Page 55 of The Rook’s Obsession

The playfulness leaks from her eyes as they hold mine. “Enough times to know what I’m doing.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, it isn’t.”

She isn’t going to tell me. I’m not sure I want her to. What I want is to pull her out of that corset and lock the door and forget any of this is happening, but that’s not an option, and wanting it won’t make her any safer. I settle for nodding once and letting it go, because that’s what you do when the person you love is better at something than you are and the job requires it.

I watch as she attaches the camera to the front of the corset, then checks the earpiece one last time, tapping it twice to test the connection. Mine crackles faintly in my ear. “Check,” she says.

“Check,” I confirm.

“Good.” She pulls out one last accessory: a black lace mask designed to cover the top half of her face. After tucking it into the pocket of a long coat, she slides her arms into the sleeves, then buttons the coat to her throat. Now she’s anyone and no one all at once. “I’ll go in first. Give me thirty minutes, then follow. You’ll enter through the main door, give the credentials, and let them seat you. Order a drink. Look bored. Do not come looking for me.”

Somewhere along the way, she got the idea this is her mission alone. I won’t argue. It would be a waste of time, not to mention it could ruin her focus. “And if something goes wrong?”

“Then you’ll hear it.” She taps her ear. “And you’ll do exactly what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Not before.”

There’s a version of me that would argue. The version from a few weeks ago, the one who was still trying to reconcile the woman in front of me with the girl I used to know. That version would’ve pushed back and insisted on being the one in control. I would’ve made it about protecting her.

But I’ve watched her. I’ve seen what she can do. She knows her shit, and I’m smart enough to stay out of her way.

That doesn’t mean I have to like any of this.

“Thirty minutes,” I confirm.

She nods, picks up a small clutch from the desk—inside it is the compact blade she thinks I didn’t notice—then walks out the door without looking back.

I stand at the window and watch her emerge onto the street below. The coat, the heels, the unhurried pace. She turns the corner and disappears, and I’m alone in a room full of her other lives, listening to nothing but the faint static hiss of an open comm line and the sound of my own breathing.

The first twenty minutes are the longest of my life. I pace. I check the earpiece. I go over the layout again, though I could draw it from memory by now. I then change into the suit I brought: dark, expensive enough to look like I belong, but not so expensive that anyone would remember it. I then check the earpiece again.

Once I’m ready, I step out. The club is a ten-minute walk, but I make it twelve because I take the long way, circling the block once to confirm the position of Liam’s team and the decorative stone planter half a block down in which my credentials are waiting. The SUV is parked exactly where it should be, dark and quiet. I don’t acknowledge it, and they don’t acknowledge me. Good.

Her voice comes through not a moment too soon, since my nerves are frayed to the breaking point. “I’m in.”

“Any trouble?” I murmur as I approach the building.

“Two guards, neither of whom were interested in asking questions once I mentioned I was here for Mr. Russo’s private arrangements this evening.” She pauses, then adds, “They had another girl scheduled. I told them they should let her know she won’t be needed tonight.”

“And they accepted it?”

“They pushed back. I told them it was their call, but if Mr. Russo doesn’t get what he’s expecting, they’re the ones who’ll have to explain it to him.” There’s a faint trace of amusement in her voice. “They decided I had a point.”

I can breathe. She’s in. She’s fine. She’s doing exactly what she said she would do, exactly the way she said she would do it.

“Take your time coming in,” she tells me. “There’s no rush.”

No rush. Easy for her to say. I’m the one carrying another man’s credentials while trying not to think about every single thing that could go wrong between now and midnight.

The entrance is understated. A black door set into a stone facade, no signage, no indication of what’s inside. None of this comes as a surprise. A small brass plate with a number etched into it is the only thing to indicate I’m in the right place. I press the buzzer and wait.

The door opens. A man in a dark suit looks me over without expression. I hand him the membership card, which he glances at, then glances at me before stepping aside.

And that’s all it takes. I walk in. The door closes behind me, cutting off the sound of the street like someone threw a switch.

IVY

The room is exactly what I expected, and nothing like what I expected at the same time.