He clapped his guy on the arm. "Good to hear."

Michael breathed easier knowing the incident was routine enough, and frankly the type of thing that happened now and again at these sorts of establishments. When you trafficked in s.e.x and sin, you could sometimes attract the seedier elements.

After another fifteen minutes, all was well enough, and Curtis strolled with Michael back to his car. "Thanks for coming by in the middle of the night to check it out. Charlie and I appreciate the service," Curtis said, referring to the owner of White Box. "He wanted me to extend his grat.i.tude, too."

"It's the least I can do. I'm sorry this happened, but I'm glad no one was hurt," Michael said.

"We're keeping a close watch out for this sort of stuff, and for gang trouble. It's been heating up lately all over town, so you can't be too safe."

"Couldn't agree more," Michael said, placing his hand on the hood of his car, sensing an opportunity. He raised his chin. "Hey. Question for you."

"Shoot."

"You seen any other gang activity around here?" he asked. This gang was insidious and could sink its claws into businesses like a parasite on an unsuspecting host. Michael didn't want one of his clients to be that host. Selfishly, he couldn't help but wonder if the gang activity here could lead him to Luke or T.J. If the Royal Sinners were encroaching on this patch of land, circling it and threatening the innocent, maybe there was a chance to double down-help his clients, and find the men he was looking for.

Curtis shook his head. "Not too much. This is the first I'm aware of. Let's hope it's the last," he said, his voice determined.

"Let me know if you hear anything else."

Curtis nodded, his face solemn. "We've got high-end patrons here, and we don't want to mess around with that s.h.i.t, or the Royal Sinners. I'm with you on this."

"There's someone from the Sinners we've got our eyes on. Guy named T.J. Nelson. He's wanted for some crimes over the years. Don't know a ton about him, but he has a gold earring. Scar on his right cheek. Tall, towering frame." Michael gave the scant details he was aware of. He didn't share Luke's name, though. He didn't want to let on he was looking that high up within the gang. Besides, Luke wasn't likely to be seen in public as a gang member.

Curtis nodded. "I'll keep an eye out for him. Let you know if we spot him."

"Good," Michael said as he unlocked the car door.

"Get some sleep," Curtis said with a faint smile.

But sleep was nowhere to be found when he returned home, so Michael settled in to work, plowing through paperwork as dawn spread across the dark sky, casting pale pink morning light over Vegas from twenty stories high. He worked through contract approvals so he was free to get on that plane and focus on the woman. Sure, he had work to do in New York, and meetings to attend that would keep him busy, but he didn't want to squander an ounce of his time with Annalise.

It was best to be ahead of the game, and he was.

That also meant he had enough time to see Donald before he jetted out of town.

His dad's oldest friend shook his head, thumbing through a deck of cards at his table at the Golden Nugget-empty for the moment, since it was early in the morning. "He never mentioned anything about someone named T.J. coming by, not that I can recall," Donald said.

"s.h.i.t," Michael hissed. "I've got to figure this out. You sure? Not a word?"

Donald held up his hands. "We talked about lots of stuff, but I don't remember him mentioning it. 'Bout the only thing he said was that he was trying to get the new job, and he thought he might have a lead on it when he found something that was missing at the company."

Something that was missing. If so, was that what T.J. had come to talk to him about at work? Michael narrowed his eyes. "And he never said what that something was?"

Donald shook his head. "Sorry, kid. I barely remember what I had for breakfast some days. I hardly remember the specifics of a conversation that didn't stand out from two decades ago."

"Do you think Sanders knows? Since he worked there?"

Donald shrugged. "S'possible."

"Do you trust Sanders?" Michael asked pointedly, because the question had been gnawing at him.

"With my life." Donald tilted his head, studying the younger man. "But why would you ask? Is there some reason you think you can't trust him?"

Yes. Because he's avoiding me. Because he's avoiding everyone. Because something is up. "No reason. Except I honestly don't know who to trust anymore."

Donald shot him a faint smile and nodded, then stepped around from behind the table and gripped his shoulder. "I hear ya, kid. All I can tell you is this-keep on digging; keep on asking. Your dad was like that, too. He was focused and driven. You got that from him. Stay on it, and you'll find what you're looking for."

Focused and driven. His dad had used those words, too, to describe him-only his father had been talking about Michael's quest to keep Annalise in his life. They were also fitting adjectives for how determined Michael had been to follow his dad's wishes about her. Those words were spelled out in the note he'd found from his dad's wallet, scattered across the driveway with credit cards and photos the night he'd died.

Annalise was his dream, his one-time reality, and his end game.

Then she was gone, reduced to a memory that haunted him. Now, she'd become real again, and he needed to go meet her at the airport.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"We will begin boarding Flight Twenty-Three to New York shortly."

Annalise turned in the direction of the gate agent, checking her watch as she talked to her sister in Paris, nine hours ahead of her.

"How is Mom doing today? How was the doctor's appointment?" She paced the boarding area, scanning it for Michael, nerves skating across her skin. It was so weird to be traveling with him. This was what they had dreamed about when they were younger-this sort of freedom, including the freedom to change her flight. She'd been slated for a later one to New York, but had pushed earlier so they could fly together.

She stopped in her tracks, wondering what sort of traveling companion he was, like whether he slept on planes, his head bobbing up and down then crashing on her shoulder? It was an odd image-Michael Sloan dozing on a flight. Did he prefer the window or the aisle? Would he be chatty, or want to watch TV, or work the whole time? Would she want to do the things she normally did on planes-devour magazines like Discovery, National Geographic, and Vanity Fair, which were stashed in the outside pocket of her carry-on-or would they watch some lame straight-to-video release together on the mini-screen? All these details were unknown to her, even though many years ago she'd often imagined traveling with him.

"Her day was all right, but not great, to be honest," Noelle said on the other end of the line, rooting Annalise to the present. Their father had pa.s.sed on a few years ago, and their mother was alone in a small flat in Paris. That wouldn't be a problem ordinarily, except she'd had a bad fall a year ago, and her hip hadn't been the same since, so she relied on her two daughters. Noelle and Annalise did their best to stay near, check in on her daily, and help with whatever she needed. These efforts were complicated by Annalise's travel for work, but she picked up the slack when she was in town. "Her doctors are switching her to a new medication," Noelle added.

"What kind are they giving her?" Annalise asked, since she'd become far too familiar with drugs and dosages while married to Julien. He took several kinds each day to try to stave off the inevitable, and so when her mother had fallen ill, she'd poured her newly acquired knowledge into researching her mom's meds. As she and her sister discussed side effects and dosage, Annalise wandered through the noisy crowds in the boarding area, weaving through teens slouched on blue upholstered seats, businessmen in rumpled suits hunched over laptops, pecking away at keys, and vacationers playing a final round of airport slots, hunting for that last-chance payout.

Somewhere by the Aladdin one-armed bandit, she spotted him.

Her stone-cold heart thawed again. It shed its jacket like a girl in spring, twirling in the sunshine.

A grin tugged at her lips as Michael walked toward her, dressed in crisp black slacks and a light green shirt with slim white stripes, the top b.u.t.ton undone. The man was muscled and st.u.r.dy, his chest broad, his arms way beyond toned, his legs strong. Her eyes raked over him, snapshotting every detail, from his trim, tight waist, to his deliciously messy black hair, to the hint of stubble on his face. His jaw was square, his cheekbones strong, his lips so f.u.c.king kissable. His ice-blue eyes lit up when their gazes met, a match setting her ablaze with his heat.

As if a tropical sun caressed her, she warmed all over. A slow and s.e.xy smile spread across his handsome face. That was when her focus on the call was officially shot to h.e.l.l. b.u.t.terflies took flight inside her belly, surprising her. She'd expected l.u.s.t, raging hormones, or the mad desire that Michael had unleashed in her the other night, but this was out of left field, this strange and new stomach flipping. It caught her off-guard, especially when the b.u.t.terflies soared to the stratosphere as he stopped less than a foot away from her, said nothing at all, and instead just dropped a kiss on her cheek.

Oh G.o.d, how she wanted to cup her hand on that cheek, like a young girl capturing a first kiss.

Noelle said something about medicine, but Annalise was simply lost in this moment, her face lingering near his lips, as if all the travelers, all the noise, all the sounds of the world had blurred. These few seconds next to him were bright, crisp, and achingly real, turning everything else mute.

When Michael stepped away from her, she completely lost her train of thought, as well as the words she'd meant to say to Noelle. Her sister rattled off details about milligrams and twice a day. The sound of her voice jarred Annalise back into the reality of the phone call.

She blinked and refocused, but she was still lightheaded, just from the brush of his lips and the sight of his face. "Take care of Mom. I'll be back soon to help out. Just a few days in New York for the shoot," she said.

"Fly safely, mon pet.i.te papillon," her older sister said. "Keep me posted on everything. Love you. Miss you. See you soon."

Annalise ended the call, slipping the phone into her back pocket.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Silly grins and knowing looks pa.s.sed between them.

"Fancy meeting you here." Her voice was laced with flirtation, and she loved the way it sounded as she talked to him. She thrilled at the way it felt to slide into this kind of woozy chemistry.

"What a surprise. I had no idea you were on this flight," he said, playing along, as if they'd just met.

"Perhaps we can sit together and catch up on the plane," she suggested, as if the two of them hadn't already made those plans.

"I like that idea." He leaned closer, his lips dangerously close as he said, "Maybe then I can whisper filthy things in your ear as we fly."

She wobbled, his words making her hot. Her hand darted out, and she gripped his shirt, holding on. He looped an arm around her waist, making sure she didn't fall.

"You'd want that, wouldn't you?" he murmured, as he roamed his eyes over her. She wore skinny jeans and heels, and a silky tank top that dared to show a peek of cleavage.

"Yes. So much. Would you?"

His eyes blazed darkly-his yes. "I would absolutely love getting you hot and bothered."

She brought her lips closer to his ear. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I'm already there."

A few minutes later, the gate agent's voice warbled across the tinny speakers, calling for first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers. Michael swept his arm to the side, letting her lead the way.

As they stepped onto the plane, he asked, "How's your mom?"

The question surprised her, but she answered quickly, "She's okay. Well, she's not great. I was talking to my sister about her," she said and shared some more details. She figured he must have heard the tail end of the conversation, picking up a few French words that she'd taught him once upon a time. Back when they were younger, he'd helped her with her English slang, so it was only fitting that she taught him some of her language. Mostly she'd taught him naughty words.

Which reminded her...

"I need to work on your French again," she teased as they quickly found their seats, comfy gray leather chairs in the second row.

"You think so?"

"Like I did before," she said, jogging his memory. "Have you forgotten it all?"

His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Why don't you try me and find out?"

"Perhaps I will."

The flight attendant strolled by and asked if they needed anything.

"All set," Annalise told her, then carefully tucked her camera gear under the seat in front of her, meticulously taking the time to make sure it was positioned against the leg rests.

Michael tipped his chin toward the bags. "What's the job in New York? More bikinis?"

"We have one more day in some very iconic New York locations for Veronica's. We've actually booked the New York Public Library, and we have some fantastic shots planned of the girls lounging in their PJs on these leather couches, reading old books. It's going to be very cool."

His eyes twinkled. "Can I have your job?"

"You want to lounge in your PJs and read in the library?" she said, nudging him with her elbow.

"Yeah, that's it. Exactly."

"When Veronica's adds boxer briefs, perhaps I'll suggest you model them."

He leaned his head back and laughed, a deep, hearty sound that warmed her soul. She loved his laugh; he'd been so laidback and carefree when she knew him before, quick with a joke or an easy comment. When his chuckles slowed, he lowered his voice to a dirty whisper, "But you don't even know if I wear boxer briefs."

She arched her eyebrow in a challenging stare. "No. But I fully intend to find out the answer to that, and to discover it..." She let her voice trail off, watching him linger on her every word with parted lips before she added, "So very soon."

He drew a sharp breath, and she zipped right back into the conversation. "Then after that, I have a boudoir session with a private client."

"Private client?"

"Just a woman who wanted to have some shots done as a gift for her husband." She'd secured s.p.a.ce for the shoot in a studio with a gorgeous, sumptuous bedroom set. The woman was the CEO of a s.e.x-toy company, Joy Delivered, and she'd found Annalise through a mutual contact-her brother worked and lived in Paris with his wife, and Annalise had met them a few times at dinner with friends.

"Do a lot of women do that?"

"Enough to make it a good living for me," Annalise said as pa.s.sengers shuffled onto the plane, stuffing bags in overhead bins and checking their phones as they searched for their seats.

Michael shook his head in admiration. "Never knew boudoir shots were such a thing."

Annalise nodded enthusiastically. "They've actually grown immensely in popularity in the last several years. More and more women do them. Some just do them for themselves."

He c.o.c.ked his head, his eyes hooked on hers, then answered in a thoughtful voice, "That sounds very empowering. I suppose you don't have to be Gisele to pose for the camera in a lacy white teddy."

"Yes! That's it exactly. Not everyone gets that, but you do," she said, grateful that he understood something few men truly got. While Michael had certainly indicated his appreciation for the gorgeous women on display yesterday, she adored that he understood that true beauty ran deeper.

He tapped his temple. "I can be a feminist."

"It's hot," she said, raising an eyebrow. "And that's honestly why I love shooting boudoir. Women are realizing that they don't have to be rail-thin to look good in lingerie. You can have curves, you can have extra padding, you can have stretch marks and still put on a black satin bra and s.e.xy panties and feel wanted, feel sensual," she said, moving her shoulders and her hips, demonstrating how a woman might feel s.e.xy. "It's a way of celebrating their femininity. They're capturing s.e.xuality on camera."

"They're capturing their life," he said with a nod and then added, "They're enjoying their life."

"Exactly. I've done photos for women after they've lost weight and want to celebrate their new bodies. And I've done some for others who haven't lost weight but still want to embrace all that they are, and feel comfortable in their skin."

"And you help them do that on the shoot?"

"I try. It's not easy to strip down to your bra and panties and pose s.e.xily for the camera. But my job is to make them feel like they're all the s.e.xiest women in the world."