Now’s not the time to get into the details. When I reach a corner tucked near a marble statue of Lady Godiva, I slow enough to add,“They were trying to break into the library. Took off before I could see who it was.”
“Did they see you?”
“Not well enough, I don’t think.”
“You don’tthink?” Ruby’s tone sharpens. “What do you think they were after?”
I hesitate for half a second. As far as I know, there’s nothing valuable inside the library.Nothing except Lorenzo Ramirez’s laptop.Ahead of me, I spot Ramirez and Rook posted at their table, drinks in hand, laughing with the gala hosts. Who else would be gunning for Ramirez’s laptop? And what happens if they get there before me?
Maybe it’s not too late.
“I need to get back up there.”
“The meeting’s about to start.”
I catch a glimpse of Ramirez and Rook pushing up from their seats. I’m already backtracking toward the stairs leading up to the third floor.
“I know.” My eyes scan the crowd as I move. It’s pointless because I don’t know who I’m looking for, but I’m convinced the figure in black is still in the museum. “I just need a few minutes.”
“What about Pawson?”
The man with bricks for fists is nowhere in sight, and apprehension shoots through me. Was it Pawson upstairs? No way. Pawson would rather bash your face in than run.
“Send a message to tech. See what they can find on the cameras,” I say.
“Got it. Don’t be stupid.”
“Got it.” The rote answer slips from my lips. I learned early on that Ruby’s version of affection is all stickers and thorns—pep talks sound like death threats, and encouragement comes in the form of exasperated sighs, but after a failed mission in which her partner almost died three years ago, she doesn’t fool around with chance.
And I won’t either.
I reach the stairwell, relieved to find the door still unattended. I slip inside and take the stairs two at a time, confidence growing with everystep. This time, if anyone questions me, I can tell the truth. Or at least my version of it. I’m expected for the meeting with Ramirez.
The gallery lights are brighter now, illuminating all the nooks and corners where someone could hide. My anger at being played flickers back to life, fueling my pace. I round the corner—and smash straight into a woman. Her purse hits the marble floor with a clatter as she stumbles backward. I instinctively reach out, steadying her with a hand to her arm.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see—”
The words catch midair. My gaze locks onto a pair of brown eyes. And for a second, the world tilts.No.It can’t be. A strange wave of familiarity crashes over me—raw and visceral. I know those eyes. And I’mabsolutelynot ready for the impact. I brace a hand against the wall to steady myself. Of all the places, all the nights, all the impossible odds—there’s no wayshe’dbe here.
Yet here she is.
In a blink, I’m back to summers long gone, when those same brown eyes belonged to a girl who stole a piece of my heart—and maybe shaved a few years off my life. With no thought on my part, the name rips from my mouth. “Cybil Langford?”
Her eyes widen just a fraction. Recognition flickers—and then vanishes behind a wall of ice so fast, I almost doubt I saw it. Almost.
My gaze sweeps over her. Not in a lewd way, but in acan this woman really be the same girl whose shirt I used to stick worms down?way. When my eyes meet hers again, I realize my mistake.
Was I admiring the way her dress accentuates her curves beautifully? Sure, but I can’t help it. A lot has changed, and the years have been good to her. But the real mistake—the fatal one—is that I showed I know her. And if I know who she is... she knows whoIam. Therealme. Not the alias I need to protect at all costs.Me.
“No,” she says sharply.
I blink. “What?”
“No,” she repeats, twisting away from me as she crouches to scoop up her fallen belongings.
No?Confusion churns through me like a slow, heavy fog. A tube of lipstick is next to my foot along with a snack-size bag of M&M’s. I reach for the lipstick just as she does—and instinct kicks in first. I snatch it up before she can. Her hand freezes in midair. Honey-brown eyes snap to mine, sharp and clear. And this time there’s no mistaking it.
It’s her.MyCybil. Okay, notmine—but the Cybil of summers spent at her cousin’s ranch in Cypress Creek with my best friend, Rex.
