“No,” he says. “Rescue line. Safe house in Portland. First contact gets her out.”
Movement near the bar catches my attention.
The bouncer from the door stands rigid beside a bald man in a slate gray suit. Wired into something. The man presses two fingers to his earpiece and glances up.
The bouncer follows his line of sight.
So do I.
The upper hallway glows with low gold light, throwing long shadows across velvet curtains. Dante stands at the center of it, leaning against the railing. Rings catch the light as he moves. His face is calm.
His gaze finds mine.
And stays there.
I slide my hand beneath the table, fingers closing around cold metal.
“Beau, get ready.”
He finishes his drink in one swallow, sets the glass down with a soft click, and rolls his knuckles.
“I stay ready.”
The crowd shifts. Security tightens. Someone moves toward the stairs.
I stand slowly, one hand still inside my jacket. Beau slides out of the booth, Glock already in hand.
“Here we fucking go.”
Chapter 22
Brooke
Blue water. Lungs. One hundred twenty seconds.
Elliot leans forward the moment he sees the shift in my face. His smile widens slightly, like this is something he’s been waiting for.
“You know, professional swimmers can hold their breath for what, five, six minutes?” He tilts his head, thinking it over. “Average person?” A small shrug. “Not even close. Maybe a minute. Less, if they panic.”
His eyes lock onto mine.
“So… how long do you think you can hold yours?”
Then his gaze drifts past me, toward the pool a few feet away.
“Before we start,” he adds lightly, like it’s an afterthought, “we have a guest.”
He reaches for a remote on the table beside him and clicks it.
A massive screen on the far wall blinks to life. The image sharpens, and Kristie Talbert appears.
Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. Diamonds at her ears. She looks like she is sitting in a private office somewhere warm and expensive. Like this is just another meeting on her calendar.
Elliot gestures toward me. “Kristie specifically asked to see how you are adjusting to the manor.”
The guards force me upright so I face the screen.
Kristie’s eyes travel slowly down my body. She takes in the bruises, the torn fabric, the way the guards hold me like a prisoner.
