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SIXTEEN
Decima
Garrison cleaned up nice.
Seeing him in his new tailored tuxedo, I couldn’t seem to peel my eyes away from him. He strutted up the sidewalk toward the hotel that was the site of our current mission with a confidence that shouted, “I’m rich, and you’re below me.” A mask, I had no doubt, but one that would fit the fundraiser we were crashing perfectly.
His hair had been arranged elegantly atop his head—all the shaggy dirty blond strands falling in a way that looked both styled and messy simultaneously. His well-built frame might not have been quite as massively brawny as Julius’s or as dangerously toned as Talon’s, but it filled out the suit to impressive effect, one I suspected the other men around us had to envy. He moved with a sense of power that practically radiated through the air.
Which was good, because our fellow attendees were among the most powerful figures in business and politics in this part of the country. I only hoped that I could give off half as convincing a vibe.
I was more used to slinking through the shadows than being on display. Noelle had taught me how to handle myself among the wealthy and pompous, of course, but it’d always taken more energy than the stealthier parts of my missions.
After he flashed the fake IDs at the door and we’d been ushered in thanks to Blaze’s prep work, Garrison tsked his tongue at me teasingly. “You’re staring… again.”
“Just making sure you’re not giving off any red flags,” I said, which was a total lie, but he didn’t need to know that. His ego was big enough as it was.
Anyway, I should be focused on the job, not my co-conspirator. I tugged my gaze away to take in the mass of people circulating the room.
Champagne was flowing, its crisp scent tickling into my nose, and rich patrons in designer clothes tittered in that way that passes for laughter when you need to keep up appearances. I resisted the urge to tug at my own sleek silk evening gown.
This was a fundraising event for Damien Malik, and we intended to use it to find out exactly what intel the guests had on him and his activities. Rich people always had information that didn’t belong to them. I’d learned that through my years of infiltrating similar parties.
It only took a bit of manipulation to get people like this talking, but that was Garrison’s specialty. I was going to practice my pickpocketing skills.
I caught Garrison’s eye with a subtle nod to indicate I was going to get started, and he returned it with a flash of a smile that was warmer than anything he’d aimed at me recently. I couldn’t tell whether it was part of his act or whether he’d actually gotten his head on straighter since Julius had chided us for our argument the other day. For now, either was fine.
Leaving him behind to work his verbal magic, I roamed through the crowd. Some thieves relied on distraction to get the job done, but that meant drawing the target’s attention to you first. I didn’t want anyone even thinking about me when they noticed their phones were missing.
I dipped my hand into one woman’s sparkly purse and tugged another phone from a posh gentleman’s back pocket. Discreetly tucking them into my own purse, which was the largest I could get away with wearing this outfit and doctored with special lining to block the signal, I stalked onward. I’d take as many as I could get, as many devices as offered themselves in easy reach. There was no telling who might have passed on a stray observation or bit of gossip about the man we were most interested in.
A couple of guys I recognized from Blaze’s research into Malik’s security detail stepped into view. I handily dodged them, weaving my way toward the other end of the room. Spotting a man who looked particularly well-connected based on the numbers of hangers-on gathered around him, I managed to trip one of the women next to him without her even realizing what’d knocked her off balance, brushed past the man as he leaned in to steady her, and scored his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket quick as lightning. No one suspected a thing.
My purse was starting to feel pretty full. It weighed on my elbow, where I’d left it dangling. I grabbed a glass of champagne to give myself the extra cover of alcohol if anyone noticed any odd movements and circulated through the crowd some more, keeping my ears pricked for interesting conversation rather than my fingers slippery.
I was right in the middle of the vast ballroom when my gaze caught on Damien Malik himself. At the sight of his neatly slicked silvery hair and polished smile, my stomach dipped. I sidled out of his line of sight, monitoring him from the edge of my vision. My pulse thumped harder.
The man the crew had interrogated had all but confirmed that Malik was involved in the organization that ran the household. I had no idea whether he knew anything about my kidnapping and training or if his connection was in some other area, but a thread of tension ran through my chest all the same.
How big a menace was this man who pretended to be trying to make the country a more peaceful place?
My fingers itched, and I couldn’t help wondering whether it’d be better just to kill him now. I could wait until he strayed away from the crowd and accomplish it so quickly no one would realize what’d happened until I was well away. Or slip into the kitchen and quickly concoct one of the basic poisons I’d learned and slip that into a drink or hors d’oeuvres.
I reined that impulse in. All of my missions before I’d met the crew had been with the intention to kill, but that wouldn’t actually help me now. Malik was our main lead to the rest of the surviving organization, now that Noelle and everyone else from the household was dead. He’d lead us to the people responsible for my imprisonment one way or another.
Besides, we didn’t know for sure that his association with those people was as an ally and not a victim of some sort. It was possible that the man we’d interrogated had refused to talk because he didn’t want to reveal other plans his employer had in the works that would target the politician.
I might have gone for one last phone—Malik’s—but I doubted there was anything on there that Blaze hadn’t already found on his computer, which didn’t amount to much. No, right now we wanted to know what people who didn’t necessarily have his best interests at heart were saying to or about him.
After a few more minutes, I spotted Garrison, and then I stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t approach him, because he was obviously still doing his own work—which at the moment involved leaning close to a middle-aged woman with a sculpted updo as she giggled at something he’d said. She tapped the lapel of his suit, and he responded with a reserved grin I suspected was designed to give her hope while not promising his continued attention. He let his fingers trail over her wrist.
My teeth set on edge. A different urge gripped me, one to march right over there and tear them apart. Which was ridiculous, because he was only doing his job getting her to open up, and besides, we weren’t really anything to each other than colleagues. He’d made it very clear that one hookup on the rooftop hadn’t changed that.
Still, seeing her fingers caress his sleeve provoked another flare of jealousy. I distracted myself by turning away and searching out one of the attendants carrying their trays of little treats. I ate the bit of toast and caviar I selected slowly, trying to make even my bites look elegant. Then I meandered over to a table in the corner.
To my surprise, Garrison sauntered over not long after. He stopped beside me, taking a sip from his glass of champagne, and tipped his head casually toward my purse. “Good haul?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing to scoff at,” I replied. “How about you?”
