Page 163 of Menace in Vegas

Maybe it’s the way Connor keeps glancing toward the boardwalk.

Maybe it’s the tightness in his shoulders he tries to pretend isn’t there.

Maybe it’s the fact that Peyton is in Key West—and disappeared when Connor saw her. Like she’s running from something or someone.

And thought we searched for her, we didn’t find her.

I pull my sunglasses off and study him. “Hey.”

He looks up, all sea-salt and suspicion. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

His expression softens, but something’s still buried there. Something tense. “Just keeping my eyes open.”

I reach across and thread my fingers through his. “You always do.”

For a moment, that’s enough.

We sit in silence, waves crashing in the distance, the flamingo cooler bobbing gently in the shallows beside us.

Then Connor’s phone buzzes.

He checks the screen—and his eyes narrow.

I sit up straighter. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stands, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Let’s head back to the bungalow,” he says casually. Too casually. There’s steel in his tone.

I don’t like it.

My stomach twists in a warning.

Something’s wrong.

70

CONNOR

Allie and I didn’t find Peyton, but I know I saw her.

And Daltyn still hasn’t answered my texts.

I sent a message to the hockey group chat. Everyone seemed to think Daltyn went home to Boston. But if that’s true, why hasn’t he replied? That’s not like him to ignore me.

The feeling that something’s off is growing.

It simmers beneath my skin, behind my ribs, thrumming like a warning bell in my blood.

We’re walking back to the bungalow. Allie’s beside me, rambling about something Gram said earlier involving glitter glue, a hammock, and an accidental Brazilian wax.

She’s laughing. Relaxed. Totally unaware I’m seconds from spiraling.

The hair rises on the back of my neck.

My eyes sweep the area.

---