Sinful Desire

He was the only one she could ask.

Latent rage roiled inside him, rising and twisting through his veins. He breathed out heavily, an angry plume, like a dragon. The lights on Treasure Island flickered, and he snapped his gaze away, staring at his black leather shoes as his emotions shapeshifted again.

Now, he was flooded with shame—so much shame at having been deceived.

Because dammit. She could have asked him to throw the fucking thing out instead. Lord knows, he would have. He would have crumpled it up on the way to school the next day and chucked it in a trash can. At least then he wouldn’t have carried it around like some sad sack year after year. He wouldn’t have held onto the patternless pattern like a fool, running his fingertips over it as if it were a symbol of her freedom someday.

When it seemed more like a glaring piece of evidence.

A lie, now exposed.

What else had she told him that was a lie?

He wanted to know so badly his bones vibrated with coiled tension. He wanted to know who those men were. He wanted to know what role they played in his father’s death.

The tension in him spiked, and he pressed his fingertips to the dark window.

Eighteen fucking years and counting without the man. This night. The end of the pirate’s show. The opening of the Wynn. The rollercoaster at New York New York. The Ferris wheel. They were milestones. They were markers in time. They were all the moments Thomas Paige had missed.

When the door creaked open, he turned around, straightening his spine and lifting his chin, ready to stop guarding the secrets his mother had asked him to keep. John and Sophie walked into the suite.

“Sophie said you had some new details,” John began, cutting to the chase as he motioned for Ryan to take a seat on the couch. Sophie sat next to Ryan, and John opted for a chair.

“Thanks for taking the time out of your night,” Ryan said, then drew a deep breath, letting it fuel him, letting it feed him as he proceeded to tell John about the pattern that was never a pattern. He traded off with Sophie, and she weighed in, too, explaining her role in the discovery and then sharing the names.

T.J. Nelson and Kenny Nelson.

To say John’s eyes flickered with some kind of hope was an understatement. Marshall’s words rang in his ears. The detective would probably give a right arm for those names.

“Are those the guys you’re looking for?” Ryan asked, his body taut with anticipation. John had kept his lips shut the first time they’d talked, holding all the cards, telling him little. Ryan swallowed, hoping the information exchange would flow both ways tonight. “Because you asked me when I first met you who she was associating with at the time. You said you had new evidence and were trying to determine the validity of it. Is this the evidence you wanted?”

“I can’t say for sure, but this is as close as we’ve come, and it lines up with my leads,” John said, and Ryan released a deep breath, relieved this wasn’t a fool’s errand after all. John continued, “I know it hasn’t been easy for you, but I really appreciate you sharing this—”

“I did nothing.” Ryan pointed to Sophie. “She figured it out.”

John cracked one of the first smiles Ryan had ever seen on the detective’s face. “I like to say she’s my code breaker.”

Sophie waved them off. “Hardly. There’s more to it, but the other rows are going to take more time to figure out.”

“I might need you as a consultant on this case then,” John said to Sophie.

“You know I’ll do whatever I can, and whatever you need.”