“Come on, Con,” I push, jogging to keep pace. “When’s the last time you?—”
“Landon.” He snaps, in that cold measured way, and it shuts me the fuck up.
I know better than to bringherup. The one Conner doesn’t talk about. The one who carved out pieces of him and never gave them back.
But that look in his eyes when he sees Jasmine? It’s the same damn look.
Like she’s gravity—his center of orbit—pulling every part of him closer whether he wants it or not. Like he’d burn himself alive just to keep her warm.
I see it. Clear as day.
The need.
The want.
It’s written all over him, in the way his jaw tightens when she laughs too loud, the way his eyes track her across a room like she’s the only goddamn thing in focus.
And for someone who’s built his whole life on control, Conner wanting Jasmine is the one thing he can’t fucking hide.
“What do you want?” he growls, breath puffing in little clouds as we hit the trailhead. “You don’t wake up before noon unless someone’s bleeding out or you’ve fucked up. So which is it this time? And why the fuck must you ruin my morning peace?”
I inhale, grounding myself.
“She’s in danger, Con.”
He slows for the first time, just slightly, like his body hasn’t caught up to his brain.
I push forward. “I don’t mean academic probation. I meanactualdanger. Raider-level. Gun-to-the-head, body-in-the-trunk danger. And I can’t—” I pause, swallowing hard. “They have Tommy, her like pseudo-father.”
Conner stops jogging. Just dead stops in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Who has herTommy?” he finally asks, voice raw, eyes already calculating the fallout before I can say a word.
Then he runs a hand through his hair, yanking hard at the roots like he’s trying to wake himself up from a nightmare.
“What the hell did you do, Landon?”
“This time?” I say, shaking my head. “It wasn’t me. They saw her with Brooke du Pont.”
His head snaps toward me so fast I hear his neck pop. “The girl she was flirting with outside of my class?” he snaps, like the words taste foul coming out of his mouth.
“Just the one,” I say dryly. “But do you know who the du Ponts are?”
Conner scoffs. “Everyone knows who the du Ponts are. Richest family in the South. Founders of New Orleans. They practically own seventy percent of the fucking real estate in Texas, but what does that have to do with--fuck.”
I nod, watching him as the pieces start to click in place.“They want Jasmine to help secure a slice of the du Pont pie.”
Conner’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to bare his teeth. “And how is she going to do that?”
“Marriage, leverage, blackmail, I don’t know yet—but they’re circling,” I say, voice tight.
He exhales through his nose, sharp and mean. “So just another reason to kill Marcus.”
I nod, dragging a hand through my hair. “We can’t kill Marcus if they still have Tommy.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Conner snaps, hands clenched at his sides. “ We gotta get Tommy out of there first.”
I look at him, really look at him, and realize the gears are already turning. That same genius-level intellect he uses to crack forensics cases and teach spoiled undergrads? It’s now trained on one target: extraction.
