds lighter, but with the specks of challenge still in her dark eyes.
She popped her head out, glancing around before opening the door wider, silently inviting him in. As if in a trance, he entered the apartment, and Alexa followed behind him. A glance at Alexa showed the surprise in her eyes, too. She touched his shoulder, squeezing it with encouragement. He sighed, scanning the area—a well-appointed, if small, living room with a plasma TV and rugs on the floor.
“Why?” he asked, lifting his gaze to Pamela’s. Why had she faked her own death? Then he looked at her hands, her pinkie missing. She’d cut her own finger? “Why?” he repeated, raising his voice.
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, playing with the ends of her hair. A shade of red covered her cheeks for a moment, before she took a deep breath and faced him. “I wanted to become someone new.”
“Couldn’t you do that without faking your own death?” Restless, he paced the
