Page 1 of The Criminal

Chapter 1

Lee

Agildedbubbleofsatisfaction grew in my chest as I scanned the ballroom of the OceanBlu Hotel. I’d arrived—all the years of striving had brought me here.

The room glowed with lavish decorations and sparkling guests. I tipped back the delicate crystal flute and savored the bright, yeasty tang of fine champagne. The Moment in Time Gala was sure to be the talk of Miami for at least a few days until the next opulent event surpassed it.

The rich in Miami only seemed to get richer. And that was how I liked it. They were my customers. As their desires grew, so did my business. And here I was in the middle of it all, wearing an ecru silk Valentino gown, nibbling canapés, and chatting with acquaintances and clients.

Me. Lee Vance had made it.

I was a long way from a one-stoplight town on the edge of Oklahoma’s dust bowl. I took another delicious sip of my wine and relished how fucking far I’d come. From a trailer park to this. It was about as far from my roots as I could get. Only took me twenty-five-plus years and some very questionable life choices.

But fuck… I hid an inelegant snort with my glass. I had done it—I belonged.

I wove through the crowded ballroom, past the dining tables with royal purple tablecloths and towering flower arrangements, to where the auction items were displayed. Along the way, I smiled at a few people I recognized: a former Miami Marlins pitcher, a local real estate developer, and a newly engaged couple that had been into the store to buy a ring last month.

The ever-shifting light display in the room drifted from purple to green and back again, giving everything an otherworldly feeling, like being inside a kaleidoscope. The couples twirling on the dance floor to the live band’s music added to the effect.

The gala chair, Gigi Mills, would surely be pleased with how the event had come together. Her pet charity, whatever one it was, would reap the benefits of the socialite’s effort and influence. Gigi had a reputation for doing good with her much older husband’s money both here in Miami and in Manhattan. But good works, wine, and food weren’t why I was here.

I was here for the watches.

Before I approached the long rows of display tables covered in black tablecloths, I dropped my empty champagne flute with a waitress so my hands were free.

Each auction item was highlighted under an individual spotlight. The collection was impressive, from the newest limited-edition diamond-encrusted Cartier to a vintage Patek Philippe that collectors would kill for. I trailed my finger over the bidding sheets already crowded with names and staggering bids. The bidders were the who’s who of the city—wealthy businessmen, professional athletes, and celebrities.

They were also my customers.

Collecting rare, high-dollar watches was an addiction, and they had all been to Oleander to feed their habit. As I moved down the table, my eyes greedily took in the priceless display.

My fingertips tingled with excitement as I caressed the black band of a Panerai Perpetual with a unique calendar complication. I scooped up the marvel of watchmaking, ignoring thedo not touchsigns. The unique gold alloy made it heavier than expected, and I turned it over to reveal the skeleton back. The handmade workings of the watch were on full display through the sapphire crystal reverse.

Breathtaking. This one I’d wear. The chunky sportiness of the face hid an intricate masterpiece. I loved the dichotomy.

Perhaps if my life were different, I’d be at this beautiful party to place a bid on the Panerai. A pang of regret made my jaw clench. My questionable life choices weren’t the kind you walked away from unscathed. I was here to pay the piper.

“The organizers ask guests not to handle the items.”

I froze. That voice. A ghost from my past. One I’d hoped would stay there.

It had been years, but the familiar deep rumble and barely detectable Texas drawl made the hair on my arms stand on end. I could identify this echo of my childhood anywhere.

Derek Sawyer.

My brother Ray’s comrade-in-arms, his best friend. The last man to see him alive.

My spine stiff, bracing for impact, I clutched the watch. The cold gold bezel dug into my palm. I couldn’t turn to look at him unprepared. I schooled my features and calmed my suddenly racing heart. The glass of champagne and bites of fancy hors d’oeuvres I’d enjoyed sat uncomfortably in my rolling stomach.

I closed my eyes for a breath and worked to master my emotions before I slowly turned to face Derek.

He’d aged. I hadn’t anticipated that. In my memory, he and Ray were forever young. But time stops for no man, not even a Navy SEAL. The years had roughened his features and turned a boy into a man. He looked good. The fine web of wrinkles by his hazel eyes and the glint of gray in his dark hair—still military-regulation short—added to his appeal.

“Amber Lee?” Recognition bloomed on his face, along with a smile that would have melted my teenage heart into a puddle of smitten goo.

For a split second, I dreamed of throwing myself against Derek’s broad chest and collapsing into his arms. I smothered the vulnerable urge before it could take hold. No matter that being held by Derek would be as close as I’d ever get to hugging my brother again. I had no time or energy for that kind of sentimental behavior. Not tonight, not ever.

Ray was dead and I’d dealt with that loss decades ago. I didn’t need or want a trip down memory lane. I pasted a weak smile on my face. My throat was tight, and I didn’t trust my voice. So, the smile was all the greeting I could muster.

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