Katarina held her gaze for another moment, then turned and walked away, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Elena watched her go, noting the way she moved—controlled, precise, the walk of someone who was more than just an administrative assistant.
Her earpiece crackled.
“You okay?”
Reed’s voice was tight with concern. He must have been watching from somewhere nearby.
“Fine,” she breathed, barely moving her lips. “Webb’s assistant. She was suspicious but didn’t make me.”
“The prosthetics held?”
“Seems like it. She looked right at me and didn’t see Elena Vasquez.”
A pause. Then, with unmistakable relief: “Good. Stay alert. If she’s suspicious, she might have you watched.”
Elena moved deeper into the crowd, hyperaware now of every glance that came her way. She captured images of guests examining auction items—rare artwork, vintage wines, jewelry that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime. All legitimate, all designed to provide cover for the real merchandise being sold in the private rooms below.
She passed James again near the bar, and he leaned close as if adjusting something on his tray.
“Holy smokes,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I knew Reed did the prosthetics, but I still didn’t recognize you. You look like a completely different person.”
“That’s the idea.”
“Seriously, it’s uncanny. Your own mother wouldn’t know you.”
The comment sent a pang through Elena’s chest, but she pushed the emotion aside. “Stay focused. East wing is heavily guarded.”
“Copy that.” James moved away, continuing his circuit.
The east wing was quieter, guarded by two men in dark suits who watched her approach with obvious suspicion.
“I’m covering the event for the magazine,” Elena said, gesturing to her press credentials. “I was hoping to get some shots of the architectural details in this section?”
The guards exchanged glances. “Private area,” one said flatly.
“Of course.” Elena smiled apologetically and raised her camera. “Mind if I get a shot of the molding work from here? The craftsmanship is really quite remarkable?—”
“Move along.”
Elena stepped back, making a show of photographing a nearby painting while her mind raced through alternatives. The east wing was clearly where Webb was conducting his private business, which meant the WATCHDOG codes were somewhere beyond those guards.
She needed a distraction.
As if reading her thoughts, there was a crash from the main ballroom—the unmistakable sound of breaking glass followed by raised voices. Elena watched the guards stiffen, their attention divided between their post and the commotion.
“I’ll check it out,” one said to the other, moving quickly toward the noise.
Thank you, James,Elena thought, recognizing a diversion when she saw one.
The remaining guard’s attention was fixed on the ballroom, his body angled away from Elena. She seized the moment, slipping through a service door she’d identified earlier from the architectural plans. The corridor beyond was dim and utilitarian—staff access routes that connected the public areas to the operational heart of the estate.
Elena moved quickly but quietly, her rubber-soled shoes silent on the hardwood floor. According to Terrel’s updated schematics, the stairs to the basement server room should be...
There. A steel door with an electronic keypad, exactly where the plans indicated.
She pulled out the device Terrel had given her—a sophisticated code cracker that could bypass most commercialsecurity systems in under sixty seconds—and pressed it against the keypad, holding her breath.
The next forty-five seconds were the longest of her life.
