Chapter 1 - The Stranger She Chose
Khloe grabbed the stranger's jacket and whispered, "Kiss me. They're watching us."
Victor's hand closed around the glass in his palm.
A red reflection moved across the mirrored column behind her.
Then it vanished.
This wasn't a woman trying to flirt with him.
Someone was hunting her.
Victor Rossi had spent most of his adult life learning not to react.
Fear made people careless. Anger made them predictable. Surprise was simply another word for information arriving faster than a man could process it.
So when the terrified woman crashed into his chest in the middle of the Beaumont Hotel's Gold Room, Victor didn't shove her away.
He studied her.
Dark curls had escaped the loose knot at the back of her head. Her emerald dress was elegant enough to pass among the donors surrounding them, but it wasn't custom-made. Her earrings were inexpensive. Her breathing was too fast.
And her hands were shaking.
"Kiss me," she whispered again. "Please."
Victor looked past her shoulder.
Two men stood near the coat check.
Neither belonged there.
Victor knew nearly every serious security contractor in Chicago. He knew which men worked for wealthy families, which worked for politicians, and which accepted money from people who preferred not to have their names written down.
He didn't recognize these two.
That bothered him.
Ten feet away, Javier Morales caught Victor's eye.
Victor gave him nothing more than a tiny movement of his chin.
Javier understood.
The woman followed Victor's gaze and started to turn.
"Don't," he murmured.
She froze.
"Look at me."
She obeyed.
Her eyes were brown.
Terrified, but alert.
"What's your name?"
"Khloe."
"Last name."
"Bennett."
"Do they know you're here?"
"I think so."
"You think?"
Her fingers tightened around his lapels.
"I didn't know where else to go."
The men near the coat check separated.
One moved toward the ballroom entrance.
The other started toward Victor.
Then Victor saw something above them.
Movement.
Mezzanine.
A silhouette retreated behind a column.
Victor set his glass down.
"What are you doing?" Khloe whispered.
"Making your terrible idea work."
He slipped one arm around her waist.
Her eyes widened.
Then Victor pulled her against him.
He kissed her.
It lasted only seconds.
Long enough to become believable.
Long enough for every curious person within twenty feet to notice.
Victor Rossi—the private businessman who had spent years avoiding society photographs—was suddenly kissing an unknown woman beneath the largest chandelier in the Beaumont Hotel.
Someone dropped a fork.
Victor kept his eyes partially open.
In the mirrored column, he saw the man near the coat check stop.
Good.
Victor turned slightly, positioning his own body between Khloe and the mezzanine.
Her initial stiffness disappeared.
She understood.
This wasn't romance.
It was camouflage.
Victor broke the kiss but kept his face near hers.
"Smile."
"What?"
"Smile."
Khloe forced one.
It was terrible.
Victor almost laughed.
Instead, he murmured, "Walk."
His arm remained around her waist.
They moved toward the kitchen doors.
Behind them, Javier crossed the ballroom in the opposite direction.
"Don't look back," Victor said.
"Who are you?"
"Right now?"
His grip tightened slightly as another figure appeared in the mirrored wall.
"The reason you're still walking."
They reached the kitchen.
Victor pushed through the swinging doors.
Noise swallowed them.
Chefs moved between stainless-steel counters. Servers carried trays overhead. Steam rolled from industrial ovens.
Victor never slowed.
Khloe nearly stumbled trying to keep pace.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere without balconies."
"Those men—"
"I saw them."
"You believe me?"
"I believe someone was watching you."
They reached the service corridor.
Victor opened the rear door.
Cold air rushed inside.
Khloe stepped into the alley.
Victor followed.
The door slammed.
Only then did he release her.
Khloe backed against the brick wall, hugging herself.
"Now," Victor said, "tell me why."
"I don't know."
"Wrong answer."
"It's the truth."
"People don't bring professional surveillance into a charity gala because they dislike someone's dress."
Khloe stared at him.
"Professional?"
Victor didn't answer.
Rain dotted his tuxedo.
Khloe's face changed.
She finally seemed to understand that the stranger she'd chosen wasn't merely an intimidating wealthy guest.
"Who are you?"
Victor stepped closer.
"You first."
She swallowed.
"My name is Khloe Bennett. I'm twenty-nine. I work as an administrative assistant at Harlow & Pierce."
Victor knew the name.
Accounting and forensic auditing.
"Doing what?"
"Mostly scheduling. Files. Client correspondence."
"Mostly?"
Khloe hesitated.
There it was.
Victor saw it immediately.
"Khloe."
"Three days ago, my supervisor disappeared."
Victor's expression remained blank.
"Name."
"Elliot Crane."
That name meant nothing to him.
"What does that have to do with tonight?"
"He told me to come."
"Crane invited you?"
"He left an envelope."
"Where?"
"Inside my desk."
Khloe glanced toward the fire door.
Victor noticed.
"What's in the envelope?"
"I don't know."
"You came here because a missing man left you an envelope you didn't open?"
"I opened it."
"And?"
"There was an invitation to this gala and a note."
"What did it say?"
Khloe looked directly at him.
"Find the man who never drinks."
Victor went still.
Inside the ballroom, he'd been holding sparkling water.
Not champagne.
Not whiskey.
Not wine.
Water.
Khloe saw his reaction.
"I didn't understand it," she said. "I thought Elliot was telling me to meet somebody. Then those men started following me."
"Where's the note?"
"In my purse."
Victor looked at her empty hands.
Khloe's face drained of color.
"My purse."
"Where is it?"
"Coat check."
Victor swore quietly.
The fire door opened.
Khloe jumped.
Javier emerged.
His expression told Victor something had changed.
"Ballroom is being cleared quietly," Javier said.
"The two men?"
"Gone."
"Mezzanine?"
"Empty."
"Anything else?"
Javier looked at Khloe.
Then Victor.
"Two people were found unconscious in a service area near coat check. Security is handling it."
Khloe covered her mouth.
Victor ignored the gesture.
"The purse," he said. "Green clutch. Bennett."
Javier reached inside his jacket.
He produced it.
Khloe stared.
"How did you—"
"I have competent employees," Victor said.
Javier handed him the purse.
"Already checked."
"And?"
"Nothing dangerous."
Victor opened it.
Wallet.
Lipstick.
Keys.
Phone.
A folded gala invitation.
Then an envelope.
Victor removed it.
Khloe stepped closer.
"That's Elliot's."
Victor opened the envelope.
Inside was a white card.
Five words were written across it.
FIND THE MAN WHO NEVER DRINKS.
Victor turned it over.
There was something on the back.
A sequence of numbers.
Javier leaned closer.
His expression changed.
Victor noticed.
"You recognize it."
Javier didn't answer immediately.
"Javier."
"It's an account reference."
Khloe looked between them.
"What account?"
Victor took the card.
He recognized the structure now.
It belonged to an offshore institution his organization had stopped using years ago.
"Crane was an accountant," Victor said.
Khloe nodded.
Victor looked at her purse again.
"Why you?"
"I don't know."
"Think."
"He trusted me."
"People trust assistants with lunch reservations. They don't leave them instructions connected to offshore accounts."
Khloe's eyes flashed.
"You think I asked for this?"
"No."
"Then stop talking to me like I'm part of it."
Victor almost smiled.
Fear hadn't removed her temper.
Interesting.
Javier's phone vibrated.
He answered.
Listened.
Then his gaze sharpened.
"When?"
Another pause.
"Keep everyone there."
He disconnected.
"What?" Victor asked.
Javier looked at Khloe.
"We found Crane."
Relief flooded her face.
"He's alive?"
Javier didn't answer.
The relief vanished.
Victor stepped between them.
"Where?"
"Parking structure."
Khloe whispered, "I want to see him."
"No."
"He was my friend."
"No."
"You don't get to decide—"
Victor turned toward her.
"Someone followed you into a ballroom full of cameras and security because of something Crane gave you. Until I understand what that is, you stay beside me."
"I'm not your prisoner."
"Correct."
Victor handed her purse back.
"You're free to walk down that alley."
Khloe looked toward the darkness beyond him.
Neither moved.
Victor raised an eyebrow.
"Still interested?"
"I hate you."
"You've known me seven minutes."
"Plenty of time."
Javier almost smiled.
Then he looked down at the card again.
"Victor."
Something in his voice changed everything.
Victor took the card.
Javier pointed at the account number.
"Look at the final six digits."
Victor did.
His stomach tightened.
He knew those numbers.
He hadn't seen them in years.
They weren't random.
They were a date.
The date his father died.
Khloe watched Victor's face become utterly still.
"What is it?"
Victor turned the card over again.
Under the account number, almost invisible beneath Elliot Crane's handwriting, another name had been written in faded blue ink.
Victor stared at it.
Impossible.
Javier whispered, "That account was closed twelve years ago."
Khloe stepped closer.
"Whose account was it?"
Victor didn't answer.
Because the name written beneath the numbers belonged to the one man Victor had buried twelve years earlier.
His father.
Then Khloe's phone vibrated inside her purse.
She pulled it out.
Unknown number.
One message.
Victor read it over her shoulder.
DON'T TRUST VICTOR ROSSI.
Khloe slowly lifted her eyes to him.
A second message appeared.
HE KILLED ELLIOT.
May you like
And before either of them could speak, the fire door behind Javier began to open.
Someone on the other side whispered Khloe's name.
