Wilde at Heart (Wilde Security, #3)(14)

Twenty years later, and he still missed his parents every single hour of every single day.

“Would it be such a bad thing,” Greer murmured, “if we went under?”

Alarm had Reece sitting up straighter. “Are you kidding me? Cam left a good job with the police to work for us. Vaughn gave up any number of promising careers in the private sector, and Jude? What else would he do? They’re counting on us.”

“Yeah,” Greer said, and it seemed the weight of the entire world rested on that one word. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right. Forget I said that. I’m tired.”

“I’ve noticed. Don’t you sleep anymore?”

“We’re not talking about me,” Greer said abruptly and jerked his thumb toward the bedroom. “This…thing between you and Shelby needs to stop.”

Reece tried to keep his features blank but had a feeling he’d already given himself away. Still, he tried to laugh it off. “Shelby? Are you kidding? No, it wasn’t her.”

Greer lifted a brow. “Word of advice, stay away from the poker tables. A blind man could read your tells.”

“Fuck.” Reece dropped his head into his hands. “Don’t say anything to Cam. Or Eva.”

“It’s not my place to, but I’m telling you now, end it.”

“There’s nothing to end.”

“Yeah, looks it.” Greer walked to the door, but stopped before opening it and glanced back. “Just remember Shelby’s…well, you’re playing with fire. And not a nice, controlled one either. She’s a wildfire and I’d hate to see you get burned, bro.”

Wildfire. That was an apt description of Shelby Bremer. Hot, oddly seductive, and dangerous as hell.

Reece brooded by himself for several minutes after Greer left and swilled the bourbon, watching the light glint off the amber liquid as it sloshed around inside the bottle. He’d regret drinking more. His head was fuzzy, skin warmed by the alcohol. He set the bottle aside and levered himself up to pace over to the windows, but a rattle from the hallway caught his attention, like someone was trying to get into his room.

Had Greer come back?

Or…Shelby?

He walked over and waited a beat for the knock, but none came. He reached for the knob and a white envelope slid under the door, landing on his foot. His name was printed on the front in a handwriting font.

A hard lump of dread settled in his gut as he picked it up. From the weight and feel of it, he had a good idea what he’d find inside. He sucked in a fortifying breath and ripped open the envelope, dumping the contents out on the small foyer table. Photos. Of him and Shelby, his hand between her legs as he held her trapped against the wall. And then with his head between her legs.

Heart thundering, he yanked open the door even though he knew the person who had dropped this was long gone.

Yup. Hallway was empty.

He shut the door and grabbed a handful of tissues from the bathroom before returning to the table. He didn’t dare handle the photos on the off chance his blackmailer had left fingerprints.

The quality of the photos wasn’t good, printed by an inkjet printer on cheap glossy paper. But nor were they bad enough that he’d be able to legitimately deny the photos were of him. Anyone with eyes could see that he was the man kneeling between Shelby’s legs.

So much for the whole what-happens-in-Vegas-stays-in-Vegas thing.

Jesus, could he make it any easier for his blackmailer?

Except he never expected his blackmailer to follow him all the way here. That was weird. He was no expert on the subject, but he knew that was not normal blackmail behavior.

Okay. So it’s another piece of the puzzle.

One that actually told him quite a bit more about the person behind this. The blackmailer didn’t just want money from him. If that was all, why the unnecessary expense of chasing him across the country? No, this person wanted something else. To ruin him? A distinct possibility.

He used a tissue to spread the photos out and studied each one closely. The person who took them had to have been in the hallway, too, but Reece had been too focused on Shelby to notice if anyone had followed them. He hadn’t seen anyone when he walked away from her, either, but now that he thought about it, he did hear the elevator bell seconds before he pulled away from her—it was the sound that had brought him back to his senses. Had that innocuous ding been his blackmailer fleeing the scene?

On the back of the last photo, he found a message printed in the same cursive font as on the envelope.

What will your business associates think of you slumming it?

Fury lit him up. He wasn’t slumming. Not with Shelby.

Okay, so his business associates might think that, but only because they were all stuck-up *s. They considered sleeping with anyone who had less than a million in the bank “slumming”. In some circles of older money, Reece himself was considered plebeian because he was self-made, from a family with a long history of career military and blue-collar workers.

Shit. He had to tell Shelby about this. He rubbed a hand over his face, stubble rasping against his palm, and stared at the photos. As much as he’d rather not, these pictures were of her, too, and she needed to know. What if it didn’t just stop at pictures? Already the blackmailer had tiptoed over the line into stalking territory.

What if he was putting her in danger by not telling her?