I let out a breath and step inside the belly of the beast.
The next few hours are a blur of physical labor and mental cartography. Martha is a tireless runner that does more than what’s asked of her so I stay busy. I carry crates of champagne glasses, steam linens and set up hundreds of gold Chiavari chairs in the ballroom until my hands and back ache. But while my body works, my eyes and the small camera hidden in my heart broach are recording everything.
I verify the service corridors to be sure they match the schematics I stole perfectly. Long, narrow hallways that runbehind the main walls, allowing staff to move unseen between the kitchen, the ballroom, and the storage areas. I verify the cameras. Damon was right about the thermal sensor on the north wall and I spot the unit tucked discreetly under the eaves near the delivery entrance. I make a mental note to confirm the blind spot Andre identified is actually large enough for a man his size to slip through if he needs to move to me for back up.
And then, around 2:00 PM, I get my chance to check the executive wing.
"Martha!" Gary snaps his fingers at me from across the ballroom like I’m a fucking dog at his command. "We’re short on floral arrangements for the VIP lounge. Go to the delivery bay, grab the crate marked 'Orchids,' and run it up to the second floor landing. Do not go into the offices. Just leave it on the table outside the double doors."
"Yes, Gary."
I grab the heavy crate filled with exotic white orchids that probably cost more than my kidney on the black market and head for the service elevator. I punch the button for the second floor. The doors slide open, revealing a hallway that smells of lemon polish and money. The carpet here is thicker, the lighting softer. I walk down the hall, my footsteps silent. The double doors at the end lead to Thorne’s private suite and office. That’s the target. The Heart-Box is in there.
I set the crate down on the console table designated for deliveries and pause, pretending to adjust a wilting bloom, and glance up with a slow scan. I need to confirm the camera coverage. Damon needs to loop the feed so I can walk through those double doors unseen tomorrow. I spot the dome camera mounted on the ceiling. It’s positioned to cover the elevator and the office doors.
I shift slightly, checking the angle. If I hug the left wall coming out of the elevator, there’s a distinct blind spot for aboutthree feet before the camera picks up motion. It’s tight, but workable.
"Admiring the architecture?"
I freeze. I know that voice. I turn slowly to face the double doors that have opened silently and swallow hard. Tyler Graft is standing there staring at me like I’m a bug he wants to stomp on. He’s not in tactical gear, but he’s not in a suit either. He’s wearing a black polo that shows off the corded muscle of his arms and tactical pants. He looks relaxed, which makes him even more terrifying.
"Mr. Graft," I squeak, hunching my shoulders. "I was just... Gary sent me with the flowers. I was just making sure they looked perfect."
Graft’s eyes scan me from head to toe before he walks slowly toward me. His gaze feels like a physical search. He’s looking for the cracks in my story. When he’s close enough I can smell his cologne his stance changes from relaxed to menacing. I can see the sick excitement in his eyes when he slowly shakes his head. “I guess I didn’t make myself clear enough to you the other day. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, mouse.”
His hand darts out and grasps my upper arm in a punishing grip and jerks me closer. I struggle to stay in the Martha persona when all I really want to do is knee this fucking guy in the balls and stomp on his head with my sturdy orthopedic shoes. I let fear ripple across my face and, gah, beg him.
“Please! Please Mr. Graft, I’m just trying to do my job!”
Just as he’s pulled me close to the stairwell door, Graves steps out into the hall. He looks at the flowers. Then he looks at me and Graft with an impatient, annoyed look.
"You’re the one who was in the executive level yesterday," he says, his voice flat.
I hit him with a pleading look and try to pull my arm free from Graft's painful grip but he just squeezes tighter causing me to squeak, "Yes, sir. I’m… I’m Martha."
His gaze drops to where Graft’s grip on my arm is and shakes his head. "You get around, Martha."
"I’m a runner, sir. I run where they tell me. Gary asked me to deliver the flowers to this level, that’s all I was doing!"
He takes a step closer until I’m bracketed by both of them. I force myself not to flinch, not to back down, but to let the fear show in my eyes just enough to sell it.
"This hallway," he says, gesturing around us, "is the only access point to Dr. Thorne’s private sanctuary. Tomorrow night, during the party, there will be a guard stationed right here. No staff allowed past this point without a direct escort. Do you understand?"
Information. Gold mine.
"Yes, sir," I whisper. "I understand. No staff."
"Good." He stares at me for another long, uncomfortable second and then pins Graft with a look. "Let her go, Tyler. We need all the staff we have to finish getting everything ready for tomorrow.” He reaches out and grasps my free arm and tugs me away from Graft, propelling me toward the elevator with a tiny shove. “Go back to the ballroom. And tell Gary if he sends you up here again without clearance, I’m revoking his credentials."
I nod quickly and scramble back to the elevator, hitting the button frantically. As the doors close, I meet Graves’ eyes as he watches me, his expression thoughtful and then the doors close, cutting off our gazes.
Jesus, that was close. That fucking guy is a psycho. I shake off the adrenalin from the encounter and touch my ear, tapping the comms unit once, a signal for active.
"Graves is on the second floor," I whisper, barely moving my lips as the elevator descends. "A guard will be stationed outsidethe double doors during the party. We’ll need a distraction to clear the hall."
"Copy that," Damon’s voice comes back instantly, crisp and clear in my ear. "We’ll adjust the plan. Good work, Blue."
A shiver of relief goes through me. I’m not alone. I’m not carrying this secret by myself. Damon is listening, Andre is planning and Marcus is ready to play his part.
