Chapter 21
“Hold still,” Avery says behind me, rubbing the towel briskly over my wet hair.
I study my reflection in the bathroom mirror, not recognizing myself.
The shaggy black hair that used to screen my view and hang past my shoulders is now cropped short on the sides.
The severe undercut leaves my ears sticking out, while Avery left the top long enough to cover my forehead when combed forward, but not so long that it falls into my eyes as it did before, when Aaiden’s fingers would brush it away.
All of it is now dyed a medium brown, so it will be easy to blend in.
“You sure this will work?” I ask, tilting my head to examine the transformation from different angles.
Avery’s hands pause, the towel resting on my shoulders. “That depends. Will Rockford Security be searching for someone who could blend into a crowd of a thousand servers at any hotel in this city?”
He has a point. The man staring back at me from the mirror looks like nobody. Generic. The kind of face you forget the moment you turn away.
“How long do you think it would take him?” I murmur, more to myself than Avery.
“Take who to do what?”
“Aaiden.” My fingers trace the unfamiliar contours of my hair. “To recognize me across a crowded room.”
Avery steps back, assessing me. “Three seconds, maybe four.”
“That long?”
“Don’t kid yourself.” He tosses the towel into the sink. “That Alpha could find you blindfolded in a crowd of a thousand Omegas.”
I grimace at the truth of it. No disguise will fool Aaiden. But I don’t need complete anonymity. I only need enough time to get past the outer layer of security.
“You’re still sure about this?” Avery leans against the bathroom wall, arms crossed. “Raphael could arrange a meeting. Hell, I could call him right now and have a car waiting within the hour.”
“No. I’m not walking back in through the front door like a stray pet who decided to come home.”
“Pride’s gonna get you shot someday.”
“But not today.” I grab the small jar of pheromone blockers from the counter and twist off the cap with more force than necessary. “If I go back, it’s as an equal. Not begging for forgiveness.”
Avery shakes his head in disbelief. “And infiltrating his fortress proves what, exactly?”
“That I can still get to him when he thinks he’s in control,” The cream cools my fingertips as I scoop out a generous amount. “I’m not some Omega who needs his protection.”
“You think he doesn’t realize you’re a killer?” Avery asks.
“He knows, but...” I consider how to articulate what I’ve come to realize. “He struggles to hold both versions of me in his head at the same time. The Omega who was taken… and the one his family trained to handle himself.”
I raise the cream toward my neck, and my nose wrinkles at the chemical scent. “Ugh, this stuff is strong.”
“It’s military-grade,” Avery says as I spread it across my throat, working it into my skin until the scent glands beneath are saturated. “Same blockers used by special forces during covert ops. Don’t know how you got your hands on some.”
I apply another layer to my wrists, where my pulse points would broadcast my presence to any Alpha within twenty feet. “Raphael got me the jar.”
“Of course he did.” Avery snorts. “The man’s determined to see this romantic comedy through to the end.”
I ignore the comment and focus on my nape, where my scent is strongest. Where Aaiden should have left his Mark. I push the thought away and continue the application, turning away to do my groin.
When I finish, I smell like nothing. Not an Omega. Not even human, really. Just... neutral. The kind of non-scent that registers as a cleaning product or air freshener. Invisible to the nose, the way I need to be invisible to the eye.
I wipe my hands on a clean towel and grab the stolen uniform hanging on the back of the bathroom door. The shirt goes on stiff and unforgiving, starched to within an inch of its life. Next comes the black vest with the Rockford crest embroidered on the breast pocket. Black slacks, polished shoes.
“Stand up straight,” Avery instructs, his eyes critical. “No. You look like you’re about to attack someone.”
I adjust my posture, relax my shoulders, and lower my chin to appear deferential while wishing I’d paid more attention to Ezra’s mate, Ren, who’s a master at donning personalities as easily as donning clothes.
“Better.” Avery gestures to the room. “Now, let’s see you walk.”
I stride across the small bathroom.
“Again,” Avery says. “You’re still moving like an enforcer. Think servant, not soldier.”
I try again, remembering how the staff moves through Rockford Manor. Invisible not through stealth but through expectation. They belong there because everyone assumes they do. No one gives a staff member going about their duties a second look.
Avery studies me with a critical eye. “If I didn’t know better, I might walk right past you.”
I turn back to the mirror for a final assessment. The transformation is complete. The man reflected back at me could be any member of the Rockford domestic staff. Competent. Unremarkable. Forgettable.
Perfect.
I check the time. “The delivery truck arrives at the checkpoint in forty minutes.”
“And you’re sure about this approach?” Avery raises an eyebrow. “Seems like a lot of trouble when you could simply call the man.”
“He had his chance for phone conversations.” I grab the jumpsuit for a local food delivery service and pull it on over my uniform, zipping it up to my chin. “Now we do this my way.”
“Your way involves crawling under a delivery truck and risking getting shot by security.”
“My way will ensure he shuts up long enough to listen to me.” I meet his gaze in the mirror. “If I go at him head-on, he’ll just thump his chest while telling me he knows what’s best for me.”
Avery sighs, pushing away from the wall. “Rockfords and their dramatic gestures. You fit right in, you know that?”
My lips twitch despite myself. “That’s the idea.”
With one last check of my appearance, I turn away from the mirror. The disguise is as good as it’s going to get. The rest depends on speed, skill, and the intimate knowledge of Rockford Manor that comes from growing up within its walls.
Time to go home. On my terms.
The delivery truck idles where Avery said it would, halfway through its morning route with the Rockford Manor stop still ahead.
Right on schedule.
The driver climbs down from the cab, clipboard tucked under one arm as he heads into the coffee shop for his regular fifteen-minute break in the historical district of Rockhaven.
Predictable. Reliable.
Exploitable.
I slide from behind the parked van across the street, moving at an unhurried pace that wouldn’t catch a casual observer’s attention.
Three weeks of surveillance condensed to this fifteen-minute window. Three weeks of plotting the most reliable entry to Rockford Manor that bypasses Aaiden’s new security protocols. The driver never varies his routine. Always the same coffee shop. Always the same duration.
I cross the street when traffic provides cover, timing my approach to coincide with a passing city bus. The truck sits in the loading zone, engine running to keep the refrigerated section cool. Perfect. The vibration will mask any small movements I make during the journey.
Dropping to the ground beside the rear wheel, I slide beneath the chassis without hesitation. Years of training have taught me how to move in tight spaces and calculate clearances at a glance. The undercarriage offers several anchor points, as the schematics for this model promised.
I secure the first strap around a solid frame member, testing it with a hard tug before fastening it around my chest. Next comes the second strap around my legs, positioned to distribute my weight evenly. The harness isn’t comfortable, but it doesn’t need to be, so long as it holds.
The diesel fumes and hot metal fill my lungs as I flatten myself against the metal framework, sucking in my stomach to gain another half inch of clearance. The ground beneath me shows patches of oil-stained concrete, uncomfortably close to my face.
Nine fifty-one. Four minutes before the driver returns.
I finish securing myself, and the final strap clicks into place just as I hear the coffee shop door open across the street.
Footsteps approach. Keys jingle. The driver’s boots appear in my peripheral vision, passing the spot where I’m hidden by the massive rear tire. The door opens, and the entire truck shifts as he climbs in.
A moment later, the engine revs, and we’re moving.
The journey begins with immediate discomfort.
Every bump in the road jars through my body, the straps digging into my chest and thighs as gravity tries to pull me down.
The heat from the engine and exhaust system bakes into my skin through the jumpsuit that protects my uniform from debris, and sweat soaks through the layers of fabric.
Those pheromone blockers better live up to the hype.
I follow the route by feel rather than sight, tracking each turn and straightaway. Left on Kimber Street. Straight for six blocks along Westfield Avenue. Right onto the road that winds up into Skyhaven.
My arms begin to burn from maintaining position as small adjustments become necessary every few seconds, micro-movements to relieve pressure points before they become unbearable.
The exhaust pipe hugs my right side, heat searing close enough to force me left, then back right when that side gets too hot.
Twenty minutes into the journey, we turn onto the private road leading to Rockford Manor. The smooth asphalt gives way to gravel, and the change in vibration pattern sends renewed pain shooting through my shoulders and back.
I focus on my breathing. Slow. Controlled. In through the nose, out through the mouth.