Page 84 of Kings Against the World

“Sugar?!” I shake my head, processing everything that I’ve learned about her.

She had mentioned she was in trouble with the law, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. At the time I was distracted by my pursuit of Boone.

While I was risking everything to keep my cover intact, Sugar was feeding intel straight to the local authorities. The same intel that’s been used to blow up my investigation.

My phone buzzes in my hand. I excuse myself from the uniformed officer and answer already aware of who it is.

“Agent Strauss,” Duchovny says in greeting. “Do you mind telling me what the hell happened and why I’m hearing theinvestigation has been ended, not by your hands, but by local PD?”

I sigh, wishing I could hang up and avoid going over the details he’s asking for.

“The locals had an operative of their own.”

“More like you handed them our investigation on a silver platter. Months’ worth of work will now be credited as a city police department bust.”

Teeth clenched, I grit out, “I had no prior knowledge of another operative.”

“That is no excuse. You are federal,” he snaps, his tone cold and sharp enough to cut. “You were supposed to take down Boone. You guaranteed you would when this investigation was green lit. Instead, you’ve allowed the locals to swoop in and steal our thunder.”

“Of course it’s all about the recognition for you,” I mutter under my breath.

“What was that?” Duchovny barks. “Do you realize how this makes us look?”

“I did my job. I gathered evidence. I submitted much of it to you. Boone is now off the streets. Isn’t that what matters?”

“Save the moral victories for off-duty. This investigation is officially a failure. Do you have any idea of how it will look when we brief the board on the outcome? After that stunt in Houston? When you get back to D.C., be prepared to answer for it.”

He hangs up before I can even think up another word.

The aftereffects of the call reverberate through me. I stare down at the phone in my hand, the screen already dimming, my reflection showing up in the dark glass.

Nothing I do will ever be enough for Duchovny. For the bureau.

I gave them everything, and still, I lost.

I’ve failed.

A shaky breath puffs out of me as I slip my phone into my back pocket and remember I’d first been tempted to seek out Ozzie. My gaze sweeps across the chaotic parking lot in search of him only to discover he’s gone.

I punch the elevator button harder than I need to, desperate to find a private space. My pulse still pounds in my ears, loud and relentless, as I wait for the elevator to arrive on the ground floor. I ended up having to get the hell away from the chaos in the parking lot.

The flashing lights, watchful tourist gazes, police radios and chatter, people moving in every direction. All of it suddenly became too much.

What I need right now is some peace, quiet, dark solitude… and my meds.

The elevator doors roll apart and I step forward before stopping at the man who stands inside.

While I was on my way up, Ozzie’s on his way down. His face is unreadable, lips pressed into a tight line, but his eyes—those bright, restless eyes—flick over me in a way that makes my stomach twist. Relief flashes through me, sharp and sudden, catching me off guard, stealing my breath away.

My lips pull back into a smile ’til I process the fact that he has his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, which means…

“You’re… leaving again?”

He nods, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Yeah.” His voice is low, rough around the edges. “You got a minute?”

I swallow, the ache crawling up my throat and nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

We fall into step side by side, silent as we make our way to one of the hotel’s terraces. The doors glide open, and the city stretches out below us—Las Vegas in the early hours, where the night’s chaos fades under the blush of dawn. Soft gold and pink spill over the horizon, casting a subtle glow over the Strip. This early in the morning, this far into the desert summer, the dry heat is already climbing for the day. Soon it’ll return to triple digits.

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