Page 18 of Wild Card
Just a small nod. Like he expected this. Like heknew.I follow him in, still reeling, my mind racing in circles.
How did the metal detector not go off? How did he know it wouldn’t? I don’t know what’s going on, but one thing’s certain—Presley Dane knows more than he’s letting on.
Presley and I sit at the long table together, the only two people in the room for now. I can hear the distant murmur of voices in the hallway — Vincent and Miranda, probably — before the heavy door clicks shut again.
I turn to Presley. “You want to tell me what that was about?”
He looks at me, feigning innocence. “What what was about?”
“The metal detector,” I say, crossing my arms. “You pushed me through it like we were boarding a plane. And then somehow, itdidn’t go off.What’s going on?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Just sits there, tapping his thumb once against the edge of the table. Then he exhales and leans forward, lowering his voice.
“It was a test.”
I blink. “A test?”
He nods. “I suspected that the casino’s new security measures might be fake. Not just lax—fabricated.So I told Vincent to have a detector installed tonight.”
I stare at him, completely thrown. “Youwhat?”
He keeps his voice steady, eyes locked on mine. “The metal detector wasn’t real, Aria. It was a decoy. I wanted to see who would insist on having it there. Because if the casino’s security is being staged, that means someone on the inside wants to give the illusion of control while actually covering something up.”
I sit back, processing. “You’re saying someone faked security procedures… to make everyone else feel safe?”
“Exactly.” He glances toward the door. “And that someone had access to every clearance level for this floor. Only four people were in the room when tonight’s protocols were approved: Vincent, Miranda, the head of building ops, and the new systems coordinator.”
My pulse quickens. “That’s not just sloppy oversight. That’s deliberate.”
He nods once. “If the metal detector was fake, there’s no operational reason for that—unless whoever set it up didn’twantanyone actually being scanned.”
A chill snakes down my spine. “You think the jewels are here.”
“I think they might be on someone in this room,” he says quietly. “And whoever arranged that detector made damn sure it wouldn’t catch them.”
I glance toward the door again, heart hammering now. Vincent’s voice echoes faintly from the hallway, growing closer. Miranda’s sharper tone follows right behind.
They’re coming.
I look back at Presley. He’s calm — too calm. That steady, unreadable expression he wears when he’s already ten steps ahead of everyone else.
“You realize,” I whisper, “if you’re right about this, we’re sitting in a room with the person who’s been pulling the strings the entire time.”
He nods once, eyes on the door. “Then let’s see who sweats first.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
PRESLEY
Vincent and Mirandaare still out in the hallway, arguing about something in low voices. The walls in this place may look solid, but they carry sound. I can hear just enough to know I don’t like the tone.
Aria’s sitting beside me, flipping through her notes on the recovered jewels, but her eyes aren’t really on the page. I can tell she’s thinking about the same thing I am — the fake security, the missing minutes of footage, the way everyone’s suddenly acting like the case is closed.
I lean in slightly, keeping my voice low. “There’s something else I haven’t told you.”
She looks up, wary. “That’s not exactly the sentence I like to hear right before a briefing.”
