"Hi," I say, forcing my voice to sound calm and authoritative. "This is Audrey Jennings. Malcolm’s fiancée. I need the elevator unlocked for the penthouse. I have to run an errand."
There is a long pause. "Miss Jennings. Mr. Vance left strict instructions that you are not to leave the building without an escort."
"I know," I lie smoothly. "Grant cleared a temporary escort profile for me this morning. Check the log. He is meeting me in the lobby, and we are running late."
Another pause. I hold my breath, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands.
If the guard calls Malcolm to verify, I am dead.
The system gives a soft, reluctant click.
The panel turns green, not because I defeated Malcolm’s security, but because I found the one human seam in it. The heavy metal doors slide open.
"Have a good afternoon, Miss Jennings," the guard says through the intercom.
"Thank you."
I step into the elevator, my pulse roaring in my ears. The doors close, and the car begins its rapid descent toward the ground floor.
I pull out my phone and open a ride-share app. I type inSouth Loop Motels. There are only three in that specific area that fit the description of a place a shady private investigator would operate out of.
I am acting like a lunatic. I am breaking the only rule Malcolm gave me. I am walking out of a secure fortress and straight into the kind of neighborhood where people like Russo do business.
But as the elevator numbers tick down, I realize I am not doing this to protect my own reputation.
I am doing it to protect Malcolm.
The doors open to the grand lobby of the building. The security guard at the desk looks up, expecting to see Grant standing next to me.
I don't give him time to ask questions. I pull the collar of my coat up, lower my head, and walk straight out the revolving glass doors into the freezing Chicago wind.
A black sedan pulls up to the curb a minute later. I check the license plate, open the back door, and slide in.
"South Loop," I tell the driver, my voice shaking slightly.
The car pulls away from the curb, merging into the heavy afternoon traffic. I look out the window, watching the towering glass skyscrapers of the Gold Coast fade into the grittier, industrial landscape of the south side.
I look down at my left hand.
The vintage diamond catches the gray light filtering through the car window.
Fear keeps you sharp,Malcolm had said.Don't lose it.
I am terrified. But for the first time in a month, I am not running away from the danger.
I am driving straight toward it.
CHAPTER 10
MALCOLM
The motel room smells like stale cigarettes and bleach.
It’s the kind of cheap, anonymous space that exists entirely off the grid, sandwiched between a defunct auto repair shop and a liquor store with barred windows. The carpet is a faded, indeterminate brown. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking out the gray afternoon light.
I stand in the center of the room, my hands resting in the pockets of my trousers.
Russo is sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. He is a small, wiry man in his late forties, wearing a wrinkled dress shirt that has clearly been slept in. His laptop is open on the small desk in the corner, the screen displaying a series of encrypted search queries.
