Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Selfies. Who the hell thought I’d ever be sending one? I snap the shot, smirking like a jackass and send it to the team.
I tap in some text to go along with it: All dressed up. Marshall, be sure to thank Danee for packing a Pelican Case full of suits for this bunch of wild animals. Must have cost a pretty penny. Fits perfectly. I’ll be in touch. If you don’t hear from me, you know where to start looking.
My phone is dinging as I drop it into the console.The boys are going to have a field day. I’ll be catching hell for days from Scout, Truck, Levi, Beast, and Justice. SEALs love ribbing the fuck out of each other.
Too bad they aren’t here to go with me tonight. I’d be fucking with them too for wearing a penguin suit.
With a grin on my face, I start the truck and cruise through town. It doesn’t take long. Four blocks. One stop sign.
Where I’m from, we’d call this place podunk.
The police station is still closed.
Weird.
But hey, this isn’t America. Maybe I’ll tape a note to the door for someone to call me about the bank heist.
I hang a quick left and head up a steep road. It climbs high above town, weaving through a dense canopy of trees. Soon the forest gives way to houses. Each growing in size and grandeur. Until I reach the top of the mountain and arrive at the most elaborate of all.
The mayor’s house.
A sign by the gate proclaims the property name: La Vista Prima.
The driveways—as in plural—are filled with shining cars. Most of them are expensive, some average, none are junk like the ones I grew up around.
Looking around, I pick a spot to park the incognito company truck that has a clear exit.
A flicker of light on the house catches my attention. Party guests are on a third floor balcony, overlooking the ocean. Light from the sunset catches on champagne flutes and cocktail dresses. Music drifts on the salty breeze.
Nice spot to take it all in.
Even better spot to dig for clues.
A thrill of excitement quickens my pulse as I drop my feet to the ground. I love the hunt. Getting an invite to this party while I was walking around Karma was my first stroke of good luck.
Not that having my arms around the raven-haired beauty wasn’t good luck. But that was a tease and has me thinking about ways I can make our paths cross again. And if I’m really lucky, that’s about to happen tonight.
I’m fashionably late, so there’s no one around the front of the mansion as I approach. No guards. No guests.
The wide gold and white door is ajar. Beyond the threshold is a white marble floor with deep veins of golden color slicing across it. Just inside is a gold table, decked with white flowers in a sky-scraping gold glass vase.
I’m detecting a theme here.
As I step inside, I flick my gaze left and right.
Ah. There is the guard.
Machine gun in hand, the man looks me over with a reticent expression.
I step further inside. “Evenin’, I’m Walt Goodlove.”
Music from above floats down from the party upstairs. He’s still silent.
Sliding my hands in my pockets, I look up at the painted ceiling. “Nice place. The mayor requested my presence.”
When I look back at him, he nods once. Slowly.
“Ah, there you are.” A woman in a skin-tight green cocktail dress and six-inch heels clicks across the marble floor toward me.
For a second, I’m suspended in a weird headspace. This woman looks remarkably like Allison Weatherly, our target. But as my mind scans the image I have committed to memory, it checks off all the ways this woman is different.
Her tone has no accent. Completely neutral. “The mayor’s been asking for you.”
Perplexed by the coincidence of this woman’s similarities, I force myself not to stare and offer her a smile. “Lead the way.”
Without hesitation she extends a hand. “I’m Cornelia.”
Not only does she look like the woman we’re hunting, she’s remarkably pretty, but after seeing that silky black hair tangled up around my arms at the bank, I’ve got a taste for only one thing.
“Pleasure is mine.” I bow over her hand.
She makes a pleased sound as she drops my grip. “Such a gentleman, some of the men around here could use a lesson.”
“I try to be.”
There’s something a little too saccharine in her smile as she takes my offered arm. “Let’s get you a drink.”
A drink I won’t consume.
But she doesn’t need to know that.
Her delicate hand hooked in my arm, she guides me down a long marble-tiled hallway to a set of stairs. Also gold. We climb up to the third floor with her narrating the artwork as we go.
Cataloging the layout of all the doorways and recesses, I nod and smile without giving a crap about whose uncle was in that ugly-ass oil painting.
Once we hit the veranda, right away she leads me to the bar.
The bartender shares a glance with her. This time her smile is stiff when she turns to me. “I suggest you try a Tequila Sunrise, it’s locally grown. Well, the tequila is.”
“Sure.” She could order me a cup of gasoline for all I care.
Less than sixty seconds later, I’m holding a cold glass with a sunset-colored drink that has a sprig of some kind of orchid sticking out of it. “You said the mayor was asking about me?”
“First things first. You need a good strong drink.”
I suppress a grin. Roofie strong?
Cornelia hurries me toward a crowd, totally unaware that I’m spilling my drink intentionally as we go.
Blond curls bouncing, she parts the throng of people. “Excuse me. Excuse me. The mayor’s new guest is here.”
It’s easy to spot him over the top of the crowd. I’m a head taller than most. The man’s holding court. A circle of apparent admirers circling him like feeder fish.
Groan.
When the last of the people split and we step in front of the man, he holds up a hand. “Thank you, Cornelia, I’ll be done in just a minute.”
Screech. I’ve never seen a woman’s face fall so fast.
Trying not to show her disappointment, she looks up at me. “I’m sure he won’t be long.”
“I’ve got all night. I’ll just wait over here.”
She doesn’t follow as I walk away toward the edge of the balcony, a spot where I can assess the crowd. Get a feel for what’s going on. There’s a conveniently placed blooming plant too.
Hope it likes Tequila.
I lean against the waist-high concrete balustrade, cross my dress shoe over my ankle and settle in for the show.
There’s plenty of people-watching to do and since no one is looking my way, I toss the rest of the drink.
From somewhere to my left there’s a throaty feminine laugh. “It’s a crime in Karma to poison a plant.”
Fuck.
Expecting Cornelia, the hostess with the mostest, I turn around.
But it’s not her.