Page 6 of End Game

Amusement lit Zeke’s eyes. “I have faith in you, brother.”

And with that bombshell, Zeke dropped money on the table and walked away, leaving Cameron drenched in sweat and a serious case of déjà vu.

At his apartment, Cameron set a take-home bag from Carmel’s on the smooth gray concrete countertop. Hands on hips, he stared down at the recycling bin at the end of the island for a long, procrastinating minute before stepping on the lid lever and reaching inside.

He pulled out a four-by-six linen card and did what he hadn’t bothered doing yesterday. He read the card’s elegant script.

You’re cordially invited

to a fundraiser for the preservation of the

Gorekin Cove natural area.

Special Guest Governor Victoria Stokes

Hosted by Gordon and Jillian Krowne.

CEO and CFO, respectively, of Krowne Hotels & Resorts, aka Kayla’s parents.

After Kayla’s assist with the Lederman-St. Martin case, he’d started receiving invitations from her family for various events. He had no idea why. He’d never met Mr. and Mrs. Krowne and he couldn’t imagine Kayla orchestrating his attendance.

Why would she? They weren’t on friendly terms. Correction, he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. She’d caused him too much grief with her political meddling.

For whatever reason, he’d never been able to put on a professional game face around her. He’d smiled and shook the hands of crooked politicians, drug lords, arms dealers, and art thieves. He had no problem playing a part.

But not with her. A condition that seemed to amuse her.

He tapped the invitation against the countertop and worked to halt the conflicting emotions roiling through his body. He had no doubt the lobbyist would be in attendance. The über-wealthy Krownes were known to be a close-knit family and supportive of each other’s pet projects.

Stretching his neck left, then right, he worked to extinguish the building tension.

“You’re a professional, Special Agent Blackwell. You’ve dealt with far more difficult, more life-threatening cases than Kayla-fucking-Krowne’s.”

The pep talk didn’t help. Dread fermented in his stomach like a batch of kimchi.

Drawing in a resigned breath, he texted his RSVP to the number indicated before dropping the card in the trash again and heading for the liquor cabinet.

Tonight, he would have dessert before dinner.

3

Sharks don’t sweat.

With infinite patience, they circle their prey in ever-tightening circles, evaluating, calculating, lulling their soon-to-be dinner into a false sense that they have nothing to worry about.

The Great White below is simply taking in the waters, enjoying the view.

Nothing to worry about down here.

Until something triggers the beast’s instincts, and it surges upward, lightning quick, and takes a massive bite out of its target before drifting away.

Kayla Krowne had been swimming in one shark tank or another for the entirety of her life.

First preschool, then boarding school, university, the White House, and now North Carolina’s General Assembly, dinner parties, and fundraisers. The sharks were circling.

But not around her.

In the past ten years, she’d made it clear that if anyone tried to take a chunk out of her, she’d remove an arm and two legs in retaliation.

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