Page 61 of Sinner’s Game

I turn to look at him, only to find him looking right back at me. Thank you, I mouth and am rewarded by that slow smile I find so damnably sexy.

The meeting lasts another hour, then everyone heads out with instructions to meet again tomorrow. Everyone except Ronan, Tamra, and me, who linger behind.

“How much information do you think we’ll actually get out of Mr. White? I mean, what this person does and how, maybe, but will he have a clue as to why they look like me?”

Ronan shakes his head. “Doubtful. But I think that answer’s pretty clear.”

I lick my lips, then draw a shaky breath. “They're setting me up. For killing Mr. Big.”

“Yes,” Ronan says. “But I don’t think that’s the primary goal. Those masks cost a fortune. If all they were going to do was be you so they could kill Mr. Big, why bother with the disguise? They could have just walked in and done it. Worn a hat to avoid the house cams. There’s no reason to make it so complicated.”

“Then what?”

“Most likely, they were working as partners. They pulled a job using that identity, and the one in your face double-crossed him.”

“Why?”

“My guess would be money,” Tamra says. “That’s usually the go-to motive.”

I say nothing, just slide back down into my chair as I wonder what the hell I’ve gotten in the middle of. “This is all because I rented the perfect house. I wanted to live in that lovely place with its beautiful view, and I never questioned why it was such a great deal.”

“This is not your fault,” Ronan says. “Not a single bit of it.”

I shrug. I know he’s right, but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a killer wearing my face.

I frown. Wearing my face…

“What is it?” Ronan asks.

I look between him and Tamra. “Surely people must know it’s a mask. I mean, it’s one thing to model me. But smiling? Talking?”

“You’d be surprised,” Ronan says. “We commissioned a mask like that once. I didn’t wear it. One of our men in Paris did, but I was over there. It’s a process to put it on. It covers the neck and chest. And an adhesive is used around the eyes, mouth, cheeks. That way the mask moves, too, mimicking the wearer’s expression. If I hadn’t known, I’m not confident I would have realized.”

“This is messed up.”

“It is,” he says, coming over and putting a hand on my shoulder. “It really is.”

I look between him and Tamra. “What about the circuit board? Has that helped? Did we find any images with what she really looks like?” I’m hoping there’s crystal clear footage of her putting on the me-mask and am wildly disappointed when Tamra shakes her head.

“There must be alternate storage. Either that or they moved everything to the cloud. The files from the house go back years. We still haven’t cracked the encryption sufficient to actually see clean images, but I doubt they’ll give us much help.”

“Keep at it,” Ronan says. “We can’t rule it out until we’re certain we can rule it out. Actually, give Colonel Seagrave a call. His people might be able to get past the encryption faster.”

“Of course,” Tamra says. “I’ll go call him right now. And, sweetheart, you’ll do fine tomorrow,” she adds to me before leaving the room.

“Colonel Seagrave?” I ask.

“He runs a covert military organization. Occasionally, he hires Saint’s Angels for off-book missions. You know what that means?”

I nod. Basically, it means that on occasion, the military hires mercenaries. People they’ll disavow if the mission goes wrong. This is one of the benefits of growing up in a world ruled by film and television. I know pretty much exactly how that stuff works. But I never expected to really be in the middle of it.

That thought must show on my face because Ronan reaches for my hand, then gives it a gentle squeeze. I tilt my head to look up, wishing I could float away on the ocean of his eyes.

“You okay?”

“I’m nervous,” I admit.

“It’s my job to worry, not yours. I’ll be right there with you, remember? Right in your ear. I’ll tell you what you need to say.”