I watched Sam as she left my home, leaving me with the tall, dark behemoth. I leaned against the table as I listened to her walk away, her feet smoothing across the driveway as I sighed.
“You won’t win,” John said.
“Come again?”
“If you try to defy her or take control back, you won’t win. She’s dealt with bigger bastards than you. It’s easier if you just do it her way,” he said.
“So, she’s a domme. Anything else I should know?”
John shook his head as he turned his gaze out the window toward the perimeter of my yard. Reminding me of the fact that someone wanted me dead.
Great.
Chapter 8
Sam
I WENT TO THE HOTEL to pack my bag for Los Angeles before I buzzed on home. I did have a home base in San Francisco, but it wasn’t something I advertised. Just like Derek, I kept my personal life and my professional life separate.
And like him as well, my professional life dominated my personal one.
I didn’t like how close people were getting. Someone got into his fucking room, and that screamed “inside job.” Someone who knew him intimately. Personally. More than he could’ve ever imagined or wanted from someone.
I had to place some phone calls after I was done packing.
I set my bag at my feet and went into my room. I shoved my clothes to the side and pressed the wall behind it. The hidden door gave way. I slid it off to the side and then clicked on the light that illuminated my private stash.
Guns and knives and pocket pen cameras. Bracelets that doubled as close-range weapons and rings that delivered multiple thousand volts of shock. A walking cane with a protruding knife at the end that flew out with the touch of a button as well as a cane with a sword stashed inside.
My eyes lingered on all of it as I began plucking a few things from my hidden treasure trove.
I needed to call Lance. I needed to know if he could gather intel on what happened at that damn event tonight. I needed to know details. Numbers. Body count. Anything he could give me on what the police had found thus far. I stuck a few things in my bag to go with the outfits I had packed and then armed my hips and pockets with everything else.
Then, I picked up my cell phone and dialed Lance’s number.
“I knew you’d be calling, sweet cheeks. So, I got what you’re looking for.”
“Then hit me with it,” I said. “What happened at that fucking dinner?”
“While you did your job wonderfully, beautiful, it wasn’t an assassin rushing the stage. It was a reporter who got a hot tip that Derek was going to announce some sort of departure from his company?”
“Did this reporter say where they got the tip?” I asked.
“Apparently, she’s a ‘serious reporter’ and won’t give up her source.”
“I’m sure. Okay. What about the gunmen? How the hell do we explain that?”
“Even though there was gunfire, no guns were found. No shell casings. No bullet holes anywhere. No one hurt. Nothing.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “There were gunshots. I heard them. And men running down the stairs. I grabbed a walkie-talkie. The security guards were talking about three gunmen. One had escaped in a white van.”
“I’m just telling you what the police detectives have found. What they did find, however, were firecrackers.”
“What?” I asked.
“You heard me, sweet cheeks. Firecrackers. Loads of used ones that were scattered in the hallway.”
“Are the police really about to blame this on some fucking fireworks?” I asked.