But Lorenzo Ramirez isn’t dumb, and he’s had enough experience being investigated by law enforcement, federal or otherwise, to keep his circle tight. And his mouth shut.
I couldn’t just saunter up to him, hand him my business card, and hope he’d call me and tell me how he ordered the death of a federal agent. The only way to get access to Ramirez was to make him want to meet me more than I wanted to meet him.
It was a long shot, but he took the bait. Through his personal attorney, Jimmy Rook, I was invited to help Lorenzo Ramirez manage a financial deal that involves a private meeting this evening.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I push my untouched glass of champagne across the bar. “Mr. Rinault, this is my assistant, Isabella McAllen. Ifyou give her your information, we’ll see what we can do about getting you through the doors of AJ Finance.”
Mr. Rinault’s glassy gaze settles on Ruby. He sizes her up and smiles like one of those cartoon wolves who see their prey. “I’ve never had a problem getting myself through doors.”
The man is disgusting. I don’t believe he’s a threat—especially not to Ruby—but am I comfortable leaving her here? Ruby must read my mind because the edge of her lip curls into a smirk. I hold her gaze a second longer to make sure she’ll be okay. I’m rewarded with a hard stare that says she knows a dozen ways to kill me.
Leaving them at the bar, I wind my way through the crowd and head toward the stairs. A quick look reveals no one is paying attention to me. I take the steps two at a time to the second-floor mezzanine area. There are fewer guests up here and their attention is focused on the dancing below. Easily enough, I slip around the velvet rope barrier keeping guests from the third and fourth floors.
At the top of the third floor, I tug at my tie while I catch my breath. This mission has kept me in more penguin suits than I care for. As eager as I am to hang up the tuxedos and slip back into my trusty pair of jeans and boots, I’m even more eager to watch Ramirez trade his pinstripe suits for a prison-orange jumpsuit.
“I didn’t deserve that.”
The words snap in my ear and I can’t help my smile. I glance down the empty hallway filled with Asian art. The music echoing from below is just loud enough to cover my low response. “How’d you get away from him so fast? I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be.”
It isn’t Isabella McAllen’ssyrupy tone speaking through my earpiece now; it’s all Ruby. And I’m concerned. Making my way down the hall, I take a few seconds to appreciate a woodblock print calledHara: Mount Fuji in the Morningjust in case someone happens to catch me up here. “What did you do?”
“Why do you always assume Ididsomething?”
I walk quietly toward my destination at the end of the hall. There’s a door marked Employees Only, and with a quick glance over my shoulder I turn the knob and let myself through. Behind the door, I feel less exposed and continue my conversation with Ruby as I take another set of stairs back down to the second level. “Didyou do something?”
She hums in my ear all innocent, but Ruby Knight is one of the FBI’s best agents, with a nearly flawless résumé. Nearly. There are three things that Ruby hates, which have caused some issues on the job. One, having to prove herself as a female agent; two, people touching her food; and—
“He called Tucker Reid a hack. Said the Cowboys would have a more consistent running back in a turtle.”
And people who dis the Dallas Cowboys.Ruby is very sensitive about football. I close my eyes briefly, unsure if I want to know more. “Please tell me Mr. Rinault is still walking.”
“He’s walking.” I can hear the spark of unapologetic mischief in her voice. “But with a limp.” I imagine her giving an innocent shrug. “What can I say, I’m a little clumsy in these heels.”
Lies.
“You’ve got eyes on Ramirez?”
“Yep,” Ruby answers. “What time is your meeting?”
“Fifteen minutes,” I answer after checking my watch. With caution, I slowly push open a door that leads me into another gallery room. Just like on the third level, a velvet rope cordons off this section of the museum from guests. Soft lights illuminate the artwork on the walls and the Latin American sculptures on pedestals.
Tonight’s meeting is going to take place in the Mayer Library. It’s private, quiet, and off-limits to everyone but Lorenzo Ramirez and whoever he’s supposed to be meeting to discuss a deal with great financial opportunity. My role was to come with a plan to manage the profits of the deal and, as advised by Jimmy Rook, “prove my worth.”
Oh, I have a plan.I double-check my pocket, ensuring the cigarette lighter containing the Raspberry Pi Zero is secure. The human interface device will act as a covert back door, allowing the FBI to remotelyintercept network traffic and access Ramirez’s laptop as soon as he logs in. If he opens any accounts or sensitive files, we’ll see everything. All I need to do is get inside the office and plant it. I pull out my Lishi lockpick tool and start toward the locked door.
I’m careful not to let my confidence lure me into complacency. Ruby will alert me if Ramirez moves, but there are still museum security employees making rounds. I need to tread carefully. I can’t risk exposure of any kind. Lorenzo Ramirez might not pull the trigger, but his hands are as bloody as the ones he pays to do it.
Chapter 2
Cybil
Dallas, Texas
Monday night
The Dallas Museum of Art buzzes with excitement over the surprise headliner, country star Bart Jennings, but my attention keeps sweeping to the hunk of muscle who could be Vin Diesel’s stunt double. I’m hoping he’s more furious than fast—I’m confident I can outrun furious. But the way his right arm hangs, I know there’s a gun beneath his tuxedo coat, and the scars on his knuckles tell me he’s not the type to rely solely on the weapon at his side to take down an adversary.
