Текст книги "Sinful Desire"

Автор книги: Lauren Blakely

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

She felt precarious. Wobbly. She breathed shakily.

“Put your hands on my chest, Sophie. You need to hold onto something,” he told her, and she lowered herself slightly to anchor her hands on his pecs. “Like you’re riding me. Like you’re fucking me,” he said, as he pushed in, his finger lightly brushing her clit once again. Somehow, that contact, that delicious touch on the part of her body that was designed only for pleasure was enough to take the edge off. She drew a sharp breath as he breached her then stilled his moves. “Because you are.”

His eyes stayed on her the whole time. His gaze guided her. His reassuring look told her this would not only be okay, but that it would be amazing. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, holding her hips and playing with her clit as she started to slide deeper onto him, the pressure sending sharp jabs through her stomach. This was all so…tense…and bizarre. But even through all the foreign sensations, she felt the potential for ecstasy.

He guided her down, down, down. His voice was smoky as he whispered one last command: “Fuck me, Sophie.”

He closed his eyes and groaned.

That sound, that primal, thrilling noise raced through her, turning all that strange stretching into something else. Into the start of a whole new world of sensations.

“You feel so fucking good,” he said. “I wanted you like this for so long. I’ve wanted all of you since I first saw you.” His eyes were squeezed shut as he uttered his dirty praise of her body, and his own primitive need for it. “You. Feel. Amazing.”

And she did.

She felt fucking amazing.

She rocked into him, letting him fill her, letting him stretch her to the limits. Her skin was hot, and her heart felt feverish as she rode him, her ass gripping his cock as a tidal wave of intensity tore through her veins.

He opened his eyes and blinked. “Wow. Just wow.”

“It’s incredible,” she said, riding him as if she was fucking him…and she was. She was fucking her man in a whole new way. She wasn’t bound, she wasn’t tied, and she wasn’t restrained. She was free, and even though she’d happily and greedily be restrained the next time, for this moment, she loved that she could take his dick deep into a new place inside her. That she could explore the far reaches of her fantasies with him.

“You are exquisite,” he murmured, his words tripping back to the compliment he gave her after their first time together. “Every single part of you.”

That.

That second.

That moment.

That ode to all of her.

It was enough.

She combusted. She was a rocket, and she soared. Every nerve ending fired. Every inch of her skin sizzled. Every cell in her brain buzzed.

“That’s why I wanted you on top. I want to touch your pussy and fuck your sweet ass at the same time,” he said, taking the reins, thrusting upward as he rubbed. “So I can look at you. All of you.”

She gasped as he seized control. She moaned loudly as he set the pace. She cried out in ecstasy as his fingers worked their delicious magic on her wet, hot, slippery center, coaxing the edge of an orgasm out of her.

Then, sheer and unadulterated pleasure pierced her body. It washed over her like a tsunami. As Ryan thrust harder, and faster, and deeper, he sent her deliriously into a new type of climax, the kind that could be felt in places only he had touched.

He felt like the only lover she’d ever had.

He was the only lover she wanted to have anymore.

She shuddered, trembling in exquisite pleasure.

“Can I come in you?” he asked in a ragged voice.

“Yes,” she shouted. “Please, yes.”

He followed her there. Filling her with his heat. Flooding her with his release. Coming inside her. She collapsed onto his chest, a hot, sweaty, satisfied, elated woman.

Chapter Thirty-One

He cleaned her up.

With a warm, wet washcloth, he erased the remnants of what they’d done, tenderly taking care of her, as she deserved. After gathering the towels and placing them in her hamper, he carried her into the bathroom, then set her feet down in the shower. She was so soft and warm, and he savored the chance to wash her hair—and wash himself out of her hair. He soaped her up, her breasts, her belly, and her bottom. Kneeling down on the floor, he cleaned her legs, then handed her the soap and she finished.

After a quick wash himself, he ran a tub for them. Not too hot, since it was July, and even in her cool home, no one wanted to soak in the heat. When it was full, he scooped her up, and brought her into the marble bath, letting the water soothe her. He wrapped his arms around her, and snuggled her close.

“Does it hurt?”

She shook her head. “No, but it might tomorrow.”

He kissed her forehead.

“But I’ll probably still want to do it again, even if I’m sore,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“That’s my woman,” he said playfully. He tugged her close. “You are my woman. You belong with me.”

“I know,” she said, resting her face in the crook of his neck. “Do you think everyone at the event will know?”

“That I took your ass tonight?”

She nodded, and splashed water on him.

“As long as you walk like normal, only you and I will know I own your body. But everyone will know you’re with me. And that it’s much more than it was when you first asked me to go with you.”

“It’s so much more for me, too,” she said. Then she seemed to remember something. “Am I going to spend the night at your house tomorrow or will you come here again?”

He pulled her closer, loving that she assumed they’d be together. He wanted to be with her. “Stay with me. But I have to leave early on Sunday morning. It’s a visiting day.”

“Ah,” she said. “I’ll leave early, too, and head home, so you can get on the road.” She seemed to drift off in thought for a moment, then she asked, “Do you ever bring her gifts? Can you give her gifts?”

“Only a few things are allowed. She usually just likes company. She likes seeing me, so I go. Why do you ask?”

She screwed up the corner of her lips as if she were deep in thought. “You said she had a dream to make doggie coats. Right?”

“Yeah. She actually gave me a pattern to hold onto,” he said with a light laugh. It was absurd. But it was also very much like his mom. “It has a dog bone design on the back.”

“Do you have it?”

“I do,” he said, turning to look her in the eyes. “Why?”

“I have an idea. Would you like me to make it for her? As a gift. You could bring it to her. I mean, obviously she doesn’t have a dog in prison. But she might enjoy seeing the jacket. It might make her happy, right? Just to see it. If that was her dream to make them.”

His heart stuttered. It stopped beating for a moment, then it thumped harder against his chest, as if it were trying to fight its way out to get closer to her.

“You’d do that?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Sure. I can sew. I’m sure I’m not great at it like she was. I couldn’t make a living from it. But I know what I’m doing. I still have a Singer machine. I could do it an hour. It’s not hard to make a doggie coat if there’s a pattern.”

“And you’d do that for my mom? Who’s in prison? For murder?” he asked, and he was sure shock was etched on his features.

She shifted in the water that was now cooling. Some sloshed over the side of the tub. “I don’t judge her. It’s not my place,” she said softly, her blue eyes so honest, so guileless. “She’s your mother, and the only thing that really matters to me is that without her I wouldn’t have you in my life. And I want you in my life.”

And then his heart managed to break free. It jumped from the steel cage he’d once kept it in and raced to the woman in his wet arms. He belonged to Sophie. He cupped her beautiful face in his hands and memorized this moment. The cooling water. The dark of the night. The still in her home. The racing of his heart.

She’d bewitched him, and he didn’t ever want to be without the only person, besides his family, who he’d ever loved. “I’m in love with you, Sophie. I’m so in love with you.”

She beamed. A smile broke across her face. “Oh, Ryan. I am so madly in love with you. I never stood a chance of not falling in love with you.”

He smothered her in kisses in the tub. Then he lifted her out, dried them both off, and led her to the bed. Holding her close, he planted kisses all along her sweet skin, from belly to breast, elbow to ear. “I’m so in love with you,” he said, over and over. It was like a dam breaking inside him, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. He’d spent so long keeping all his secrets clutched tight and locked up, and this one truth, this incomparable, all-encompassing fact of his existence, insisted on being heard tonight.

He couldn’t stop telling her as he held her tight. “I’m so in love with you I don’t even know what to do.”

“Just love me,” she whispered back, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I do. I will,” he said, and he kissed the tear away. “Please love me, too.”

“I do, Ryan. I do love you so much.”

Then, he made love to her as midnight fell across the city of sin. As he moved over her, they were the only two people in the whole wide world.

She’d become his world.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Something wasn’t right.

She’d noticed it when she traced the pattern on paper, and now she was seeing it for sure on the muslin fabric.

Sophie studied the cloth in front of her, trying to figure out where she’d gone wrong. The little doggie neck-to-tail measurement simply didn’t line up. Was it a shorter jacket, perhaps? Mid-back? But as she peered at the printout of the pattern again, she reconfirmed that the coat was supposed to cover up the belly and back, as a coat should do.

Bright morning sun streamed through her living room window. It was an early morning for a notorious late sleeper, but her day was packed, especially since she needed to squeeze in this sewing project before she began her final preps for the benefit tonight. Ryan had departed at the crack of dawn to take care of his dog, and she’d dusted off her sewing machine, setting up on the table by the window, ready to tackle this gift.

He’d emailed her a photo he’d taken of the printed pattern, and she’d grabbed some fabric she had on hand from a few years ago when she’d made a mod retro skirt.

Grabbing a new section of fabric, she followed the measurement once again.

Whoa. That definitely was wrong. Wrong size. Wrong shape. Wrong everything.

Had it been that long since she had sewn? No, it was only two years ago when she’d made that skirt. This pattern didn’t seem so complex as to throw her off like this, even with a dog bone design on the back.

Staring at the pattern again as if it would reveal its secrets, she spotted something odd in the first row of instructions, then her brain turned it around. A light switch flicked on.

“Ah!” she said, tasting victory.

She’d just reverse a few of these steps to make the pattern work. Easy enough. Grabbing her pencil, she jotted down the correct order of the steps.

She blinked.

She peered more closely at the numbers in the first row. They lined up precisely with the reverse letters of the alphabet.

She counted off in her head, quickly transposing the numbers into letters, her analytical mind easily sliding into coding mode.

James Street.

A hotbed of crime once upon a time.

Studying the numbers more closely, they clicked into place, sliding like puzzle pieces.

This pattern wasn’t a dog jacket.

The measurement was wrong because the first row spelled out a street name, then what appeared to be two addresses on James Street. Her mind raced back to a few weeks ago when John had let slip a small detail from the case.

‘Today was like a goddamn puzzle. You know the math problems you can’t solve? And this was over addresses. Fucking addresses from years ago.”

Oh God.

She dropped the paper as if it were on fire. She scrabbled back in her chair, standing up, then backed away from it as if it would curse her.

Could it be? Did that pattern hold the clues to what her brother was looking for in the case? Was this dog jacket pattern from Ryan’s mother something else? Something more? Something that revealed…

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

She inhaled sharply, remembering what her brother had told her the very first day, before either of them realized her Ryan was his Ryan.

“Something that would help me find the other guys I think were involved.”

John was looking for accomplices. He’d thought Ryan was hiding something. But if this pattern unfolded into code, as she reasoned it would, then Ryan wasn’t hiding anything at all. He couldn’t possibly know there were addresses buried inside his mother’s “prize” dog jacket pattern.

Only a seamstress would know this pattern wasn’t a pattern. Only a man or woman who attempted to make this jacket would be able to tell it wasn’t for a dog.

Pacing in circles in her living room, she tried to settle her galloping heart. She worked to calm her overactive brain. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions. She needed to check, and double check. That was what she’d done in school. That was always her strategy. Make certain. Make sure.

She headed to her desk, flipped open her laptop, and started plugging in the two addresses on Google Maps. They showed up near each other in the same neighborhood—a dangerous section of town years ago that had since been gentrified. Sophie wanted to know who lived there. Property records weren’t hard to find—everything was online these days in realtor databases. She plugged the addresses into a realtor search. But the records revealed only when the homes were last sold—a few years ago. Nothing showed the owners’ names now, or from when this pattern was made, nearly two decades ago.

But she’d spent a lifetime solving problems. Cracking codes. Creating her own damn codes.

Grabbing the pattern again, she started writing out notes, trying to figure out the rest of the rows of instructions and what they meant. But only that first line translated neatly. The code seemed to shift in each row. Something was missing from the next line. Sophie peered more closely, and it seemed a letter had been turned into a symbol. On the next one, a number was simply missing, like a dropped stitch. She’d have to deal with those at another time.

For now, she zeroed in on the first row of instructions, puzzling over how to find out who these addresses belonged to. She could easily call John and hand him this information in its current form. Or she could tell Ryan what she’d discovered. But she’d never been one to turn in her homework half-done. This code was only partially cracked, and her job was to smash it wide open. Whatever she had in her hands—whether it was a cold, hard clue, or a dead end—she was determined to figure it out.

She tapped her fingers against her temple, as if she could coax out the way to find the names of the inhabitants. In seconds, she had it, because she had friends everywhere in this city, including in the county records office—her friend Jenna’s aunt worked there.

Ringing Jenna, even though it was early on a Saturday morning, she gave her only the barest details, adding that discretion was key.

“I’ll see what she can do,” Jenna said, and five hellishly long minutes later, she called back to say her aunt would be home shortly from a hike and would log into her work computer to check the records for those addresses. “Give me an hour.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Sophie said, then tried valiantly to keep herself occupied.

But fifteen minutes of checking and double-checking that her shoes, jewelry, lingerie, and evening dress were ready for tonight did nothing to cool her mind.

A deep obsession kicked in, telling her to do something.

To understand.

To look.

To see.

She tried to shove all those urges away, and simply exist in this state of waiting. Maybe some tea would help. Maybe she should bake something. Maybe another long shower would keep her focus off of waiting for Jenna’s call.

But something insistent was knocking around in her skull, telling her not to sit still.

Her mind was a pinball machine, whirring and whizzing with crazy silver flippers, sending dozens of balls in new directions. She weighed her options. She could stay here and wait. Or she could conduct some recon on her own.

Twenty minutes later, she drove along James Street, her sunglasses on, as if that would hide her from the kids playing in driveways, the men and women walking dogs, the average, every-day feel of this suburban stretch of street that had been riddled with crime years ago. Following the path of addresses in her hand, she drove past the two homes from the pattern.

Two clean, neat, modern standard-order suburban family abodes.

They gave no clue as to why on earth Dora hid these addresses in a pattern many years ago. She gritted her teeth, wishing she truly understood what she’d uncovered.

Her phone rang.

She nearly jumped out of the driver’s seat, then settled herself when she saw Jenna’s name.

Swiping the screen, she turned her phone on speaker, then pulled over near a park and cut the engine.

“Hey girl,” Jenna said. “I’ve got what you’re looking for.”

“Tell me,” she said breathlessly.

“So, eighteen years ago, one was owned by a family named Stefano,” Jenna said, and Sophie cringed, squeezing her eyes shut at that name—the name she knew belonged to the shooter. “The second was a rental. Owned by a guy named Carlos Nelson at the time. But he didn’t live there. He rented it to his two cousins, T.J. Nelson and Kenny Nelson.”

“T.J. and Kenny Nelson,” Sophie repeated, as if she could decode the names by saying them out loud.

But they meant nothing to her.

Of course they meant nothing to her. She wasn’t investigating a crime. She wasn’t the detective. She wasn’t the victim’s family.

She was, however, the woman stuck between the two.

After she said goodbye to Jenna, she didn’t move. She stayed behind the wheel of her parked car, staring ahead at the swing-set, the world around her fading as she realized that she had the names of the two men John could be looking for in the murder of Ryan’s father nearly twenty years ago.

Ryan had no idea he’d been holding onto evidence all these years. He’d thought his mother had given him a memento, a symbol of her hopes and dreams for safekeeping. Instead she’d asked him to hide something that was clearly evidence, and managed to do it without anyone being the wiser.

Her insides roiled. Her head pounded with frustration and so much aching sadness. But underneath that storm of emotions was another one, rising up. Excitement. She had something in her hands that might help solve the murder.

The trouble was she was stuck, and Sophie understood precisely why she’d been so consumed with the need to keep herself busy for the last hour.

She didn’t know who to tell first.

Her head told her John. Her heart said she should call the man who’d given her the clue he didn’t even know he had.

She tossed her phone in the backseat and headed home.

Chapter Thirty-Three

She wasn’t herself. Hadn’t been all night. Ryan wanted to figure out why, and to make it better if he could.

“Is it that guy?”

Sophie knit her brows and shot him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“Is that why you’re so tense tonight?”

He squeezed her shoulder, then travelled to her neck, gently massaging. “The guy who wanted to set you up with his grandson. The reason you invited me in the first place,” he reminded her, as he tried to work the knots of tension from her neck and shoulders. “Is he why you’re so tense?”

“No.” She shook her head quickly. Then she nodded just as vigorously. “I mean yes. That must be it. Or it’s just that I want this whole event to go well.”

“It’s going great,” he reassured her as they stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the guests mingling and chatting, enjoying hors d’oeuvres that fancy waiters and waitresses offered on trays as they circled. The huge ballroom glittered in the glow of boat-sized chandeliers. A four-piece orchestra played soft classical music from the stage as guests filtered in. “Or do you want me to make you feel better? Sneak into the fancy bathroom for a quickie?” he suggested in a low voice.

She seized up and spun around. “No. I can’t do that,” she said sharply.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey. Don’t bite. I’ve just never seen you so nervous. I want to help. I know this event is important to you.”

She breathed erratically then waved her hand in front of her face as if she felt faint. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

But she didn’t finish her sentence.

He eyed her up and down as if he could somehow figure out what was wrong with his normally polished, poised, and outgoing Sophie. She handled crowds with aplomb. She was unflappable, so it was odd to see her off her game.

On the surface, she was as impeccable as always. She looked extraordinary tonight in a violet dress that hugged her curves, a teardrop necklace that nestled between her breasts, and sheer black stockings that he’d peeked at earlier, when he’d tugged up her skirt in the town car on the ride over to see how far up they went—all the way to the lace tops at her thighs. God, there was little better on a woman than thigh-high stockings. Her blonde hair was twisted high on her head, with loose curls framing her face.

He parked his hands on her shoulders. “Breathe, beautiful. Everything here is perfect, including you,” he said, then turned her around to let her soak in the room and all the guests—the glitterati of the city mingling and talking. Many of Ryan’s clients were here, from casino owners to his new White Box clients. He recognized plenty of familiar faces, too, from the mayor, to a popular magician, to a big-time high roller. Even his brother Colin was here, though he was busy chatting with a pretty brunette at the bar. Sophie’s brother John was somewhere among the guests. Ryan had said a quick hello earlier, and it hadn’t been as uncomfortable as he’d expected it to be. Maybe John didn’t hate him.

Sophie bit her lip, then words seemed to tumble out, laced with guilt. “I just feel bad because I couldn’t make the pattern,” she said, fiddling with a bracelet on her wrist.

He made a scoffing sound. “That’s what’s upsetting you?”

“I tried,” she said apologetically. “It was too complicated.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s sweet that you even offered.”

“I did try. I tried so hard.” Her voice sounded as if it was about to break. Then suddenly she plastered on a huge smile as an older man with gray hair strode up to them.

“Clyde Graser,” he said to Ryan, holding out a hand, and Ryan spent the next few minutes chatting with the man who was in some way responsible for this incredible woman and him growing even closer. If Clyde hadn’t pressured Sophie, she might not have asked him to the event tonight. And knowing they had this date had pushed them faster into each other’s arms.

But then, Ryan also believed that he and Sophie were an inevitability. Funny, because he’d never been one to put any stock in fate and love. But he did now, and if this man in front of him played a role in driving him closer to the woman he loved, then he deserved his gratitude, even if it was veiled in the guise of something else.

“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for the community center. It means so much to so many people,” Ryan said.

Then Sophie remarked that it was nearly time to bring Clyde on stage with the center director, so Ryan said goodbye to the two of them.

He turned around to look for Colin, but once again his younger brother was quite busy with the brunette.

* * *

Sure, there were other people here. Quite possibly Colin should talk to them. Maybe even interact with his brother Ryan. But Elle hadn’t slipped away from him yet, so he remained at the bar with her, club soda in his hand, a glass of water in hers.

“Did you get the new ink you were talking about?” she asked.

“I did. I’m close to the ten percent mark now,” Colin said, not looking away from her, because how could he? He hadn’t seen her dressed to the nines before, and she was jaw-droppingly stunning in her evening finery. But then, she was hot-as-sin in the jeans, short-sleeve blouses, and the little flat shoes she wore on the days he saw her at the community center, so he wasn’t surprised. This dress though—he was sure it had been painted onto her lush figure.

He wanted to tear it off.

She laughed. “No way are you that covered in tattoos,” she said, calling him on his fib. She was right—he wasn’t ten percent slathered in ink. He had plenty though, and she was an admitted tattoo junkie. Inked herself, the back of her neck boasted a line of sparrows. He’d kissed those birds a few times. Not enough as far as he was concerned.

“Fine. Maybe not yet. But close.”

“Are you going to show it to me? The new one?”

He raised an eyebrow and shot her a dirty look, then moved his hands to his belt buckle as if he were going to take off his pants.

“Colin!” she hissed under her breath, her eyes widening. She waved her hands frantically as if to stop him.

“What?” he said, deadpan. “It’s on my hip.”

Her eyes fluttered closed momentarily. Maybe she was picturing his hip. Or him unzipping his pants. Or perhaps the image of her lips on his new ink had slid in front of her eyes. Good. He had that image working overtime, too.

“So that’s a no?” he asked, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Even if I told you it matches your favorite one on me?”

She’d seen them all, from the ink that covered his right shoulder and sloped to his elbow, to the art on his pecs—even the illustration that started on his lower back and curved to the top of his ass. Hardly anyone knew he had more than a dozen tattoos. He was a suit-and-tie kind of guy, given his job. But when the suit and tie came off, he was the guy with tattoos.

And “the bad boy,” as Elle called him. That was why she kept him at an arm’s length. Well, not all the time. But enough.

“I do, Colin. But not here.”

He gripped her elbow. “Let’s go somewhere.”

She inhaled sharply and shook her head. “We can’t keep doing that.”

“Why?”

“Because. I’ve told you a million times why.”

He leaned in closer and fingered a strand of her long, soft chestnut hair. “I could do that thing you like so much.”

She jammed a hand against his chest. “You’re incorrigible,” she said, but she didn’t push him away. Instead, she curled her fingers around the fabric of his shirt. “You make me crazy. But Sophie is going to introduce me and then I’m going to introduce Clyde, so you can’t do this right now. This flirting thing.” She let go of his shirt, then narrowed her eyes and parked her hands on her hips. “And now you’ve distracted me. So talk about something else, because I don’t want to go up there with my mind on your damn hips.”

His lips quirked up. “Fine, fine. I’ve been meaning to show you a picture my brother-in-law gave me of a guy he’s seen around. See if you know him. I think he’s one of the guys from the center who plays hoops,” he said, reaching into his back pocket for his phone. He came up empty. “Ah, shit. I left it in my car.”

“Send it to me later, okay?”

“I will,” he said, then added, “Along with a picture of my new ink?”

She shook her head, but under her breath she said yes.

* * *

“Be an artist. Be an athlete. Be a leader,” Clyde said, his voice booming through the mic across the ballroom. “The local community center has a mission to provide all those services to young men and women in our fine city, whether it’s shooting basketballs, learning photography, or even getting a healthy meal for dinner. The center has cooking, parties, poetry, volunteer services, and thanks to the fearless director, Elle Mariano, we have wonderful support and counseling for young people today. I couldn’t be more delighted to be a key supporter of this very fine center and its services. And I am thrilled that so many other local companies have opened their wallets and checkbooks to get on board with us.” Clyde then rattled off the names of other supporters, from Colin’s firm to the newest ones in White Box. When he was through, the crowd clapped and cheered, including Curtis and Charlie, who Ryan had been enjoying a drink with.

“Glad to hear you guys on that list. Impressive to see you get behind the local community,” Ryan said to the two men.

“Thank you. We were glad to help,” Charlie said in a gentlemanly and gracious tone. “As a younger man, I was a bit of a troublemaker. Now that I’m older, I try to stay out of trouble.”

“We were all troublemakers one way or the other, weren’t we?”

“Indeed we were. We try to do better as we grow older and wiser,” he said, like a sage advisor, dispensing wisdom gleaned over the years. “By the way, your security team is doing a spectacular job already with my clubs. I couldn’t be more thrilled to be working with you to help keep my business safe and secure.”

Ryan flashed a smile. Nothing delighted him more in business than a satisfied client and a job well done. “I’m thrilled.”

“Anything you need, you let me know,” Charlie said, then gestured to the stage.

After sharing the details of the fundraising goal – an announcement met with cheers and claps – Clyde passed the speaking baton to Sophie’s brother. John walked to the podium then gave a short speech about the importance of keeping the streets safe, finishing with a call to support the community center. “Places like this can make a big difference. I believe that if we give young people a chance early on to be involved in something other than gangs, crime, and the trouble they can get into on the streets, we’ll have a safe community and a better Las Vegas.”

John said thanks and nodded crisply, and everyone cheered. Ryan soaked in the atmosphere in the ballroom, and the sense that maybe there were enough people who cared about change. Who cared about this city. Who wanted the best for this town they all called home.

He was filled with pride, too, over Sophie’s work, bringing such a motley crew together all in the name of this cause. He only hoped seeing the support from the crowds would lift that knot of tension she’d been carrying all night. Even as she introduced the orchestra and her ex-husband, then asked the guests to find their seats to enjoy some Beethoven, he could tell she wasn’t herself.