I'd spent the entire morning covering this hotel. Exits, service corridors, security rotations, blind spots. I've mapped it all.
But I haven't seen these side stairs we're walking down. As a matter of fact, the blueprints they showed me to the hotel had this marked as dead-space, but it looks like that's not the case.
And there was no mention about the special gallery, either.
What else was a lie?
No, I can't spiral. I'm good at this stuff. Better than good. I've got it.
Keira glances back at me, and I give her the smallest nod, hoping it tells her I'm here. I've got you.
And despite what happens, I do, because this is my plan.
It just so happens to help my uncle and the Ionescu line come to the U.S.
I've thought about it every which way and the logic is sound, even if it tastes like dirt.
I need to let them take her.
And I know how they’ll do it because it’s always the same. It's all so predictable.
I’ve even rehearsed it here at the hotel earlier. They’ll get her in the bathroom, the basement, or when we’re leaving. If that, then they’ll just tail us and run us off the road. Something that they think will confuse or scare us, but I’ll be ready and play the part. Then I can track her to this Phantom King, move in, save her, and destroy the entire fucking operation.
It's the only way to end this.
If I don't take down the people hunting her, they'll always be a threat. Her life will always be in danger. And not just hers: Callum, Declan, her entire family. Everyone she cares about.
I can save all of them, I just have to let her go first.
And fuck my uncle for assuming I wouldn't risk my life or burn the plan if I think Keira's going to get hurt. But if I pull this off cleanly, if I get her back unharmed and eliminate the threat in one move, then he gets his alliance, and I get what I want. Her.
Safe and mine forever.
She'll understand.
She has to understand.
We step into the gallery, and the space opens up wider than I anticipate. High vaulted ceilings. Dim lighting. Glass cases holding God knows what.
I glance down at Keira, and her shoulders are tight, her breathing shallow. She's nervous.
I place my hand on the small of her back.
I'm here. I've got you.
She doesn't pull away.
The people in the room unsettle me immediately.
There are maybe twenty guests scattered throughout the space, but they move wrong. Too still. Too aware. Their eyes track Keira as we pass, lingering too long, assessing.
Elizabeth leads us deeper into the room as she gestures toward the displays, speaking in riddles.
We stop in the center of the room, and Elizabeth turns to face us, her fake smile plastered across her face.
"This," she says, gesturing to a pedestal draped in black velvet, "is what I most wanted to show you."
She pulls the cord.
