Page 79 of A Game of Deception
“Two words: Valdez case.”
I frowned, looking at Tara, who appeared equally confused. “What’s the Valdez case?”
“According to Miller, it was a major drug trafficking case that Morrison tanked,” Cory explained. “He wouldn’t elaborate, but he seemed confident that mentioning it would get Morrison’s attention.”
“Thank you, Cory,” I said, my mind racing with the implications. “This could be exactly what we need to make him talk.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he cautioned. “This is still a long shot. And if what Miller implied is true, you could be stepping into something dangerous.”
“We’re already in something dangerous,” I replied grimly. “Might as well see it through.”
“Your call,” Cory said. “Just be careful, little brother. And keep me updated.”
“I will,” I promised. “And Cory? I owe you one.”
He chuckled. “Add it to your tab. Goodnight, Xander, Dr. Swanson.”
“Goodnight,” we replied in unison as the call ended.
For a moment, we sat in silence, processing what we’d learned. Then Tara squeezed my hand, drawing my attention back to her.
“The Valdez Case,” she mused, her brow furrowed in concentration. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Me neither,” I admitted. “But if it gives us leverage over Morrison...”
“We need to use it,” she finished my thought. “When can we go back to Naples?”
I considered our schedules. “Next Saturday? We both have the morning off.”
She nodded decisively. “Saturday it is. We’ll confront him again, this time armed with a key to open him up.”
Monday morning arrivedwith the harsh buzz of my phone alarm at 5:30 AM. I groaned, reaching out blindly to silence it on the nightstand, my body still heavy with the lingering haze of sleep and the sweet ache from the weekend’s indulgences.
Tara shifted beside me, her warm, naked form pressed against my side like she’d been molded there overnight. I froze for a second, not wanting to disturb her, but damn if the sight of her didn’t make it hard to move.
She was on her back, one arm draped lazily over her head, the sheet tangled low around her hips, exposing the perfect curve of her breast—the soft swell rising and falling with each slow breath, her nipple pebbled from the cool morning air sneaking through the curtains.
Her runner’s body was a masterpiece in the dim light: lean, toned legs stretched out, the subtle definition of her abs from allthose dawn jogs, the gentle flare of her hips that I’d gripped so tightly just hours ago. She looked like sin wrapped in silk sheets, peaceful and vulnerable in sleep, her dark lashes fanned against her cheeks, lips slightly parted as if whispering secrets to her dreams.
God, I was tempted—tempted to roll over, wake her with my mouth on that breast, tease her awake until she was arching and begging for another round, her nails digging into my back as I slid into her heat.
My cock stirred at the thought, hardening against her thigh, but I held back. She needed the rest; we’d pushed each other to the brink all weekend, and with the week ahead—practice, the looming trip to Naples, the shadows of her father’s bullshit hanging over us—I couldn’t be the selfish prick who stole her sleep. Not today.
I pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder instead, inhaling her scent—vanilla and sex—before forcing myself to slip out of bed.
She stirred anyway, her eyes fluttering open, hazy and unfocused. “Time to go already?” she murmured sleepily, her voice a husky rasp that went straight to my groin.
“Yeah,” I said, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead, my hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Early practice. Go back to sleep, beautiful.”
She nodded, a small smile curving her lips as her eyes drifted shut again, already surrendering to the pull of slumber. I watched her for another moment, struck by how peaceful she looked—how right it felt to wake up next to her, like this was the start of something real, something worth fighting for. It was hard to leave the warmth of her bed for the long day ahead, butI forced myself to get up, pulling on my clothes quietly before slipping out.
I was one of the first to arrive at the practice facility, which wasn’t unusual. Despite my party-boy reputation, I’d always been serious about training. I changed quickly in the empty locker room and was heading toward the gym for some pre-practice stretching when my phone buzzed with a text.
It was from Reyes, the team manager:Mr. Swanson wants to see you in his office immediately.
I frowned at the screen. It was barely 7 AM. Hank must have seen me arrive.
On my way,I texted back, changing direction toward the administrative wing of the facility.
