Page 5 of Secrets in the Dark

My relief arrived at 10:30 PM for my scheduled break. Moving toward the staff corridor, I felt my burner phone vibrate against my ribs. I ducked into an alcove beneath the sweeping main staircase and checked the message from Detective Aria Chen, my primary handler.

Friday transfer confirmed. Need eyes on ledger + thumb drive. Basement access?

I typed a quick negative. The Jade Petal's basement level housed security servers, cash counting rooms, and records storage—all protected by biometric locks that limited access to upper management. Despite my carefully cultivated reputation as a reliable dealer, I hadn't managed to penetrate that inner sanctum.

I pocketed the phone and turned toward the employee break room, intent on grabbing coffee before my second shift started.

That's when I saw her again…Nova. Valentina's new assistant, rushing through the service corridor, elegant even in obvious distress. Unlike our brief eye contact in the employee bar yesterday, tonight she seemed oblivious to her surroundings, focused entirely on navigation. Her gaze darted between unmarked doors as if she'd forgotten which led where.

More interesting than her momentary confusion was the subtle tension in her shoulders—the hypervigilance of someone who feels watched. I'd seen it countless times in informants and witnesses. Self-protective body language, impossible to fake.

Behind her, partially obscured by a rolling costume rack, a man paused. Mid-thirties, lean build, unremarkable except for the intensity with which he tracked Nova's movements. Not casino security—wrong bearing, wrong shoes. Not entertainment staff—too solitary, too focused.

Predatory focus. The hunter watching prey.

Before I could intercept or get a better look, he disappeared through a service exit. Nova continued down the hall, unaware.

A protective impulse flared—unprofessional, illogical—then cooled under years of training. I wasn't here to rescue distressed employees from workplace harassment. I was here todismantle a criminal enterprise that had infiltrated Las Vegas's legitimate businesses. Personal entanglements endangered the operation.

Still, something about her vulnerability struck a chord. An inconvenient chord.

I redirected toward the coffee station, where I "accidentally" collided with Nova as she rounded the corner, sending her drink splashing across the floor.

"I'm so sorry," I said, steadying her with a hand that lingered slightly too long on her arm. Up close, her stage makeup couldn't hide the shadows beneath her eyes or the wariness in her expression. Those hazel eyes—alert, intelligent—widened with recognition.

"The dealer," she said, then flushed slightly. "From yesterday."

"Roman King." I offered a smile calculated to put her at ease while absorbing details. No wedding ring. Subtle callus on her middle finger—writer or someone who handled pens constantly. The slight stiffness in her posture suggested someone used to professional environments, not entertainment. "And you're Nova, Valentina's new assistant."

Her hesitation before answering was barely perceptible, but my trained eye caught it—the microsecond of mental adjustment before stepping into a role.

"Word travels fast," she commented, dabbing spilled coffee from her skirt with a napkin.

"Vegas runs on gossip and tips." I grabbed fresh napkins from the dispenser. "Let me replace your coffee."

"Not necessary. I was just..." She gestured vaguely toward the dressing rooms.

"Escaping?" I suggested, letting perceptiveness show through Roman King's easygoing facade. A calculated risk—people often reveal more when they believe you understand them.

That earned a genuine half-smile. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to fellow escapees." I poured fresh coffee, added cream without asking—and handed it to her. "The Jade Petal takes adjusting to. Especially backstage. Took me weeks to navigate without getting lost."

"I appreciate the solidarity." She accepted the coffee with a nod that was almost formal, at odds with her sequined outfit. "Though I doubt many things disorient someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"Observant. Composed." Her gaze turned direct, assessing. "You don't miss much, do you, Mr. King?"

Smart woman. Perceptive. Potentially dangerous to my cover if she started paying too much attention. Yet instead of retreating, I found myself leaning fractionally closer.

"Roman," I corrected. "And I miss plenty. Like whether you're actually enjoying your new position or just playing along admirably."

Color touched her cheeks.

"Well," she said after a beat, cradling her coffee with both hands, "either way, the learning curve is temporary. Or so I'm told."

"Everything in Vegas is temporary," I replied. "That's the beauty of it."

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