I pulled back, desperate to see what he saw. Fightingto keep my casual smile, I asked, “What?”
“Is that Atticus?”
Atticus stood across the room, deep in conversationwith one of the senators that worked closely with the syndicate. “Yes,” I toldSayer. “I thought you knew he was going to be here. He drove me.”
Sayer’s gaze cut to mine. “He drove you?”
Shrugging it off like it wasn’t a big deal, I said,“He made it seem like he was supposed to be here. He had a ticket.”
“That he probably stole from Gus,” Sayer growled.
We watched Atticus finish his conversation and head tothe doors. Was he already leaving? “I should have texted you, it’s just thathe’s technically my boss and—”
“It’s not a big deal, Caro. You couldn’t have known.It’s just something I’ll have to ask thepakhanabout.”
“Hey. What are they doing?”
Sayer followed my gaze to a cluster of feds lookingour direction. They were speaking in low tones and subtly nodding our way. Theywere clearly talking about us and trying not to make it obvious.
News flash, morons, you’re basically on broadcast.It didn’t matter that they were dressedto the nines tonight. They were always on the job. They couldn’t disguise theirasshole tendencies.
“We should move,” Sayer suggested.
He took my hand and led me to the outer edges of thecrowd. We passed a guy with an ear piece hanging around his neck. The radiosaid, “Gold dress. College age.”
Sayer glanced at me. “I’m not feeling this party.”
My heart kicked in my chest. It could have been atotal coincidence. But if life had taught me anything, I knew there was no suchthing.
Everything happened for a reason—and usually thatreason was so Fate could piss all over you.
“I’m not either,” I told him. “I think I’d rather go…anywhere else.”
He leaned in. “Let’s do that.”
We detoured right before we got to the outer fringesof the crowd. There were two more men with earpieces moving to block the backexits. “This way,” Sayer instructed.
Our steps were purposeful and our movements subtle, wewere blending in, staying under the radar. Sayer slouched so he didn’t standtaller than the rest of the mingling people.
An FBI agent pushed through the crowd in front of us,Mason Payne following directly after him. The two agents caught sight of us,surprised that we were right there. We took the advantage and about-faced,slipping in and out of designer dresses and hand-tailored suits, disguisingourselves in the crush of the rich and powerful.
“Don’t let go,” Sayer said over his shoulder.
I didn’t respond, but it wasn’t like I was evenentertaining the option. My heart was in my throat, a last-ditch attempt toabandon the sinking ship that was my body. Oh my God.
Why were they chasing us?
What did they know about us?
“Faster,” Sayer urged. We crossed a wide-open area,temporarily exposing ourselves, before we ducked into the kitchens.
“Shit,” he growled when he barely missed running intoa server balancing two trays stacked high with replacementhord’oeuvres.
“Come on,” I urged him. “We have to get out of here.”
“You can’t be in here!” someone shouted. “Hey! Youneed to leave!”
“Spoiled brats,” someone else snarled.
