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“Thank you for your patience, sir,” the man continued with a nod. “If you will just follow me.” He started leading them down the hall and away from the main auditorium to a set of closed elevator doors. He pushed the button and then turned his body slightly toward Jude, but didn’t look directly at him as he spoke. “A private table has been reserved for you and the rest of your party. Champagne and tapas are already prepared for your pleasure. The auction is set to begin in twenty minutes. Some of the members are partaking of cigars and beverages in the Critic’s Club if you wish to stop there before going to your table.”
Jude froze. Should he go? Gratton could be among the other members, giving them a shot at getting their hands on him before the auction even starts. But then, they would be out in the open. What if someone recognized them?
Andrei leaned forward and loudly whispered something in Romanian in his ear. Jude didn’t speak a word of Romanian, didn’t have a clue as to what the man said, but he made a show of crumpling his brow and shaking his head.
“Mr. Smith wishes to go directly to his table,” Andrei snapped in a heavily accented voice and Jude nearly smiled. They were all playing fakes tonight. Their guide nodded and motioned for them to precede him into the elevator.
When the doors opened again on the third floor, their guide led them briskly to a room labeled Corbett Tower. It was dimly lit, but what Jude could make out that it was a large room that had been carefully partitioned off using great swaths of cloth and possibly even temporary walls used for office cubicles. Down the center of the room was a raised platform like a catwalk. It was an odd mix of fashion show and high-priced bordello.
Near the center of the room, their guide pulled aside a curtain and motioned for Jude to enter. The small private area contained a table with two chairs. The only lighting came from a candle protected by a hurricane glass, but it was enough to reveal several pieces of delicate tapas on fine china and a pair of champagne flutes. A silver bucket of sat on a stand in a corner filled with ice, chilling a bottle of champagne.
“Should you need anything, simply send your boy out of the curtain and a servant will appear to take your wishes,” the guide continued at a whisper. “Please enter your information into the tablet on the table to access your account. You will need to log in at least ten minutes before the auction starts.” The young man gave a little bow and then disappeared back the way he came.
As soon as they were alone, Andrei pulled out a small device from inside his jacket pocket and checked every inch of their small space before he allowed them to say a single word. When he nodded that there were no listening devices other than their own, Jude breathed a small sigh of relief as he dropped into one of the chairs. Geoffrey sat beside him, but his small body seemed to hum with barely concealed energy.
“Well, that was easy,” Geoffrey whispered, flashing Jude a nervous smile.
Jude bit back at caustic remark, settling on just shaking his head at the blond. Getting in had never been the real worry.
Andrei’s low voice rumbled behind them, but Jude couldn’t make out what he was saying it was so low. He didn’t need to know. The skilled bodyguard was relaying to Snow and Lucas every detail he’d taken in on the off chance that something had been missed by their video cameras. Jude tamped down the wish that he had an ear piece like Andrei but the bodyguard had been able to procure only two from Ward Security — one for him and one for Lucas. For just a moment, he would have loved to have Snow’s strong, bossy voice in his ear, telling him exactly what to do.
With his eyes closed, Jude tried to center his thoughts on the task ahead of him, but there was only Snow. “General, when this is over, I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re not going to be able to wipe the shit-eating grin off your face for a week.” When he opened his eyes, he straightened his shoulders and lifted his head a little bit. He didn’t care that Lucas had heard that. He needed to say it. Needed to put it out there, set the goal so he’d have something to reach for to get him through this night.
A second later, Andrei’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. The bodyguard leaned down, his long hair brushing against Jude’s cheek. “He laughed and said, ‘Bring it, Torres.’”
