Page 36 of End Game

“Bureau. Special agent.” He considered the other man. “Ranger, SEAL, or Recon?”

“Ranger.”

“Boyfriend or bodyguard?”

The sharp edges of the Ranger’s features softened, tilted toward amusement. “Whatever she needs.”

A feral desire to smash his fist into the other man’s face stole over him. Something in his expression must have given him away, because the Ranger produced a big, knowing smile. “You must be Ash Blackwell.”

“Cameron,” he said automatically, then cursed himself for giving any points to this—well, he didn’t know what the guy was just yet. Right now, he’d classify him as a great big pain in the ass, but that could be due to some unfamiliar emotions he wasn’t prepared to dissect at this precise moment.

Though brutal energy still simmered around the Ranger, his shoulders seemed to melt against the wall at his back and he lifted his drink—ice water, Ash noted—to his lips.

“Kayla didn’t have anything to do with the governor’s assassination,” the Ranger said.

Ash’s scrutiny intensified on the guy. Then it hit him. The Ranger hadn’t busted his surveillance. He’d been following Kayla and, when he got here, his predator’s instincts had zeroed in on a potential threat—Ash. He wondered if Kayla knew the guy had a tracking device on her Mercedes.

“You know this one hundred percent?” Ash asked.

“I’d bet my life on it.”

“Because you were hiding in the garden bushes?”

“Kayla Krowne is capable of many things, even ruthless things, but not murder.”

“I’m sure many wives never thought their husbands were capable of murdering them. And yet, so many do.”

“Why would Kayla kill the one person who had veto power in the North Carolina legislature?”

“Desperate people do desperate, illogical things.”

“What is it that you think you know?”

“If I knew, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell someone I’d just met. I don’t even know your damn name.”

Leaning forward, he stuck out an enormous paw. “Mason Wade.”

Ash shook the proffered hand, stood, threw a bill on the bar, and said, “If you come across any information that might help with my investigation”—he tossed him a card—“give me a call.”

“Does this invite include a two-way communication?”

“No.”

“You’re sniffing down the wrong trail, Feeb. Kayla isn’t the killer.”

He was ninety-eight percent sure the Ranger was correct, though Kayla’s clandestine meeting didn’t sit well with him.

Nodding toward the women, he said, “Something smells off about their meeting, and I plan to keep my nose to the ground until I figure out what it is.”

As he walked away, he noted the Ranger hadn’t argued against his intuition or tried to explain away Kayla’s actions.

Because he, too, could smell the rot.

16

Kayla stared at the three women surrounding her. They were more dear to her than anything in this world. Which was why she couldn’t believe they were asking her to prostitute herself.

Having no alcohol of her own, she snatched her mother’s mojito and took a sizable gulp. Partly because she craved the resulting numbing sensation and partly to give herself time to process what was happening.

---