Page 165 of Menace in Vegas

But I know he’s there.

“Allie,” I say quietly, “stay close to me.”

She blinks. “You’re scaring me.”

“Good.” I slide my hand to the small of her back, guiding her forward. “Because I’ve got a bad feeling. And if I’m right?—”

I don’t finish the sentence.

I just pull out my phone and send a text to Daltyn.

Do you know where Peyton is?

Because someone’s watching us.

And I don’t think he’s a tourist.

71

ALLISON

Something’s off with Connor.

He keeps scanning every shadow, every alley, every street vendor like they might suddenly lunge at us with a machete and a cursed souvenir.

He’s trying to play it cool, but his jaw’s too tight and his shoulders are too squared. His grip on my hand keeps flexing like he’s resisting the urge to throw someone across a fruit cart.

He hasn’t let me out of his sight since we left the beach.

Which would normally be… hot. Protective. Sexy, even.

But this is different.

I glance at him for the third time in two minutes.

He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at everythingbutme.

When we reach the bungalow, he unlocks the door with one hand while the other stays planted on the small of my back like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.

The moment we step inside, he pulls out his phone and starts typing something without a word.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Spill. What’s going on?”

No response. Just more tapping on his phone.

“Connor.”

Still nothing.

I cross my arms. “If this is about Peyton, just tell me. Did something happen? Did you see her again?”

He finally looks up—but his expression is unreadable. Controlled. Guarded.

“We’ll talk later,” he says. “I just need to check something first.”

My stomach twists.

He’s keeping something from me.

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