She took a steadying breath and stepped out of the hired car, smoothing the black dress she’d chosen specifically because it allowed her to move freely while still looking the part of a high-end event photographer. Her dark hair—now streaked with auburn highlights from a temporary dye—was swept into an elegant updo, and professional-grade makeup allowed the prosthetics to blend seamlessly with her skin.
A guard with cold eyes and a thick neck blocked her path at the security checkpoint. “Credentials, please.”
Elena handed over her press pass with practiced ease, channeling the confident persona of Victoria Martinez, freelance photographer contracted byLuxury Living Magazineto capture the evening’s exclusive charity auction. The cover story had been Terrel’s idea—legitimate enough to pass scrutiny, obscure enough that no one would think to verify it until long after they’d completed their mission.
The guard scanned her credentials, then ran a metal detector wand over her body. Elena held her breath as it passed overthe camera bag, but Terrel’s shielding held. The wand remained silent.
“Proceed,” the guard said, stepping aside.
Elena walked through the massive double doors into a foyer that dripped with crystal chandeliers and old money elegance. Guests in designer gowns and tailored tuxedos mingled beneath priceless artwork, champagne flutes catching the light as they laughed at jokes that probably weren’t funny.
She scanned the crowd, identifying exits and threat positions. There were two guards at the main staircase. One by the service entrance. Another positioned near the French doors leading to the terrace.
Across the room, in a crisp white jacket and black bow tie, James Star carried a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres with the practiced ease of someone who’d been doing it for years rather than hours.
Their eyes met for the briefest moment, and James did a visible double-take. Even knowing it was her, even having seen Reed apply the prosthetics that morning, he clearly hadn’t been prepared for how completely different she looked. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth before he suppressed it, and he gave her an almost imperceptible nod before continuing his circuit through the crowd.
Elena raised her camera and began capturing shots of the event, using the photography as cover to document guard positions, camera placements, and the movements of key players.
Her earpiece crackled softly.
“Eagle One in position,” Walker’s voice murmured. He was somewhere outside, monitoring the perimeter and ready to provide backup if their mission went sideways.
“Copy,” Reed’s voice responded, and Elena’s heart stuttered at the sound of it. He was in the building somewhere, posing asa potential buyer interested in high-end security systems. The cover story gave him access to areas a photographer never could.
Elena moved through the crowd, working her way toward the east wing where intelligence indicated Webb would be holding private meetings before the main auction began. She needed to confirm his presence, verify he had the WATCHDOG codes, and then?—
“Excuse me. You’re the photographer?”
Elena turned to find a woman in her mid-thirties approaching with purposeful strides. She was striking, tall and slender with ice-blonde hair pulled back in a severe chignon, and wore a tailored charcoal dress that probably cost more than Elena’s entire wardrobe. Her pale blue eyes were sharp and assessing as she surveyed Elena.
“Victoria Martinez,” Elena said, extending her hand. “FromLuxury Living Magazine.”
The woman didn’t take her hand. Instead, she consulted a tablet she was carrying, scrolling through what appeared to be a guest list. “I’m Katarina Vonn, Mr. Webb’s personal assistant. I don’t have a photographer listed on tonight’s approved vendors.”
Elena’s pulse quickened, but she kept her expression calm. “There might be some confusion. I was contracted through your event coordinator—a Mr. Hendricks? He reached out to the magazine three weeks ago.”
Katarina’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Mr. Hendricks handles catering and décor. Media credentials go through my office.”
“I apologize for the mix-up,” Elena said smoothly, reaching into her camera bag for the forged documents Terrel had prepared. “I have the contract right here if you’d like to review it.”
Katarina took the papers and examined them with the meticulous attention of someone trained to spot inconsistencies.Elena held her breath, grateful for Terrel’s obsessive attention to detail. He’d even aged the paper slightly and included a coffee ring stain to make it look authentically handled.
“This signature doesn’t look like Mr. Hendricks’s usual hand,” Katarina observed.
“I wouldn’t know,” Elena replied. “I only communicated with him via email. The signed contract was sent by courier.”
Katarina was quiet for a long moment, her pale eyes studying Elena’s face with unsettling intensity. Elena felt a bead of sweat threatening to form at her temple and willed it away. The prosthetics should hold up to visual scrutiny—Reed had assured her they would—but there was always the possibility that this woman had some sixth sense for deception.
“You understand that certain areas of the estate are strictly off-limits to press,” Katarina finally said, handing back the documents. “The east wing, the upper floors, and any rooms marked with private signage. If you’re found in a restricted area, you’ll be escorted out immediately and your credentials revoked. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear,” Elena said, tucking the papers away. “I’m only here for the public areas and the auction itself.”
“See that you remember that.” Katarina’s smile was cold and professional. “Mr. Webb values his privacy above all else. Those who violate it tend to find their careers... significantly shortened.”
The threat was subtle but unmistakable.
“I understand completely,” Elena murmured.
