Page 177 of Menace in Vegas

The second is Gram, lounging on the couch like she owns the place, eating fruit skewers and muttering about psychic knee pain and how Blanche is underrated.

Allie looks up, her expression softer than before. Sadder, too.

Before I can say anything, Gram snaps to attention like she’s been waiting for her cue.

“There he is,” she declares, popping a grape into her mouth. “Our misunderstood menace. Connor, honey, come sit. We’re healing now.”

I blink. “Healing?”

“Emotional healing,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “You two had your first married fight. Time for realignment. Eye contact. Soft touches. Repressed rage turned into sexual tension. All that jazz.”

I glance at Allie, who looks somewhere between mortified and emotionally spent.

“Gram—”

She claps once. “We need candles. Preferably vanilla or something musky. A playlist with saxophones. Maybe a couple’s massage. I found a spa app. It looks a little scammy, but the reviews are passionate?—”

My phone buzzes.

The second I see the caller ID, all warmth drains out of me.

Unknown number. Florida area code.

My gut twists.

“Allie,” I say, my voice suddenly low and hard. “I need to take this.”

She nods, tension rising in her shoulders all over again.

I step out onto the porch and swipe to answer. “Hello?”

There’s a pause.

Then heavy breathing in my ear.

A voice finally speaks, low and sharp. “If you want your wife to stay safe… tell your friend to stop intervening.”

My blood ices over. “What did you just say? Who the hell is this?”

But the line’s already dead.

I stare at the screen, my heart pounding, rage crashing through me like a wave that won’t crest.

That wasn’t random.

That was a threat.

My first thought is Landon.

This isn’t just stalking anymore.

It’s a game.

And Allie is the leverage.

Daltyn is the target… because he wants Peyton.

I swear to God, I’ll find him.

---