I know Flynn wants me to stay away from the senator. Honestly, I don’t have much desire to go anywhere near the supposed leader of the Kings Society but the alternative, just standing back and letting Flynn kill him, doesn’t feel right either.
My parents’ killer got away without ever paying for what he did and the thought of someone like Claren getting away makes me sick, but does that make it okay for Flynn to kill him? Surely, if we can find enough evidence, then the police won’t have any choice but to arrest him. And what better place to find out someone’s secrets than a gala full of important people who are drinking too much?
Screw it, if I leave my phone at home, Flynn won’t even know I’m gone.
Hazel
Okay, I’m in.
Danny
You’re my hero. Let me know your address, I’ll pick you up in half an hour.
I give Danny my address then head to my bedroom to try and find an outfit that might be at least vaguely suitable for a charity gala.
My anxiety builds as I get ready and I tell myself it’s because the closest I’ve ever been to a gala is my middle school prom and not because I’m so flagrantly ignoring Flynn’s rules.
I settle on a low-cut crimson dress with a scooped back and kitten heels and Danny’s reaction when I walk outside goes a long way to settling my nerves.
He whistles low, his gaze sweeping over me. “I think I might be the envy of every man in the room tonight.”
I smile at his charm but point a finger at him. “This is not a date.”
He holds up his hands, the pristine white shirt of the tuxedo he’s wearing bright in the unlit drive. “Of course not. Just two friends keeping each other company among a crowd of rich, insufferable socialites.”
“You’re really selling this.”
“I’m kidding. Sort of.” He holds out his hand and helps me down the steps to his car. “It will be fun. I’ll even introduce you to the senator.”
I stumble, my heart tripping up my feet at the thought of shaking hands with that man now I know what he’s done.
“Woah, you okay?” Danny grips my elbow, steadying me.
I give him a shaky smile. “Yeah, sorry, not used to heels.”
Danny’s car is still warm from the heater, so I take my shawl off as we drive to the hotel where the gala is being held.
“So, how’s the research going?”
“What?”
Danny glances over at me from the driver’s seat. “The research. For your article.”
“Oh.” My brain is a blank page. Lois Lane would be appalled. “It’s uh, going good.”
Danny cuts me a look. “Uh huh. Must be an intense job being an investigative reporter.”
I press my lips together and hum in agreement.
And the Oscar goes to…
One of Danny’s eyebrows disappears under the loose coils flopped over his forehead.
I fiddle with the strap of my purse, suddenly feeling like maybe it wasn’t the best idea to get into a car with an almost stranger without my phone.
If Danny doesn’t believe me though, he lets it go and when we arrive at the gala, I no longer have time to stress about Danny. No, I’m too busy stressing about how out of place I feel in this ballroom the size of a football field.
Danny and I are clearly late to the party and dozens of guests mill around the room, drinking champagne and picking canapes off trays that may as well be floating in the air for all the attention they pay to the waiters.
