Jake scanned the crowd of photographers lining the red carpet, chocolate-brown eyes narrowing—like he was actually a bodyguard worried about her safety—before giving her an appraising look.
“If your talent for playing the part of Rose Howard is anywhere close to your ability with makeup, you’ll be fine,” he said. “I still can’t believe you did all that yourself. Now I understand what McKay was talking about when he said we’d get creative.”
Jes reached up and gently skimmed a finger across the latex prosthetics she’d applied to give her higher cheekbones that were an exact match for the socialite, making sure the edges were super smooth. Then she did the same to the ones she’d used to widen the bridge of her nose and make the point of her chin sharper. They were all perfect. The blond wig was right where it needed to be, too.
She gave him a small smile. “I guess all that money my parents spent on two years of theater classes in college didn’t go completely to waste then.”
Jake gave her a curious look, like he was about to ask for details, but Forrest interrupted him.
“Game time,” he said, slowing the Rolls to a stop.
Jake was already out and around the SUV by the time a tall, thin man in a suit opened her door. Jes took a deep breath and pasted a big smile on her face as she stepped out onto the red carpet. The ridiculously expensive blue evening gown she wore had a slit up the side, so it was impossible not to flash a lot of leg, but she made sure the plunging neckline didn’t reveal too much cleavage to the cameras. While she’d never met Rose, she didn’t think the woman would want a bunch of gratuitous boob shots floating around out there on the Internet.
The real socialite, as well as her bodyguard and driver, would wake up in a local hospital in a few days with no memories of tonight. The doctors would tell them their Rolls-Royce Cullinan had been found overturned in a ditch the morning after the charity event, victims of an apparent hit-and-run. Police reports and crime scene photos would fully support the narrative that Rose and the two men with her were lucky be alive. The STAT support team McKay had sent over would make sure of that.
Jes stopped worrying about what would happen to the real Rose Howard as she moved toward the cluster of entertainment reporters near the side of the receiving area, praying she got this right.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Forrest drive away. He’d park the Rolls along the outer perimeter of the estate along with the other drivers, where he’d meet up with Harley, then stand by monitoring the radio in case they needed backup…or an extraction. Jes hoped it didn’t come to that. Bailing out of a place like this with all the security Darby was sure to have would be a nightmare.
As she made her way up the red carpet, Jake shadowed her at a distance so he wouldn’t be in the paparazzi photos while still remaining close enough to protect her like any good bodyguard would.
The journalists seemed to know Rose well enough to recognize her, but not well enough to notice the fake Chicago accent Jes put on. Or maybe the accent was simply better than she thought. Then again, the only thing the reporters seemed to be interested in was how much money she intended to donate and whether she could shed any light on the subject of whom Darby might be sleeping with at the moment. When her answers turned out to be too boring, they all quickly moved on.
Jake silently slipped up behind her when she reached the wide-open doors of the manor, playing the part of a dutiful bodyguard. The well-dressed man there eyed Jes for less than a few seconds before checking her name off on his iPad. The two security guards standing to either side of the doors studied her a bit longer, but something told her that had more to do with how much skin her gown revealed than any concern that she might be a threat.
Appearances could be so deceiving.
The men eyed Jake even longer, taking in his height and build before running a handheld metal detector over him. They easily found and confiscated the two pistols he was carrying, telling him he could pick them up at the end of the night. She and Jake had expected that and weren’t too worried since Jake came with weapons of his own—fangs and claws.
“That accent you put on another remnant of your college theater program, or are you originally from the Midwest?” Jake murmured as they stepped inside.
“I was born and raised in Pennsylvania,” she said. “A girl I went to college with was from Chicago and I picked it up from hanging out with her.”
Accents had always come easily for her, which had not only helped her get a lot of roles in her college productions, but had also been invaluable when she was with the CIA, since she’d done a lot of undercover work.
Jes paused for a moment in the foyer, her breath taken away by the grandeur of the space. She’d expected something opulent and maybe a little over-the-top. What she got was a three-level atrium big enough to fit a basketball court in—along with the stands. Two sweeping marble staircases led the way up, where a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling grabbed her attention and refused to let go.
A twelve-piece orchestra to one side of the foyer played soft music while hundreds of people stood in small groups, chatting over drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Something told her that if each of them sold the fancy clothes and jewelry they had on right now, Darfur and the rest of the Sudan would be set for years. She ignored the irony of people flaunting this much wealth at a charity event and moved farther inside while trying to act as if she’d spent her entire life among them.
At the same time, she kept an eye out for Darby. She had no idea what she was going to do when she ran across him. Working without a script was a little scary, but thanks to her time in the CIA, she was used to it.
“Would you like a glass of champagne?”
Jes turned to see Caleb standing there holding a silver tray with a half dozen flutes of bubbly golden liquid. The big werewolf was dressed in black pants and a matching vest over a crisp white shirt. She briefly wondered where the hell they’d found an outfit to fit him so well. He looked good.
“Veuve Clicquot, of course,” he added, his expression giving absolutely nothing away as he held the tray out to her, like he was simply another bored waiter who served rich snobs for a living.
Jes was more than a little impressed. When McKay suggested getting Misty and Caleb into the manor as part of the catering staff, she hadn’t thought the big guy would be able to pull it off. Clearly, she’d been wrong.
As for Misty, she was even more of a natural than Caleb, deftly moving around the room with her tray of hors d’oeuvres.
“Thank you. I think I will.” Jes plucked one of the crystal flutes off the tray with a smile.
The omega werewolf shifted the tray a tiny fraction, maintaining the balance of the remaining glasses. Caleb didn’t make a move to offer one to Jake, and her “bodyguard” didn’t step forward to take one. Everyone was playing their parts to perfection.
She took a sip, then made a show of asking Caleb questions about the champagne, just in case anyone nearby was listening. He discussed the age and type of grape it was made from like he actually knew what he was talking about. Although he could have been completely BS’ing her for all she knew. She was more of a rum-and-vanilla-coke kind of girl.
“Darby is in the great hall directly behind me,” Caleb said softly in between comments on the expensive champagne. “I’ve seen him talking to dozens of people, but no one who looks like they’re the kind who might be involved in kidnapping a kid. Though to be truthful, I don’t know what a person like that is supposed to look like.”
