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Safe as houses.
Or safe as tits.
Either way no one was getting their hands in there.
The only thing that might be a dead giveaway of her out-of-placeness was her shoes. She’d been able to fit a dress under her gear, but it wasn’t like she had room in her pack for heels. Even if she had, what a kind of dumbass would carry heels with them on a supposedly easy snatch and grab?
So she was wearing lightweight black slip-on shoes designed for free running. Better these than the bright pink and teal ones she had at home, but not the most ideal footwear for a gala event either.
She wove her way through the sparse crowd towards the heart of the event. The more people around her the less she’d stand out. Harper could just walk out the front door, but she had a suspicion she’d probably waltz right into a waiting guard, and then she’d be up a creek.
Come to think of it, what was up with the guards?
Earlier she’d been too busy running for her life to give it much thought, but now she had to wonder. What was a Colombian museum doing with a dozen heavily armed guards protecting one item? Sure, the amulet was worth a butt-ton of money. Yes, a ton of other groups aside from the Syndicate were probably interested in it. All fair points. But she had never seen that level of security before at an event like this.
The guards reminded her of something but she was having a hard time putting a finger on it. Without a doubt they weren’t museum security. Put perhaps the exhibit had called for a little bit… extra.
A waiter passed by her carrying a full tray of champagne flutes and she grabbed one, tipping the bubbly gold liquid into her mouth as she scanned the crowd.
More guards in here. Big guys in dark suits near each exit, all wearing small earpieces. The way they watched the room she knew without a doubt they’d been tipped off to the theft. They all wore the same eager, intense expressions, like they were hungry for a kill.
And she was the lone fox to their slavering hounds.
Not today, gents, she thought smugly.
Still, the ease with which they carried their weapons—concealed in the case of the ones here, but still no less obvious to her—was setting off a million of her internal alarm bells. These were not average guards. Not even hired help.
These were professional killers masquerading as bouncers.
Her blood went cold.
Who would need such heavy-handed security?
She had an idea, and it didn’t give her the warm and fuzzies.
Harper peered through the crowd, trying to find the easiest exit. The guards appeared to be stopping anyone who tried to leave and enforcing a pat-down. Not ideal, but she could probably still get out okay given where the amulet was currently hidden.
One of the guards looked over and spotted her staring. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and Harper faked her best smile, pretending like she was checking him out. She gave a flirtatious wink and he merely glowered more.
All right, no feminine wiles for that guy.
She took another slow sip of her champagne and crossed that particular exit off her list. When she glanced back over her shoulder she noticed the guard had left his post and was making a beeline directly for her.
Shit.
Taking inventory of the area in her immediate vicinity her gaze landed on a young-ish, lean-looking man near the edge of the dance floor. He was reading index cards and mouthing the words, like he was practicing a speech. He had lovely, wavy black hair and copper skin that was currently paled with obvious nerves.
Perfect.
He glanced up towards the stage and Harper got a really good look at him, and for a moment her breath caught in her throat. She’d taken him for the professorial type because of his glasses, but now she could tell he was unlike any professor she had ever seen before. He had lovely brown eyes, and his face was stunning, all statuesque angles and strong features. He seriously looked like a Greek god carved out of marble. Harper’s cheeks flushed and her ears got warm.
This wasn’t going to be a hardship after all.
Harper set her glass on a passing tray and grabbed hold of the man as she moved towards the dance floor.
“Dance with me.”
