“What?”
She hunches forward and sets her mug on the low table. Her voice drops, meant for me alone. “The Hearst Foundation’s annual charity gala is this week.”
I blink slowly. “And that is?”
“Our way in.”
Jordan sketches the outline of what high-society Chicago views as the most prestigious event of the year. Politicians, old money, and socialites will crowd the house.
“There will be extra staff everywhere. Nobody will know who’s supposed to be where. Security will be focused on the main rooms.”
“But the systems? The alarms and cameras?”
She shrugs. “Disabled, at least for the most part. They can’t risk a senator stumbling off for a tryst and setting off Klaxons.”
I study her. “How do you know all this? About bypassing security?”
She blows off the question with a flick of her fingers. “Because I needed to learn to escape. That’s how I got out.” Her gaze is sharp and unwavering. “The only way in is straight into the crowd through the front door. With me.”
The plan quickly falls into place. Forget break-ins. This is a walk-in. Hide in the chaos, with Jordan as our ticket inside.
I want to laugh at the simplicity.
Because I’m so used to destroying things, I missed the easy answer. I’m used to expecting obstacles, not opportunities.
I’ve always trusted violence over cleverness.
My hand slips to the back of her neck, drawing her in. Her lips part on a sharp inhale, and her pupils darken with either heat or fear. Maybe both.
I release her and lean back.
She resets instantly, sipping her tea as if nothing happened, a ghost of a grin on her lips. Though she avoids eye contact, the energy between us is louder than any triumphant yell.
I told you so.
Jordan, with her talismans and vision boards, has solved the unsolvable.
While I stalked walls and guards, she discovered the open door.
Respect ripples through me, followed by a sliver of uneasiness.
I’ve never truly had a partner. Never wanted one. Alone, I can map every move.
Enter Jordan. A variable, a risk, a weapon with her own agenda.
I bury the thought.
“So,” I force nonchalance, “any other surprises up your sleeve? Things I should know about? Things that will get me killed?”
She simply cocks her head, as if I’m the problem rather than the solution. “We’ll need clothes. Hope your cards are good.”
Just like that, the axis tilts and knocks me off-balance.
Jordan is no longer baggage or liability but my partner.
And, for the first time since I broke into her house, I can’t predict a damn thing she’ll do.
Chapter 26
