"I don't miss the fear," I say quickly. "I don't want to be chased again. But... I miss the clarity. In the cabin, in the shipyard... everything was simple. Survival. You and me."
"We are still you and me," he says. "We just have better sheets now."
He kisses my forehead. "I have to talk to the Senator. He’s asking about shipping lanes in Jersey. Don't wander off."
"Where would I go?" I ask, lifting the hem of my dress slightly to show the glint of the platinum anklet.
"Nowhere I can't find you," he promises.
He walks away, disappearing into the crowd like a shark sliding into a school of fish. The crowd parts for him. They fear him. They know he won.
I turn back to my painting.The shipyard.
I stare at the figure in white paint. Nikolai.
I killed him.
I close my eyes, trying to summon the feeling of the recoil. The snap of the gun. The rush of power.
It’s fading. The memory is getting polished, smooth, like a stone in a river. I’m losing the edge.
I open my eyes.
And I see him.
He is standing across the room, near the bar. He isn't looking at the art. He isn't looking at Silas.
He is looking at me.
He doesn't fit here.
His suit is cheap—polyester blend, ill-fitting at the shoulders. His shoes are scuffed. He isn't drinking champagne; he’s nursing a club soda with a lime twist.
He is tall, lean, with a face that looks like it was carved out of granite and left out in the rain too long. Tired eyes. Gray at the temples.
He isn't a buyer. He isn't a socialite.
He’s a cop.
My stomach drops. Not with fear, but with a sudden, sharp jolt of adrenaline.
Hello, trouble.
I watch him. He takes a sip of his soda, his eyes never leaving my face. He doesn't look away when I catch him staring. He holds my gaze. It’s a challenge.
I check the room. Silas is deep in conversation with the Senator and two other men in suits. Luca is by the front door, scanning the perimeter.
This man slipped through.
I should tell Silas. I should tap my ear—old habit from the heist—or just walk over and whisper,There’s a wolf in the fold.Silas would have him removed. Or disappeared.
But I don't move.
I feel a prickle on my skin. A ghost of the feeling I had in the woods. The hunt.
I want to know who he is. I want to know what he knows.
I turn and walk toward the bar.
