My stomach flutters with the realization that this mission is bigger than us. I have an inkling that this is one of those jobs you either conquer or be conquered. Blink wrong, and you become the mark.
What the hell did I do?
“Yes, sir. I will not let you down. Tell me how to fix it.”
“Damage control.” His demeanor is finally placid, and the silence between his thoughts assures me he’s formulating a plan. “We need to make it seem as though this were purposeful, that we’re using the history to our advantage, so the client doesn’t question our motives.”
“Okay.” I nod frantically to nothing but steam and porcelain and devices that block out the world.
“You’re sure they know who you are?” he asks, and the slim hope saturating his voice can’t be missed.
“No, I’m not sure.” I don’t want to mislead him though, so I quickly amend that. “But the concierge was less than friendly. And as I mentioned, Axel chased me down and made a pointof flaunting his power. From what I’ve observed so far, none of that appears to be how they traditionally operate. They suspect something.”
He sighs, and the faint sound of him boxing a heavy bag floats through the receiver. He’s a tank. “If he knows who you are or could piece it together, own it. Be you.”
“Be me?” I question. That’s never been the order. I’m not even sure who that is. “But you said he’ll think I’m here for Mom.”
“Maybe that’s best. Don’t divulge who you are all at once. Do it naturally, as if you were truly a guest staying with one of their members.” Punch. Punch. Punch. “Then no one will suspect why you’re there.”
“I’m not sureIunderstand why I’m here,” I snap, my heart rocketing to my throat. “Or how Mom got tied up with these people.”
“Your mother’s involvement there isn’t important,” he roars. “Mission first, Zara.”
This is life or death, so his outrage with me not falling in line is warranted. The thing is, he’s never shared anything about my mother’s death. Or even much about her life, apart from what Tripp and I remember. And now that I’m staying in a place that may be connected to her final days, I can’t help but crave those pieces of her.
Axel would have only been about twenty when she died. I doubt he was involved, and everything I find on his father is vile. He still might have answers. Maybe Bernard does too. I want confirmation on all of that, but I don’t push because my father and brother mean everything to me, and I messed this up.
I loop a strand of my hair around my index finger until the tip is purple and lifeless and I’m forced to relent. “Give me my primary objectives. Because Tripp had very little to offer.”
“Tripp was only authorized to do pattern of life,” my father chides, but then he takes a breath and strategizes. “Find a way to stay, as previously discussed. Gain the trust of anyone you can. Members, employees, the Noires. A membership would be ideal. They’ll want something on you with your application. I’ll send you some files of transgressions you can offer for collateral.”
My lungs slam into my sternum, evicting all the air. “That sounds reckless.”
“Not actual ones.” He can’t hide his frustration, but it’s to be expected.
I’ve only been prepped for one long-term mission, and that involved the ruse of a fake marriage. Nothing about the real me. It was a simple cover to be invited into an elite group. This is like an onion—so much to peel back. Deceit piled upon more deceit while clinging to the truth of who I am.
Despite that, he manages to walk me through the plan. “When they research the hits, they’ll pan out so they trust they have leverage over you, but all will disappear once the membership is approved.”
That can’t be how most members do it, which is baffling.
“Why do all these people hand over their darkest secrets when theirs won’t disappear?”
“Because Axel Noire holds their life in his hands, but he offers nine in return,” he says simply, though the ominous power behind it hits, even before he adds, “There are few catastrophes the man can’t conquer.”
Dismissing the eerie chill that skitters down my arms, I clamp my eyelids shut, letting the haze of steam envelop me and willing myself not to break. I never break. “And it doesn’t matter that I have no documented identity?”
“Many of their members don’t,” Tripp chimes in, which is a sign that the intensity has leveled. “They’re in the business of dealing with ghosts.”
Ghosts.That’s an apt descriptor of who I am. A phantom, collecting souls and forfeiting my own.What is this mental crisis I’m having?
“Got it. Be a ghost but myself. Reveal pieces of who I am naturally. Get close to anyone I can.” I walk to the shower, deciding to relax my coiled muscles beneath the hot rainfall showerhead the instant we hang up. I’m knotted with anxiety, puzzled as to why, out of everything I’ve ever done, this is the first time it feels like lying. “What type of information am I looking for?”
“Connection to a media conglomerate, for starters. I’ll send you the rest.” And like always, he concludes our call with, “Never say die.”
ZARA
The high-rollers bar is as enticing as the rest of the resort. It’s got that smoky cigar-lounge vibe, one that hugs you like a toxic clove wrapper. Spices and sin, spirits and decadence, gambling and jazz music, invading the senses.
