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Right up until she practically ran into a figure standing right before her.

“Sheriff Van Rijn. I’m so pleased you could make it to our little…shindig. I know you’re normally so…busy.”

Hanna managed to school her expression just in time, as Bryce Iverson stepped forward, crowding her space. She smiled as sweetly as she could, when instinct told her to bare her teeth and go for the Taser strapped discreetly on the inside of her dress.

“Mr. Iverson, I wouldn’t miss it. After all, Grace has become such a dear friend to me these past months.”

A flicker of something dark and dangerous crossed Bryce Iverson’s face, but it was gone in an instant, and he smiled broadly, showing bright, straight teeth.

“Yes, Grace has told me so much. I’m glad she has a…friend.”

They were speaking in the in-betweens, and one misstep could send Hanna plummeting to the depths below. Because she had snuck Grace out in the middle of the night with a go-bag, intending to protect her close to home until the feds were able to take over, and all had gone according to plan. But now Grace was missing, and the only reasonable explanation was that her husband had taken her back.

Hanna glanced around, returning Iverson’s overly bright smile. “And where is your beautiful wife this evening?”

She could hear Ash in her head, telling her not to push it, not to poke the very vicious bear standing right in front of her, crowding her in near the empty balcony doors, where no one could see them. But in Hanna’s mind, it wasn’t an unreasonable question. In normal circumstances, any lady of society would be on her husband’s arm at a special event.

Though, of course, none of this was normal circumstances.

Iverson cocked his head to the side. “She’s unfortunately feeling…less than her best. We thought she should take the night off, try to recover.”

Hanna had little doubt as to why Grace wasn’t feeling well, and it stirred a visceral, undeniable anger within her. She could feel the same tunneling she had felt in the hospital, that sense that the world was narrowing to a single point, only this time the point wasn’t panic or that feeling of falling into something dark and shadowy, but fury, harsh lines and broken bones. She wanted to grab Bryce Iverson by the collar, drag him to the edge of the balcony, and hold him there until he told her exactly what he had done to his wife.

“Hanna, I’ve been looking for you.”

A warm voice broke through the haze and fog, and Hanna was able to catch a single breath. As a police officer, she had to be better than her anger, even if that anger was justly directed at abusers who liked to take their troubles out on people weaker than them.

“And who is this?”

Another deep breath in, and Hanna’s heartrate began to slow, her vision clearing, and normal, rational thoughts returning. “This is our host, darling, Mr. Bryce Iverson. Mr. Iverson, may I introduce Niccolo?”

Iverson took obvious stock of Niccolo, clearly trying to place a man who could put on a tuxedo, but who would always look a little harsh around the edges, tendrils of ink peeking out of his collar and at his wrists. He had removed most of his earrings, but a dark hoop still circled the top of his ear, and a matching one adorned his brow.

And you like that, don’t you.

Hanna didn’t want to like it. She didn’t want to like any of this situation, but Nicco was a difficult man to ignore.

“Mr…?” Iverson stuck out his hand.

Nicco gave him a predator’s smile. “Please, call me Nicco.”

Iverson clearly clocked the lack of a last name, his brow scrunching for a fraction of a second before he smiled graciously. “Nicco, then I insist you call me Bryce. Tell me, what is it you do?”

Nicco shook Bryce Iverson’s hand, and Hanna watched the subtle flexing of muscle and bone as the two men clearly tested each other. “I’m in security.”

Vague enough, while still being close to the truth.

Iverson’s eyes lit up. “Ah, I’m all too familiar with that in my line of work.”

“Oil, if I’m not mistaken?” Nicco asked.

“And real estate,” Iverson replied. He let go first. “If land is involved, so am I.”

“Iverson, I’ve been looking for you.”

Hanna froze, her heart heavy as stone behind her shattering ribcage. She knew that voice far too well, with its silky-smooth lilt, deep baritone, and performer’s arch, like it was only used if someone was there to listen. She had heard it more than she ever needed to, but even the bold and stirring sermons on the television were nothing compared to the sound of Magnus Ralston III in real life.

“Well, Sheriff. This is a surprise.”