Page 98 of High Reward

“I had no idea,” I say, the words sounding stupid in the moment. “Why would I? We haven’t spoken since I left.”

“I know.” Victor’s voice is careful, measured. “This isn’t your fault, Grace. Whatever demons Sampson was fighting, they weren’t yours to defeat.”

But the guilt comes anyway. What did I do? Why did he name me? Could I have changed something? Stopped him?

“There’s more,” Victor continues, effectively pausing my guilt spiral, for a minute anyway. “Kara blames you. At least partially. After Sampson’s death, she hired a private investigator to find you.”

My head snaps up. “Kara blames me? But I haven’t…”

“Of course you haven’t. But we’re fairly certain she’s living in Las Vegas. Moved sometime in the last six months. We’re still pinning down the timeline.”

The room feels simultaneously so small it’s crushing me, and so large I’m drowning. Kara Lindon… Sampson’s wife, my other ex. She’s here? Looking for me?

Pieces start to fall into place. “The flowers,” I say, looking at Victor directly now. “The sabotage to my car. She would have known my favorite flowers because Sampson always bought them for me. And the PI would have figured out what car I was driving.”

Victor nods. “That’s our working theory. Owen is building the case now. Tracking financial records, piecing together movements. The timing fits.”

My mind races back over the past months. Has she been watching me this whole time?

“We don’t understand her endgame yet,” Victor says, his thumb stroking my knuckles. “Whether she just wants to scare you or…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.

“Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you suspected?” My voice is barely audible.

Victor releases my hand and stands, pacing to the door and back.

“At first, it was just a theory. Owen found a few little things like the suicide note when he was running keyword searches. But we had no connection to the stalking. Then we discovered the PI, but still no concrete evidence. Only theories.” He stops in front of me, hands shoved in his pockets. “I wanted to be sure before I brought you news about Sampson. I didn’t want to reopen old wounds without cause.”

“And when you were sure?” I press, needing to understand his reasoning.

“I was going to tell you today.” He meets my gaze directly. “When I got back last night, Owen had an update for me. He confirmed that Kara’s been renting a place three miles from the apartment you share with Sabrina. That was the final piece we needed.”

“Did you ever plan to tell me before you had absolute proof? If I had confronted you this morning and you didn’t have proof, would you have told me?”

Victor’s eyes don’t leave mine. “I was waiting until we had concrete evidence. But I wasn’t going to lie if you asked.” He kneels in front of me, hands resting on my knees. “I’m telling you now because you asked. Because you deserve to be informed. And because you’re right. I was wrong to keep it from you, even temporarily.”

The honesty in his admission softens some of my anger. Not all of it, the hurt of being kept in the dark still stings, but enough that I can see past it to the man in front of me. The man who made a mistake trying to shield me from pain.

“Sampson.” The name is strange on my tongue. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor says again, and I’m comforted by the sincerity.

“And Kara…” A chill runs through me at the idea of her in Vegas, planning, watching, waiting. “What do we do now?”

“We find her.” Victor’s voice hardens slightly. “We figure out exactly what her plan is. And we stop her before she can hurt you.”

The determination in his tone should be reassuring. Instead, it reminds me how dangerous this situation is. Not just for me, but for everyone around me.

“What if she hurts someone else trying to get to me?” My heart stutters as I say the next words. “What if she hurts Lili, or you, or anyone else at the club?”

“That’s not going to happen, Mariposa.” Victor’s hands tighten on my knees. “We have security in place. We know what we’re looking for now. She’s not getting close to any of us.”

I want to believe him. Need to believe him. But the weight of knowing someone I once loved is dead, that my name was among his final thoughts, that his wife now blames me enough to hunt me down, it’s too much to process all at once.

“Was she behind the bomb in Sabrina’s car, or was that Phineas?”

“We are working under the assumption that it was Kara. Whoever texted you called you Gracie. Phineas has no real reason to know your name.”

I blow out a long breath. “I need time,” I say. “To think about all this. To understand it.”