Chapter 4 - The Lake Forest Ghost
By dawn, the conservatory looked as though nothing had happened.
The shattered glass was gone. The antique plates had been swept away. The marble floor had been scrubbed with industrial solvents until it gleamed like a mirror. If I hadn’t witnessed the man take his last breath, I would have thought the entire night was a fever dream.
Except for the armed guards stationed every ten feet along the perimeter, carrying automatic rifles under heavy coats.
I sat at the polished dining table, staring at a plate of eggs and fruit I couldn't stomach. Across from me, Adrian was drinking espresso, reading through a stack of surveillance reports. He had showered; his dark hair was still slightly damp, brushed back from his high forehead. A razor-thin scratch ran along his jawline—the only evidence of the night’s violence.
“Eat,” he said without looking up.
“I can’t.”
“You need your strength.”
“For what? Avoiding snipers while I dust the chandeliers?”
Adrian set his cup down with a soft click. He looked at me across the expanse of mahogany. “You have a sharp tongue for a woman who witnessed an execution six hours ago.”
“Humor is my defense mechanism,” I shot back. “Terror is my backup plan.”
Julian walked in before Adrian could respond, holding an encrypted tablet. “The hit was contracted out of Detroit. Victor Marcone’s signature all over it. But they had the gate codes, Adrian. Internal codes updated forty-eight hours ago.”
The air in the room instantly dropped ten degrees.
“Who had access to those codes?” Adrian asked, his voice deceptively calm.
“Five people,” Julian replied. “Sal, Marco, Keller, Dominic, and myself.”
“Then one of them is already dead; they just don’t know it yet,” Adrian said quietly. He stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. “We move the timetable. Tonight’s gala at the Drake Hotel goes forward as planned.”
Julian hesitated, glancing at me. “And her?”
Adrian looked down at me, his gaze lingering on my face long enough to make my pulse jump. “She’s coming with me.”
“To a mafia gala?” I choked out, standing up so fast my chair screeched. “Have you lost your mind? I’m a cleaner! I belong in an apron, not an evening gown! I’ll blow your cover in thirty seconds!”
Adrian stepped around the table until he was standing directly in front of me. He reached out, his long fingers catching my chin and tilting my head up. His touch was warm, possessive, and completely unapologetic.
“You won’t blow anything,” he murmured, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “Tonight, Victor Marcone expects me to be rattled. He expects me to arrive with a fortress of armed guards, hiding behind bulletproof glass. Instead, I’m walking into his territory with a stunning woman on my arm.”
“I’m not a shield, Voss.”
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“No,” Adrian said, his eyes burning with an unreadable flame. “You’re my alibi. And the clearest message I can send him that he hasn't even scratched the surface of my armor.”
***