“Where will you be living?” asked her mom.
On a sigh, Halston replied, “Wherever they tell me.”
Her mom leaned across the table. “That’s a great disguise, honey. I would have walked right by you.”
Halston laughed. “Youdidwalk right by me.”
“Smart to change your eye color,” her dad whispered. “Makes a big difference.”
“The wig too,” her mom whispered.
The conversation continued while she kept a vigilant eye on the salon entrance. Though risky to dine with her parents in public, Halston trusted that Wolf had chosen a safe place to spend a few hours.
At just before ten, she said goodbye. Though her heart ached when she hugged them, she had to push on. She felt incredibly grateful for this gift, but it was time for her to do her job.
Back in her hotel room, she packed for her flight home. After jumping on her Russian work laptop, she toggled over to a secure site and logged in. She had every confidence her activities were monitored, so she wanted to leave a breadcrumb trail of herillegal ones. She spent a considerable amount of time studying the general area of the villa, then visualizing herself walking through the estate, room by room.
With her plan solidified, she changed into a skintight black shirt and pants. She replaced her running shoes with black boots, removed her wig, and pulled her hair into her signature Minka bun. After shoving her ski mask into the pocket of her black jacket, she collected the lock pick set, tugged on black gloves, and left her hotel room. Rather than take a taxi or rideshare, she’d use a hotel scooter.
At one-fifteen in the morning, she stopped at the desk, requested a scooter, and was given a code to unlock one. Since living in Russia, she hadn’t driven a car or ridden a bike, let alone a scooter. As she wove her way through the quiet streets, she stayed laser focused on her intention. Get in, find the thumb drive, get out.
Fifteen-minutes later, she whizzed into the upscale neighborhood and rode slowly past the villa. The streets were devoid of traffic, the homes dark. She hoped that would work to her advantage. After parking down the street from the residence, she pulled on her ski mask and made her way toward it.
The expansive white building, with its beautiful Mediterranean architecture, stood dark against the nighttime sky. At the gated entrance, she punched in the security code and the gates silently swung open.
At the front door, she pulled out a pick and slid it in the lock. Nothing, so she toggled it. Still nothing. She changed it out for a slimmer pick and the lock clicked open. Once inside, the alarm started beeping as she entered the seven-digit code.
To her surprise, the alarm continued beeping. She punched in the code again, only slower. The blaring noise quieted, and she eyed the residence. Despite the dark home, her eyes adjusted well, and she made her way down the hall, pausing in theentryway of every room she passed. To say it was stunning didn’t do it justice. It was filled with exquisite pieces, but she couldn’t waste time admiring the décor.
She continued on until she found an office. In she went. A simple tabletop desk, no drawers. On it sat a large computer and keyboard, two desk lamps. She checked to see if the thumb drive was in the computer, but there was nothing. Facing the built-ins on the wall behind her, she turned on her phone’s flashlight and continued her search.
Her gaze fell on two framed pictures. Five sick-handsome men on a beautiful yacht named the Omega.
Wow.I haven’t gone on a date in forever. I’m man-starving myself to death.
She checked behind the framed photo. Nothing.
The second photo was of a larger group, some seated on a sofa, the same five men from the first picture stood behind it, like guards. Seated in the center of the sofa was an older woman. Flanking her sat several women who looked like they were around her age. Thirty-two.
For a fleeting second, envy flitted through her. She didn’t pose for pictures. Never took selfies either. She spent her life living in the shadows, leaving no footprint of her long days and lonely nights.
Stealth meant just that.
As she studied the photo, she homed in on one of the women sitting on the sofa.
Is that Caroline Austin?
Rather than dwell on the picture, she set it back on the shelf, then continued combing through the office. Despite her best efforts, she found no thumb drive. She hurried into the kitchen and glanced around. High-end appliances and white marble countertops filled the massive space. A beautiful tablethat seated ten completed the other side of the room. Dangling above, a modern chandelier.
Compared to this, she’d been living in a shithole. This villa had every luxury imaginable. Using her phone flashlight, she searched every kitchen drawer, every cabinet. She peered under the table, the chairs, even looked inside the refrigerator.
No thumb drive.
The minutes ticked by as she continued her diligent search. Nothing on the first floor, so she climbed the stairs. After scouring each of the three guest rooms, her hope started to fade. In the primary bedroom, she checked inside the night table.
Condoms.
She checked in the dresser drawers. No thumb drive there either.
