Overture (North Security #1)(17)

I can’t help but grin back. “You’re a maniac.”

“Back atcha,” she says, throwing her arms around me for a hug.

“I’m going to look around,” I say as I squeeze her back.

There is no one more loyal or caring than Laney, but she’s already distracted by the music, shaking her booty with another woman when I duck beneath the railing.

I glimpse broad shoulders in the crowd, and my heart skips a beat.

It can’t be Liam, of course. He doesn’t know I sneaked off the property. He doesn’t know what club I’m in or that we paid our way into the VIP section, but that doesn’t stop the worry from bumping through my veins. Swallowing hard, I force myself to skirt the edges of the room, looking for someone who might be looking for me.

Laney is right about one thing—we can’t stand at the door asking every person whether they’re going to sell us incriminating photos. Only about half of the clubgoers are dancing.

The other half are standing around, looking sexy and faintly dangerous.

Then I glance up at a dark balcony. There are no dancing people up there. Only a single man wearing a black button-down shirt and dark jeans. I recognize him as the one who watched me dance before. He could be any one of the men come to pick up girls, but he surveys the club with a sense of proprietorship, as if he’s above it all.

His dark gaze meets mine, and an eyebrow arches in challenge.

I feel my cheeks flush. Is this how I would react to anyone flirting with me? Except I have the sense that he isn’t flirting. At least, not only that. There’s a sense that he’s waiting to see whether I’ll react. Like maybe he’s looking for the buyer to incriminating photos.

Circling the edge of the room I find a black spiral staircase with a thin metal railing. It leads me up to the balcony, where he remains with his forearms on the rail.

“What’s your name?” this man asks.

“Samantha,” I say before realizing that I could have made something up.

North Security is located in Kingston, Texas, a small town that had plenty of undeveloped land for Liam to purchase twenty years ago. There are endless hills for his obstacle courses as well as natural features like lakes and cliffs and even caves.

People in Kingston know the ex-military men who visit the security company. Sometimes they even know Samantha Brooks, the violinist who appears in newspaper articles.

We’re in Austin right now, the city with a sprawling college campus and state government buildings and a bubbling tech industry. There’s no way anyone would know who I am. Except that he gives me a slight, knowing smile.

“Samantha. You look different than the pictures online.” There’s nothing but ordinary lust in his eyes as his gaze dips to my silk blouse and the flushed skin it reveals.

“You’re the one with the photos?”

That same slight smile. “Let me get you a drink.”

I narrow my eyes. I’m the one who’s going to be giving him money tonight, not the other way around. “Are you the person I’m looking for or not?”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Not as far as I could throw you.”

He laughs. “Smart girl.”

I glance back at the platform, but I can only see a flash of Laney’s dark hair. She’s clearly enjoying herself, and I have no desire to put a damper on that. Besides, I don’t need her to make this exchange. I can do this and prove that I’m an adult. That I don’t need Liam North. Knots tighten in my stomach, because he would be furious if he knew I was here right now.

Which is exactly why I need to do this. My imagination may not stretch that far, but I need to solve my own problems. Maybe then I’ll be able to move past this completely inappropriate and unrequited crush. Then I can move on to a quiet, boring life of endless practice, alone, alone, alone, playing the violin until my fingers fall off.





CHAPTER ELEVEN




Baritone Leonard Warren died onstage at the Met in 1960 just as he had finished singing Verdi’s “Morir, Tremenda Cosi,” which means “To Die, a Momentous Thing.”


LIAM

Once I hit the ground, it takes twenty minutes to get to the drop point.

A row of luxury cars stands at attention—an orange McLaren, a red Ferrari, a yellow Lamborghini. Hassan is already there, holding up a dollar bill and grinning at me. His smile slips when he sees my expression.

“Something happen, boss?”

He means did something happen with the Red Team or one of the other men. Something life or death. Samantha sneaking out at night doesn’t qualify, even if it feels that way in the heavy beat in my chest. “No, but I’m going to head out before the rest of the guys make it. I’ll catch up with you tonight.”

He still looks concerned. “You sure?”

“Positive.” I don’t want to disrupt the bachelor party any more than I will by leaving early. More than that, I don’t want any witnesses for what’s going to happen next.

Mostly because I have no idea what’s going to happen next. I’m a man who makes a plan and sticks to it. There are contingencies built in at every step. No surprises.

And somehow, somehow I’m fucking surprised.

I decide to take a rebuilt silver Rolls-Royce Phantom because it’s the least ostentatious of the group, which isn’t saying much. The keys are hidden under the back wheel in a little case I know to be fireproof and highly secure. Luckily I already know the combination—I study the shape of the back; 1956, the year this car was manufactured, though not the year it was sold.