“Actions speak louder than words,” Claire whispered as the elevator dinged its arrival on the top floor.
This was it. Game on.
She pulled Nadia’s forged keycard out and glanced at her watch. The current time was 5:21:46. In 74 seconds, she would have a ten-second window to enter a sixteen-digit code. If she missed the window, then that was that.
Game over.
The sixteen-digit code regenerated every ten seconds, and Claire knew the number the system would accept at 5:23:00 like most girlfriends knew the code to their man’s lock screen. The algorithm that generated the code was supposed to be unpredictable, but math was math and Claire had always been good with numbers.
Using Nadia’s face to get inside without tripping alarms was the hard part. Claire dug around in her replica of Nadia’s purse to make standing around look a little more natural to whoever was watching on the cameras.
One minute left.
When the rummaging started to feel a little excessive, Claire pulled out her phone and started reciting the sixteen-digit code in her head—looping it again and again (and again)—to distract herself from the ping in her gut that whispered she was missing something.
She refused to listen.
What if Jack doubted himself when he was out in the field? What if he flinched back when he needed to push forward?
Where would they all be then?
Claire needed to do what Margot had been pushing her to do for months and start stepping into her power.
She. Could. Do. This.
When time hit 5:22:50, Claire walked over to the door, key card ready.
Three… two… one.
Claire swiped the card and punched in the sixteen digits. The light flashed green, and the door lock released.
Boom. She was in.
Claire wanted to congratulate herself on ninety-six hours well-spent to get that part right, but this was a timed event. She had thirty seconds to enter a secondary code inside the doors, and two minutes to log in at Nadia’s desk.
You’re missing something, a voice in the back of her mind whispered. When Claire ignored it, it upped its taunting. You’d need an abacus to count what you’re missing right now.
Refusing to be bullied by her own cowardice, Claire entered the standard code into the secondary security system.
Another green light. Hurdle two complete, and one more to go.
A study of Nadia had revealed she was one of those types who only changed her password when a system popup forced her. Those popups appeared every three months in the office, and her last password change had been two weeks ago. She’d reset it to C@pta!nAm3ric@. Hard to guess, but easy to memorize.
Quick steps took Claire from the second security panel to Nadia’s computer. The press of a key brought the computer out of sleep mode, and all Claire had to do was type in the password before the lights for the entire floor came on as if it were normal work hours.
Success! The floor was officially clear … so why was she twice as nervous as she’d been on the elevator?
Claire looked up from Nadia’s screen and down the hallway to Margot’s office.
Don’t do it, an invisible voice warned. You won’t see what’s coming next.
If the little voice hadn’t swayed her before, it was definitely falling on deaf ears now that her plan was on track. She refused to allow vague fears to dictate her actions when she was standing in the middle of planned success.
What was the point of breaking in only to run away from what you came for?
Going into Margot’s office was a requirement now.
Stepping away from Nadia’s desk, Claire walked down the hall to Margot’s office. She walked these halls every day, but nerves suddenly had everything feeling unfamiliar and a bit hostile.
A desk can’t be hostile, she reminded herself. A desk was a desk. She knew that. This new sensation of being watched from every direction was a trick of the mind.
Everything’s fine, she coached herself, still walking. It’s your imagination. Nothing’s moved. You’re fine. It’s fine.
You’re missing something.
No. That was not the inner voice she needed right now. Ignoring it, Claire doubled-down on her pace until her hand wrapped around the cool doorknob. A turn and a step later, she was in.
See? Claire thought as she stepped into the familiar office. That wasn’t so hard. No reason to—
Her eyes locked on the only movement in the room: a timer counting down on the wallscreen.
3:32 … 3:31 …
That was new.
What was it counting down to? And why? Claire had no idea, which meant she didn’t know where to start in stopping it. Although finding its control panel seemed like a great first step.
Knowing Margot’s desk was the best place to start, Claire raced over and took a seat.
“Okay,” she breathed, trying to focus. “There should be a prompt or something, right? Do I just need to log in?”
Pulling a recorder out of her pocket, Claire pressed play.
“Let’s get to work,” Margot’s voice said out of the speaker, which woke up the screen but did nothing to stop the clock. Claire tried moving the cursor over the timer and clicking. Nothing.
I told you, the little voice in her gut taunted.
“Shut up!” she hissed. “You couldn’t have seen this coming.”
You’re right, it replied. I saw the other thing you missed.
No. No. No.
She couldn’t entertain self-defeating taunts right now and start breaking down. She needed to focus on answers, not fears.
“Think, think, think,” she muttered to herself, looking around. The countdown was probably a secondary alarm. Margot didn’t leave anything to chance, and this building was basically her castle.
Claire closed her eyes, imagining the room with all its details before looking to see if anything new had been installed that might account for this unforeseen hiccup.
The room was exactly how she remembered it, and the clock was nearing two minutes.
She needed to make a choice: did she want to find out where Jack and Margot were, or did she want to keep looking for the code to the counter until security forces descended upon her?
Given that the latter seemed inevitable at this point, Claire moved back to the desk and went all in on Plan A: Find out where everyone was.
She selected the next file on the recorder and pressed play.
“Authorize Claire Ramsey as a user,” Margot said from the speaker, and Claire swallowed back her guilt for breaking her boss’s trust.
“Welcome, Claire,” the computer said.
“Hi there,” she replied, trying for normal. “Pull up the GPS locator, please.”
The wall filled with an atlas image of the earth. Claire took a breath, telling herself she was ready for both a best- and a worst-case scenario with what came next.
“Show me the locations of Jack, Margot, and Ren,” she commanded.
An Error icon popped onto the screen before the computer replied. “I’m sorry. That function is unavailable.”
Unavailable? How was that possible?
“Show me their last known locations,” Claire said, glancing at the countdown clock again. 1:43 …1:42 … 1:41 …
A glowing dot appeared in the middle of the South Pacific.
Well, that wasn’t helpful.
Claire pulled out the keyboard Margot never used, her hands flying over the keys to pull up the flight plans filed by the pilots of both Margot’s and Jack’s flights.
There were none. As far as paper trails went, their flights didn’t exist.
What was going on? It was one thing not to leave a trail in the real world, but Margot always kept her own records. Nothing was ever omitted there.
1:04 … 1:03 … 1:02 …
“Focus, focus, focus,” she coached herself. What was she missing?
0:53 … 0:52 …
She clicked on the countdown clock, searching for
its source code. It didn’t seem to be attached to the computer’s operating system.
Focus, she told herself. You have forty-eight seconds. What are you going to do with them?
Taking a moment to reflect, Claire made the choice to pull up the security cameras in Margot’s jet hangar and rewound the footage to when she knew Margot left. When she reached the part where Margot pulled up her Tesla, Claire pressed play.
An SUV pulled up behind the Tesla and Ren stepped out. He motioned for two men to stay with Margot before stepping onto the jet for a security check. No doubt it had already been screened, but Ren never took chances when it came to Margot’s safety. Ever.
Everything looked normal to Claire, except for the amount of luggage. Margot was a heavy packer, but the bags for this trip made it look more like she was moving into a second home than taking a weekend trip.
Based on the body language of the men loading the jet, most of the boxes appeared quite light. They definitely weren’t moving gold bricks. And was that a hat box? The last time Claire had seen one was in her grandmother’s closet, but it had looked similar to what she was seeing now. In fact, it looked like 90% of everything being loaded might very well be clothing of some sort.
Intrigued, Claire didn’t notice the countdown clock again until it stopped.
0:00.
No alarms went off. No red lights started flashing. It just zeroed out and…nothing.
Was it a decoy? That would be far too convenient, and Claire had a sheen of sweat over her entire body that told her the countdown clock definitely came with consequences. If nothing else, it was only a matter of time before security popped up like a jack-in-the-box.
She stared at the office door, half waiting for someone to bust in and catch her. Or maybe they’d come at her through Margot’s private elevator.
Whatever the case, she’d look them in the eye when they came and accept her fate.
“You prioritize like a woman in love,” a baritone voice said from behind her, causing her to literally jump up out of her seat and scream like a little girl.
Chapter 2
Claire
Claire was not alone.
There was an intruder—a dark-haired man with unreal green eyes that somehow caught the light as he lurked in the shadows. Tall and fit, he looked ready for a fashion shoot in his dapper suit and close-trimmed beard.
Do. Not. Scream…again. Do not freak. Coherency is your only bargaining chip, and you work here. He doesn’t.
For the first time that day, Claire wasn’t arguing with her instincts. They were definitely getting this one right.
“How did you get in here?” she accused.
“Someone left the door open.”
Oh. Yeah. That would be her. She opened the floor. And left it open.
Whoops.
But that still didn’t explain what this man was doing in Margot’s office wearing the most refined suit she’d ever seen. Part of Claire felt reassured that if this man was an assassin, it would be a tidy affair. He wouldn’t want to get blood on his clothes.
“Who are you?” she asked, trying to get a sense for exactly how much trouble she was in.
“I’m the boss’s son.”
That made no sense. “Margot is the boss.”
He seemed to weigh her answer. “Depends on how you look at it. If you’re talking about the business, yes. That’s Margot’s. But if we’re talking about what brought you here tonight, then Jack works for my father. His line has served ours faithfully for many years. We like Jack.”
Wait. What? Claire knew Ren’s family had served Margot’s for generations, but she’d always thought that more as a bodyguard thing. Jack wasn’t a bodyguard. He was a problem-solver for the elite. When people growing into their power started doing things that threatened the safety of civilians, Jack was brought in to—
Something clicked in Claire’s brain.
It wasn’t like her to be the last one to catch on to something, but everything Claire had seen in the past year fit very nicely into this man’s claim. When a job came in, Jack and Margot did it. They didn’t argue over its merit or vet the client. They solved the problem.
Because someone asked—allegedly, this guy’s father.
Either this man was an assassin sent to kill her, or the boss’s son had just caught her red-handed. Whatever the case, running away and pretending this never happened didn’t seem to be an option.
Stand your ground, instinct whispered.
“You need to make a choice before you speak again, Claire,” the green-eyed man said. “You must decide if you’ve been caught where you ought not to be, or if you’re exactly where you want to be.”
Um, both felt like traps the way he said them.
And, wait. Why was she assuming he was telling the truth and letting him take the power position in the conversation? Just because he had hypnotic eyes and the physical presence of an ancient tree didn’t mean he was some invisible boss’s son. He had no default high ground and Claire was a master negotiator. She’d developed and refined a program that allowed her to virtually pose as anyone she wanted—down to every relevant nuance—to gather information and influence events. She could navigate a conversation any way she wanted.
Online. Anonymously.
She’d never quite mastered the knack of doing the same thing in person.
Well, no time like the present. If she could handle this guy through a computer, she could outsmart him in person.
Game on.
Claire’s chin came up a half inch as she looked into those green eyes dead on and…told the truth.
“I don’t think either of us are supposed to be here.”
The man’s head tilted with interest. “True. I’m supposed to be at a ball right now, and you’re supposed to be on a well-deserved, company-sponsored vacation. Yet here we are. What are the chances?”
Pretty high, considering they had both definitely planned on showing up in Margot’s office that night.
Claire spent another moment taking in the man’s manicured elegance as he stood at an unthreatening distance, giving her space. The distance was an illusion of safety, of course. This man had a physical advantage over her, but he was making a point to give her breathing room for some reason. It made her trust him a little bit, which was probably the point. Whatever he had planned would play out easier if she had her guard down.
She couldn’t fall for it.
Clearing her mind of all preconceived notions, Claire took in the intruder with fresh eyes.
He was masculine from haircut to shoes, yet somehow more beautiful than some of the vainest women Claire knew. What wasn’t symmetrical about him was a vision of asymmetrical balance, and part of Claire’s mind shut off as she looked at him, simply enjoying his tailored perfection. What the Akhal Teke was to horses, this man was to humans. There was an inexplicable shine and glow to him.
It was hard to believe she was looking at an assassin. It was more likely she was looking at someone who might possibly be more OCD than her. In fact, based on his tailored clothes, he was definitely more OCD than her.
“I think current evidence supports that neither of us is here by chance tonight,” Claire finally managed to reply.
The man smiled, revealing perfect white teeth that made his skin appear more bronze than she’d initially noted. He stepped forward. “This life is nothing if not a game of chance, my dear, with every creature doing their best to play the odds of the cards they are dealt.”
Intrigued by the philosophical slant of his words yet terrified by his forward momentum, Claire focused all her energy on holding her ground as the man moved to stand across from her.
“Is that your answer to my question?” he said.
What question? It wasn’t like Claire to forget, but she was drawing a blank. He seemed to sense her confusion, and asked again.
“Did I catch you here by chance, or are you right where you want to be, Claire Ramsey?”
This is not a ma
n you are going to outsmart, her gut whispered, again telling her something she already knew. Claire could count on one hand the number of times she’d met someone she didn’t stand a mental chance against, but she’d never felt more certain she was out of her depth than that moment. Something about this guy didn’t seem entirely human, and Claire was fairly certain she’d tripped onto his game board. A game was afoot, and he was trying to tell her it was her move.
Play dumb, or play ball? That was the question. But no matter how she answered, it was clear this man—boss’s son, or not—was here to play ball. He wanted something.
He stood there, the model of patience, as Claire made her decision.
“You already know the answer,” she said, almost as an accusation.
“I believe so,” he agreed. “But do you?”
The man had a knack for questions.
“Does Claire Ramsey want to step forward or backward today?” he mused.
Only one answer came to mind.
His green eyes found hers again, just as one of Margot’s security guards stepped into the room from the hallway. Lennox. Claire knew Lennox. He would save her.
“You have two choices, Claire. We can either terminate your employment and Len can show you home, or you can join me at the ball, with Margot and Jack.”
Well, when he put it like that one option definitely sounded better than the other. But was he speaking in metaphors? A ball? Like, a literal ball with dresses and dancing?
“I don’t have a dress—”
“A dress will be provided,” he said with gentlemanly ease. “As will a carriage to the ball. Like Cinderella, you need only show up.”
Claire’s mind went back to the security footage from the airport hangar, and all the clothing she’d seen Margot loading onto the plane. The story of going to a ball fit.
“There is even a glass-footwear option, if you like,” he continued. “But I will warn you that I hear glass shoes make for awkward dancing. Sweat and glass don’t go well together. But, if you want to suffer in the name of fashion, I can assign a footman to wipe them with regularity.”
There was no way he was being serious. Yet, one look later, Claire could only believe that he was.
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