Page 172 of Menace in Vegas
We step outside. The sun’s slipping lower, casting golden light across the street. Tourists wander by in flip-flops, heading toward dinner.
I try to enjoy it. Iwantto enjoy it.
Then the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Despite the sticky Key West heat, a chill rushes over me.
I look around.
And then I see him.
He’s Across the street, his hoodie pulled low. Oversized sunglasses hiding most of his face. He’s standing just beyond a rack of plastic leis and touristy postcards, in front of a tiny shop.
He’s not moving. Not browsing.
Just… watching.
And though I can’t see his eyes, Ifeelthem—locked on me.
I stop walking.
Gram’s still talking about edible glitter body paint, but I barely hear her. My pulse is in my ears now, thudding louder with every second.
He doesn’t move.
His focus is razor-sharp. Fixed.
Then a group of tourists passes between us, momentarily blocking my view.
When they’re gone, so is he.
I blink, suddenly ice-cold.
“Something wrong, sweetheart?” Gram asks, finally noticing I’ve stopped.
I force a smile. Shaky. Unconvincing. “No. Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
But inside, I’m unraveling.
I know what I saw.
I didn’t imagine it.
And whoever he is… he’s watchingme.
76
ALLISON
By the time Gram and I get back to the bungalow, I’ve mentally rehearsed five different ways to confront Connor.
Most of them involve yelling.
One involves throwing my flip-flop at him.
All of them end with him finally telling me what the hell is going on.
I escort Gram to her bungalow with a to-go cup of sangria and a warning to please stay out of trouble, and far, far away from Captain Jimmy, for the next fifteen minutes.
