Page 107 of Locked and Loaded

The theatre spread out below exactly as Archer had described. Tiered seating surrounded a brightly lit stage where figures moved through pools of white light while the audience remained hidden in darkness.

Whoever had designed the room knew exactly what they were doing. The buyers could watch. The merchandise couldn't.

“Fuck,” Dragan muttered.

The word barely left his mouth before he forced himself to think.

Emotion got people killed. Options kept them alive.

He keyed his mic.

“Talk to me. Give me options.”

Silence settled over the comms.

No one liked the choices they had.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

She watched as the numbers rolled higher both in the donations column and in the auction column. The auction was doing exceptionally well. The numbers were coded by lot number, each one higher than she'd projected. The buyers were drinking. The wine was good. By the time Lot Fifteen went up, they'd be drunk enough to overpay and not drunk enough to default.

She'd made a hundred million dollars before the soup course.

The door to her room was locked. The hotel was quiet. She'd chosen it for its anonymity. Four-star, not five. Business travelers and flight crews, the kind of guests who kept to themselves and didn't ask questions. She'd checked in under a name that didn't exist. She'd paid cash for three nights even though she only needed one. She'd sweep the room when she left to wipe every surface, then walk out as if she'd never been there at all.

The laptop chimed. A transaction flag. One of the buyers had tried to pay with a wire that traced back to a sanctioned account. The system caught it and rejected it. The man would get a polite note from Fisher explaining that there had been a technical error and that his bid had not been processed. He would not get a second chance. She didn't do business with people who made mistakes.

She waited, but there was no note. Fisher knew it was mandatory for him to respond in a timely manner. She was logged into his accounts. Anything he did on the phone, she would see in real time. The buyer needed to be told, and the Lot needed to go back on the auction block.

She glanced at her watch. Where was Fisher?

She hit his number on her phone. And waited. It rang and rang.

The first vestiges of fear nibbled on her stomach.

She watched camera five. They were on Lot Eight. Scanning the room, it all looked in order. No panic. Security hadn’t responded. The buyers were still enjoying themselves. Where was Fisher? Had he gotten wind of what she was planning?

No. There was no way.

She leaned forward. There. The curtains at the doorway. Someone was watching. She zoomed in. Whoever it was, it wasn’t Fisher.

The curtain moved.

Just a flash.

It was enough.

Dragan Maric was in the vestibule along with someone else. Someone she didn’t know. Fisher appeared to be on the floor.

Ice ran through her heart, making it stutter. She checked the screen one more time. Lot Nine had just come on stage. She was six lots from the finish line. It was too early. She stared. She could sic security on Maric and his friend, but at what cost? The whole place would erupt in chaos.

There was no hope for it. She was going to have to cut her losses and go, but not before pulling the trigger on what she’d been planning for a very long time.

She picked up her phone. “It’s time,” she said. And then hung up.

Standing, she took one last look and then closed the laptop. The money would keep growing for maybe a lot or two more. Then chaos. She wished she could stay and watch, but she was smart enough to know when it was time to go.

She looked around the room. It was time to disappear.