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This time I turn, nodding a greeting at the man. Hendrick’s head of security. It was a subtle, deliberate drop of information, wrapped in easy banter, but I take it for what it is. A warning.
“Nice to meet you, Damon,” I say. I don’t offer my hand.
The man isn’t dressed like security. He’s got dark chocolate hair, blue eyes, an easy, charming smile, and he’s dressed like a guest. And wears an air of harmlessness that tells me he’s anything but.
“Likewise,” Damon agrees, not offering his, either.
Hendrick’s letting me know there’s the security and then there’ssecurity.
Walking up the stairs isn’t a matter of me slipping past the man with the gun on his hip and wire in his ear. It’s me needing to somehow turn invisible.
Hendrick’s got no idea why I’m here. He doesn’t know I’m working for his enemy, or I wouldn’t still be breathing. But he’s letting me know he doesn’t trust me.
The host claps his hands and steps further from me. “I’m sorry, Elena, but if this guy’s hovering near the fucking door like a creep who lives vicariously through voyeurism—”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” says Damon. “Not everyone can have your winning friends and influential people skills.”
“I’m needed elsewhere,” Hendrick says to me, ignoring Damon. “Save another dance.”
With that, they leave.
I stand for a moment, head down. Then I deliberately rub a temple, pour myself some more of his fine whiskey that I don’t want, and I sit again.
It wasn’t just easy banter, it was real banter. They’re close.
Jac’s got a rival for his affections.
I want to laugh, but it isn’t funny. I take a swallow of the whiskey, then set the glass down. Then I open my small bag. I pull out my compact and lipstick, check my makeup and touch up my lips. I look kissed, mussed, half-satiated, desperate for more, and I don’t even know who I want that more from.
Both men pack a punch.
Though, I’d take Hendrick. I like him more, if like is the right word. He doesn’t rub me the wrong way while stroking me exactly right like Jac. He pulls me in. His magnetic field’s off the charts.
Of course, I’m not taking either man. I angle the mirror. There’s no one outside the room, though voices and music float in. There’s another room near the stairs. And there’s one or two powder rooms up here, as well as downstairs.
I need to play this right.
Powers of invisibility aren’t in my skill set, but timing is. And bravado.
I slide the compact and lipstick away and unzip the hidden layer to the bag. The place where I’ll put the necklace if it’s here.
Waiting is the hard part. I know where the bathrooms are up here, I can picture the blueprints in my head. This room is away from the other open rooms, closer to the bathrooms.
I close my eyes and tune in to the sound of clicks of locks, of doors. I tune out the other noise.
When both bathrooms are occupied, I make my move. I pause at the door to the reading room as a small, unassuming painting catches my eye and takes my breath. A Picasso that’s worth…I don’t even know what it’s worth. My fingers itch, but I make myself ignore it and step into the hall.
There, I test both bathroom doors and then head to the room closest to the stairs. It’s an easy matter to trip someone coming out, spill my drink.
The security man near the stairs comes forward to help the woman.
I move past them and straight up the stairs, into the darkness and shadows.
There’s no time to pause. In my head I’m in need of a bathroom and there are plenty up here, but no one stops me as I take the stairs. I hit the landing and turn the handle of the first door. It’s locked. This time I try the door of the study. I half expect it to be locked, but the knob turns.
And I’m in.
Darkness has hues to it, and this is deep midnight blues and blacks. Light spilling in through the window gives a splash of gold, and I know the ensuite’s behind me, but I go to the desk and find the lamp, switching it on. Always have an excuse, and I wouldn’t be in here looking for a bathroom in the dark, so light. Also, it helps.
