It rose around them in sweeping tiers, vast and reverent, the scale drawing her gaze upward whether she meant it to or not. Behind the stage, the grand organ dominated the space—rank upon rank of pipes climbing the wall, like a cathedral installation, wood and metal arranged with near-religious precision. Over ten thousand pipes, Bonnie said, the largest mechanical tracker-action organ in the world.
“The acoustics are extraordinary,” Bonnie said. “Every seat in the house can hear a whisper from the stage.”
Jayden tipped her head back, taking in the ceiling, the balconies, the shadows tucked into architectural folds. Too many angles. Too many vantage points. Places someone could disappear into. Places an assassin could wait.
Stop it.
But the thoughts pressed in anyway. The gray bag was still unaccounted for. The person behind it still unknown. Tomorrow, the president would speak somewhere within these walls, and Jayden was no closer to stopping what was coming than she’d been a week ago.
They moved on through the Drama Theater—smaller, more intimate, every seat close enough to feel part of the show. Sight lines perfect. No wasted space. Then backstage, where the set dressing gave way to raw structure. Narrow corridors. Racks of costumes sealed in plastic. Mirrors rimmed with lights, makeup smudges left behind like fingerprints. A maze of passageways designed to keep the magic hidden, to move people unseen.
Jayden absorbed it all, because some instincts didn’t switch off just because the setting was beautiful.
Somewhere along the way, Dakota had let go of her hand. She turned to find him . . .
He was gone from the tour group.
Oh no . . . no . . .
“Jayden?”
She turned.
Vic stood there, wearing concern. “Are you okay?”
“I just . . . I think I lost my . . . um, Dakota.”
“Oh, I saw him leave—back when we first got to the Drama Theater. Met someone.”
Oh?
“This is just amazing, isn’t it? We’re going to the lobby next, under the shells.”
“I’ll be right behind you.” She turned and headed out of the Drama Theater, back to the Concert Hall?—
What if he was scouting out a place to hide, maybe lie in wait . . .
She spotted him in a corridor below, talking to a man she’d never seen before.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Military bearing that practically screamed special operations. He stood with his back to the wall, eyes tracking the corridor even while he talked—the stance of someone who’d spent years expecting threats from every direction.
Jayden pressed herself into an alcove above him, heart hammering.
“—perfect location is over there.” The stranger gestured toward a balcony overlooking the Concert Hall. “Clear sight line to the stage. Minimal obstruction.”
“What if the shot came from there instead?” Dakota pointed to something Jayden couldn’t see. “The angle would be worse, but the exit route is cleaner.”
“I’ve mapped the entire venue. It’s your call, South.”
Jayden’s blood went cold.
Perfect location. Sight lines. Exit routes. Positions mapped?—
And it was Dakota’s call.
“We’ll need to cover both. Secret Service is handling the inner perimeter,” Dakota said. “We’ve got the outer ring and the backstage areas. If anyone makes a move, we’ll see them coming.”
Secret Service. Perimeter. We’ll see them coming.
