“Nah,” I say with a wave of my hand. “You go ahead. Enjoy.”

To my surprise, Declan lifts her hand to his mouth and presses a kiss there. “Maybe another time, darlin’. Right now, I’m just going to enjoy a drink with my buddy.”

We watch her strut off, admiring the swing of her hips as she leaves. Declan turns, prompting me to return to our conversation. “So… you been tested yet?”

“This morning. Should be getting the results any time now. They come electronically these days.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and set it on the bar, flipping the side button to turn the ringer from vibrate to on.

“What happens if you’re a match?” Declan asks.

I regale him with more than he could possibly want to know about stem cell transplants. To his credit, he listens attentively as I tell him that I’ve already talked to a pediatric oncologist at the children’s hospital—a recommendation from Jerico Jameson—and smiles encouragingly at the news the doctor is willing to take Sam on as a patient.

I’d spent a good chunk of this morning in Jerico’s office. He’s the owner of The Wicked Horse Vegas, but our ties go way beyond that since he used to own the company I work for. In order to concentrate on just one business, Jerico sold Jameson Force Security to my current boss, Kynan McGrath. We had patched Kynan in on the phone call, so I could fill them in on everything at the same time.

And the people at Jameson immediately got busy doing what they do best, which is figuring shit out.

Kynan put Bebe Grimshaw on the case. Within hours, she’d gotten the information I wanted that Leighton had yet to provide. While Jameson has some pretty high-level security clearance, my best bet is Bebe decided to hack the WITSEC program to get what she wanted. She’s that good.

“I’m insisting Sam come here for treatment,” I inform Declan. “And I want him to stay here afterward, too.”

Clearly concerned, Declan asks, “Can they do that? Once you’re in WITSEC, aren’t you in it for life? Or is that only on TV?”

Chuckling, I swirl the last bit of bourbon in my glass before drinking it. I push my glass to the edge, indicating for the bartender to refill our glasses.

“Technically, they can stay in the program for life. The government relocated them and gave them new identities, and they were assigned a handler to report to. That handler communicates with all types of sources, including confidential informants, and continually assesses if there’s a continuing threat to the safety of those in the program.”

Fully intrigued, Declan ignores his bourbon and leans in a bit closer. “And is there?”

This is where working for Jameson becomes beneficial. Bebe and Kynan found tons of information—Bebe through illicit hacking, I’m sure, while Kynan sourced his through legit contacts. He even commands the ear of the President of the United States, so there’s not much that is off limits to him.

“The mob family Leighton’s father testified against is extensive—with far-reaching branches. His testimony didn’t take down the kingpin, but did knock out a major player. That was ten years ago. According to my sources, though, there’s still an active hit out on her dad.”

“Jesus,” Declan says on a low whistle. “That’s some scary shit.”

I wonder if Leighton knew how much danger they could potentially be in due to her decision to leave the protection she had in Denver to seek me out. My guess is she very well knew what the risks were and didn’t let it factor in.

Of course, she’s terrified for Sam to leave that cocoon, but I meant what I’d told her… I can protect them better. Besides, I have access to the same information her handler did… and more.

I tell Declan as much, adding, “As soon as I get the test results, I’ll start planning how to get Sam here. I’ll have to figure out the logistics.”

“My plane,” Declan offers, finally picking up his bourbon.

My brows knit together. “Your plane what?”

“Use my plane to go get him,” Declan says with a shrug. “I have no clue how this witness protection shit works, but I’m sure it’s safer to fly privately. Let’s face it, it’s a hell of a lot faster than driving, too.”

“You have a plane?” I ask dumbly.

“Have three actually,” he replies with a wink.

Of course he does. He is a billionaire.

“Just need a few hours’ notice.” Declan swigs his drink in three powerful swallows. “Shoot me a text when you figure out when you’ll need it.”

I blink in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“As serious as a heart attack,” he replies, clapping me on the back. “We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, we are,” I admit softly. “But I could never repay something like that.”

“Wouldn’t ask you to.” Waving my gratitude off, he points across the deck to the blonde who approached him earlier. “Now… want to go tap that?”

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