“I can’t help it. They’re very loud.”
“My vitals are loud?”
“To me, yes.” His expression warms. “You’re very alive, Poppy. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I just lean into him and watch the sunset.
CHAPTER 26
JULIAN
The rehearsal dinner is held in the resort’s private dining room—an intimate space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. Twenty-three people. Thirty-six heartbeats, if you count the staff.
Three exits. Main entrance, service door near the kitchen, emergency exit behind the decorative screen in the corner. The windows are tempered glass—not ideal for a quick departure, but manageable. The staff rotates every twelve minutes, which gives me predictable blind spots in coverage.
“So,” Poppy’s voice is quiet, pitched just for me. “You planning a heist?”
“Not a heist. An extraction.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Heists involve taking things. Extractions involve protecting them.” I guide her toward our assigned seats, my hand at the small of her back. “You’re the thing I’m protecting.”
“That’s either romantic or creepy. I haven’t decided.”
“Let me know when you figure it out.”
The seating arrangement places us near the center of the table—bad for defense, good for appearing like a happy couple. I adjust our chairs, angling myself toward the main entrance without being obvious about it.
Catherine Gable is already seated at the head of the table, holding court with the Morgan family patriarch. Her champagne glass is half-empty, which explains the elevated volume of her opinions about the flower arrangements.
I activate my earpiece. “Marcus. Status.”
“Damien returned to his room after the rehearsal. No movement since. Elena’s at the bar with sightlines to the dining room entrance. Sofia’s doing a perimeter sweep. Nathaniel’s running backup from the pool deck.”
“Any indication he’ll attend?”
“Negative.”
He’s letting me stew, letting the anticipation build. The same pattern he’s used since this whole horrible game began.
“Keep me updated.”
“Always.”
“Did you just move your chair again?” she observes.
“Better sightlines.”
“To what? The bread basket?”
“To everything.” I reach for her hand under the table. Her pulse jumps at the contact. She’s alert. Aware. Ready. “Try to relax.”
“Says the man who just repositioned his chair.”
“Hypervigilance is my love language.”
She laughs. Even now, surrounded by threats, she can still laugh. Still find humor in the absurdity of our situation.
