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Gross.
Reason nine-hundred-fifty-two not to shake hands with people.
I shook my hands, letting them drip dry before I turned to the air dryer and shoved my hands under it. I was rubbing them together, thinking about the conversation I’d had with my grandmother this morning on the short drive to McCarran…erm…Harry Reid—will I ever remember the name change? Nope, probably not. She sounded so excited I was taking a ‘vacation’ and waxing poetic about how beautiful Montana was this time of year until she caught on. I had never in my life successfully pulled the wool over my grandmother’s eyes. She was far too perceptive to miss a lie, even a tiny white lie.
Once she’d caught a sniff of something out of place, she went in for the kill. She’d grilled me about Wilson. I had no choice but to admit I’d seen him several times since he’d been in Vegas. For obvious reasons, I’d left out the spending the night and sex parts. But Helene Simpson was no dummy; I didn’t have to tell her for her to know we’d had a tangle or two. Thankfully, I was able to use the excuse I needed to pay the Uber driver and she let me go. But not before she told me, “Be brave, child. Go after what you want and hold on with both hands. No one will love you better than Wilson McCray.”
She wasn’t the first person who had said something similar.
Jack’s warnings and pleas had infiltrated my dreams, waking me up before sunrise. I’d used that time in the early morning hours to pack. Then I opened my laptop and with very shaky fingers I drafted my resignation. I’d left it unsent, thinking I needed a few days to ponder if quitting my job and leaving Las Vegas was what I really wanted. On one hand moving to Idaho would mean I was closer to Gram. The sad reality was at her age, I should be spending as much time with her as I could. But it was the other hand that gave me pause. I’d never made decisions that revolved around a man. I made my own way. I did what was best for me and my career.
But I’d never been in love, so what did I know about making sacrifices for a relationship? If I wanted to be with Wilson, it was me who was going to have to move. If I wanted to be with him, it was me who was going to have to fight. If I wanted the kind of love that only Wilson could give me, I was the one who was going to have to scale his walls and make him see reason.
And if I was going to fight my way through his fortress I needed a few days to sharpen my claws. I needed to build a defense against his guilt and anger.
I would never be caught off guard again. I wouldn’t allow him to use his tragedy to push me away.
So I guess I’ve made up my mind after all.
I would use the next few days wisely.
Then I’d settle up my affairs in Vegas.
After that, I was going to fight.
There was no other option.
My watch screen lit up and I noticed the time.
Damn. How long had I been drying my hands?
I stepped back and bumped into something.
No, not something, someone.
How had she gotten so freaking close?
I clenched my teeth instead of griping about personal space.
“Sorry,” I not-so-nicely bit out.
“No. I’m sorry,” she said.
My head turned. I caught sight of a syringe, but before I could move she plunged it into my neck.
“What the fuck?” I shouted and shoved her backward.
The first wave of dizziness hit me as my hand went to my neck.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said, wrapping an arm around me to steady me. “He made me do it.”
My tongue felt like it was too big when I slurred, “Huh?”
“Come on, we have to go.”
Have to go where?
I couldn’t ask that.
