Page 216 of One Big Little Secret

Probably old habits kicking in. A little tip from Archer he heard from Mom reminded me that Evelyn used to come back from Vegas joking bitterly about going broke.

Hell, maybe she’s even lost her mind completely, desperately trying to double down on stupid and grow her money before she jets off to another continent.

At least I know where her husband’s money went now.

I lean back in my chair and take a long pull from the beer I ordered. She hasn’t even thought to look up or check her surroundings. Guess when you’re so practiced at scamming, you get cocky.

And it’s that arrogance—like giving a slight variation of her real name at the hotel—that told me exactly where she’s staying. That’s how I found her today, curled up with her book and her coffee, hiding in plain sight and only looking up every so often to smile at the waves as she breathes in the cool ocean breeze.

Salem would love it here. I can just see Arlo running along the beach, too, turning over rocks for shells and tiny crabs.

For a man determined not to think about home, I’m goddamned stuck on it—especiallyher.

I watch Evelyn flip another page in her book.

I force back a groan, turning my gaze away. Here, the ocean stretches on as far as the eye can see, a glinting blue carpet that’s perfect for swimming or boating or whatever people do here when they have time and money for fun.

I wonder idly how much Evelyn lost last night.

A metric fuckton, probably.

I kept my distance, watching from the shadows, knowing casino security was too tight to try anything then. She bounced around the entire floor, hitting everything from roulette to blackjack to flashy celebrity branded slots.

She should’ve known her luck wouldn’t last. Winning streaks never do. It’s basic math in gambling. What comes up must come down, and it happens much faster when you’re pissing away money in games where the house always wins.

Eventually, after I’ve been sitting around for hours, slowly burning to a crisp, she pushes up from her lounge chair, plops her book in her bag, and leaves a few crisp bills on the table for the server. A nice tip she can easily afford with her ill-gotten gains.

Fucking finally.

That’s my cue to pack my shit up, too, keeping a careful eye on her as she walks along the road. Back to the hotel, probably, or maybe to the beach for one last walk before sunset.

I pull out my phone and make a quick call.

Thankfully, it isn’t busy in the offseason.

As soon as she turns onto an empty street, I pick up my pace, closing on her fast.

She barely has time to turn around before I’ve grabbed her arm, dragging her into a nearby alley.

It stinks—just like every trash-filled alleyway everywhere—a reminder of the grim reality staring me in the face.

Paradise my ass. Even here, there’s plenty gone rotten.

“Patton?” she gasps. Her eyes bug out as they focus.

There’s no point in trying to escape. I’m holding her too tightly, and it feels good to dig my fingers in until she gasps.

I hope her squirming leaves a bruise.

I’m not a cruel man, no, but she hurt my son.

“Hello, Evelyn,” I clip. From the way her eyes widen, my smile must look as vacant as it feels. “Thought you’d escaped with our money, huh?”

“Patton, please. Think what you’re doing,” she whispers, her hands fumbling at my grip helplessly.

“I’ve given that plenty of thought, lady.” I slam her against the wall, savoring the fear flashing across her face. She looks like she’s about to faint, but I’ve known her a long time. Evelyn Hibbing isn’t the kind to clock out. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Oh, dearie, oh God, I… I suppose you must be very angry with me.” She shifts back to her usual innocent sounding babble. I wonder if it’s always been an act. “Yes, I did you wrong, of course. But I think—if you let me go, maybe it’s not too late to get her jewelry back. I’ll lead you right to it.”

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