ATTEMPT ON WINTER YOUNG’S LIFE!
RUMORS ALLEGE GUNFIRE AT WINTER YOUNG IN HEIRESS’S HOME
WINTER YOUNG ATTACKED AFTER PRIVATE PARTY
Leaking rumors about gunfire at the home of Penelope Morrison turned out to be the easiest thing in the world. Within minutes of Sydney posting anonymously about it on one of Winter’s fan channels online, people began showing up outside their house. An hour later, a rowdy crowd holding homemade signs had gathered in a shifting mass.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Claire yelled over the phone. Winter had to hold the phone slightly away from his ear as the screams coming from Claire’s side of the call clashed against the screams directly outside. He raised an eyebrow at Sydney.
Sydney held up her hands. “Okay,” she murmured to him. “I didn’t expect this big of a response.”
You insult me,he mouthed back.
“Gunfire?” Claire’s voice rose into a squeak as Winter walked toward one of the curtained windows on their first floor. “You got shot at last night, and the Associated Press knows about it before I do?”
“Penelope Morrison made me promise not to tell,” Winter answered. “I don’t know how word got out.”
“And do you work for Penelope Morrison?” Claire demanded.
“Well, technically, while we’re here—yes.”
Claire sighed in exasperation. “Never mind. Why the hell doesn’t she want this out?”
“Because she doesn’t want to talk to the media about how she almost died? We’ve been down that kind of road before. She wanted the matter privately investigated by the Met. Look—I’m okay. It was a stray bullet. Nothing hit me.”
He could almost hear Claire narrowing her eyes on the other side. “You’re okay,” she said incredulously.
“Yes.” He gingerly pushed aside the curtain of the window to see a sea of fans—a thousand, at least—being held back by a flimsy line of desperate police. A hint of worry twisted in him. He hoped no sniper gun was trained on him now—not with all these bystanders in the potential line of fire.
“Whatever you do,” Claire said as Winter gave the crowd a single wave of his hand, “don’t look out the window and wave at them. You’ll cause a riot.”
Sure enough, the instant the words were out of Claire’s mouth, the crowd burst into louder shrieks at Winter’s gesture. The sea of people undulated, and here and there, the police line temporarily broke.
“I just wanted them to know I’m okay,” he said over the phone. “We’re not trying to encourage rumors here.”
Claire groaned. “Forget it. Don’t you dare leave that house, Winter Young. We’ll come to you and strategize.”
She hung up. As she did, Winter saw the stream of texts from Leo and Dameon on his phone.
What the hell is going on?
Did someone really try to shoot you last night?
Everything in him ached to confide in his friends. He shoved his phone back in his pocket and took a deep breath. Was he making amistake? He could still hardly process what had happened the night before—the party, the shooting, the argument with Panacea. The strange new pact he seemed to have with Sydney, with whom he was now officially playing the agent gone rogue. Loneliness gripped him like a vise.
The bare handful of hours he’d gotten to sleep before morning certainly didn’t help, either.
He walked over to where Sydney had taken a seat near the indoor pool, reading a message on her phone. Then he leaned close to her, so that their words wouldn’t be picked up, and whispered, “They’re on their way over. How’s your end?”
She nodded tersely. “It’s impossible for us to sneak to the airport in this mess. Sauda’s aware of the news leak. Niall has postponed our flight. It should also protect Penelope from anyone attempting a second strike on her.” She held up her phone. “And give Panacea time to unlock the data I pulled from Penelope’s hairpin.”
“We can’t read it?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Encrypted. Niall just let me know he received my upload. Whatever it is, it must be important. While they’re working, I’ve got some footage from Doherty’s snake ring.” The sound of trickling water muted her voice. “Look.”
Winter stared down at her phone to see a black-and-white video playing from inside what appeared to be a museum, coming from the point of view of a man with a familiar voice.
“When?” he asked.
