Chapter 15
15
CLAIRE
I was in trouble.
The kind I couldn’t talk my way out of. The kind that had nothing to do with the investigation, Dominion Hall, or the tangled web of secrets I was trying to unravel. No, this was something worse.
This was him .
Marcus Dane, with his piercing blue eyes and his touch that burned like a brand. Marcus, who had just been under me, inside me, his breath ragged, his hands gripping my hips like he was afraid to let go.
And now, here we were.
I was still in his lap, my body flushed, my skin still humming from what we’d just done. His hands rested on my thighs, thumbs brushing idly over my skin like he wasn’t quite ready to stop touching me. I wasn’t sure I was ready either. That was the problem.
I should have felt victorious. I had been in control—I’d set the pace, made him come undone. I had won.
And yet …
I swallowed hard, trying to find something sharp to say, something that would remind both of us that this wasn’t about us. That this wasn’t real, wasn’t anything.
But before I could speak, my gaze flickered past him—over his shoulder, to the shelves lining the far side of the room.
Something caught my eye.
A file, thick and slightly out of place among the bottles of bourbon and cigars. The edge of a paper peeked out, the corner of a logo stamped in black ink.
My pulse kicked up.
Department 77.
I moved before I could think, slipping from Marcus’s lap, crossing the room in a few quick steps. My fingers closed around the file, pulling it free.
“What are you doing?” Marcus’s voice was calm, but I heard the shift beneath it—something taut.
I turned, holding up the file. “You tell me.”
His jaw ticked. “That’s not for you.”
“No?” I flipped it open. Pages of reports. Surveillance images. A list of names, some blacked out. But one stood out. A name I knew. “You’ve been tracking Department 77.”
Marcus exhaled through his nose. “I track a lot of things.”
I met his gaze, searching for the truth in it. “This isn’t just a rumor, is it? It’s real. And you knew.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Be careful what you go looking for, Claire.”
My stomach tightened, because that—the way he said my name, slow and dangerous—sounded an awful lot like a warning.
I snapped the file shut. “Too late.”
Something flickered in his eyes, but I didn’t stay to decipher it. Instead, I turned, grabbing my dress from the floor, slipping it back over my shoulders, smoothing the fabric like it could erase what had just happened between us.
“Where are you going?”
I paused at the door, glancing back over my shoulder. “Back to the party.”
He didn’t move from the sofa. Just watched me, still shirtless, his skin flushed, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths. But his eyes were something else entirely—sharp, assessing.
Like he was already planning his next move.
I smirked, flipping the file in my hand. “Don’t wait up, Dane.”
Then I left.
The shift in the air hit me the second I stepped back into the grand hall. The low sounds of conversation, the clink of glasses, the flicker of candlelight glinting off gilded masks—it all felt too bright, too normal, too fake after what had just happened below Dominion Hall.
I moved through the crowd, my body still thrumming, my mind racing, replaying Marcus’s words, the heat of his mouth on my skin, the file now burning a hole in my thoughts.
I found Diego near the bar, leaning against the counter, swirling a drink in his hand as he smirked at a tall, well-dressed man who was definitely interested. But the second his eyes landed on me, the flirtation vanished.
He took one look at my face—at whatever this was—and his expression sharpened.
“Well, well,” he mused, lifting his glass. “Took you long enough. I was beginning to think you’d been kidnapped.”
I forced a smirk, reaching for a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. “And what? You weren’t coming to rescue me?”
Diego gave me a once-over, his gaze narrowing. “Please. You don’t need rescuing. He might, though.”
I took a sip, letting the cool bubbles settle something in me. “What are you talking about?”
Diego arched a brow, tilting his head. “You tell me. You disappeared with Marcus Dane, and now you look like—” He gestured vaguely. “Like a woman who’s been thoroughly debauched and is trying to pretend she wasn’t.”
I nearly choked on my drink. “Jesus, Diego.”
He grinned. “Am I wrong?”
I scowled. “You’re always wrong.”
He hummed, unconvinced. “Mmm. I don’t know, mija. You’ve got that freshly-fucked glow.”
I glared, but my face was definitely burning now.
Diego’s smirk widened. “You did. Oh, my God.”
I waved a hand. “Lower your voice.”
He grabbed my wrist, yanking me in, eyes gleaming. “I need details. Immediately.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “Later.”
Diego made an exaggerated gasp. “Later? Later? Claire, I swear to all things holy, if you do not?—”
I cut him off with a look. “Diego.”
Something in my face must have struck him, because the teasing drained just a fraction. He searched my expression, then exhaled. “All right. But you’re telling me everything when we leave.”
I downed the rest of my champagne. “Deal.”
Diego started to say something else, but his sharp gaze flicked downward, zeroing in on my hand. His expression shifted, curiosity moving into something more serious .
“What’s that?” His voice was low, cautious.
Shit.
I hadn’t even realized I was still clutching the file in my fingers, its edges crumpled slightly from how tight I was holding it. Instinct kicked in fast—I turned slightly, shifting my body so that no one else in the crowd would catch sight of it. The last thing I needed was someone here—someone loyal to Dominion—seeing me walk out of Marcus Dane’s secret underground lair with something I very much wasn’t supposed to have.
Diego’s eyes narrowed. “Claire.”
I exhaled sharply, lowering my hand between us, out of view. “I found something,” I muttered. “Something big.”
His expression darkened. “Then why the hell are we still here? Let’s go before someone notices.”
I shook my head. “No way. Not now.”
He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Are you serious?”
I lifted my chin. “Diego, if Marcus really didn’t want me to take this, I wouldn’t have walked out of that room with it.”
That made him pause. He studied me for a beat, then his lips pressed into a thin line. “You think he planted it for you to find?”
I turned my champagne glass in my fingers, my mind racing. Did he?
Marcus had let me walk out with this file. He could have stopped me. Could have ripped it from my hands. Could have done a hell of a lot more than just watch me take it. And yet, he’d let me go. No fight. No warning beyond that dark look in his eyes.
That wasn’t an accident.
It was a move .
The question was why .
“I think,” I said slowly, “that Marcus Dane never does anything without a reason.”
Diego let out a breath, glancing around like he was already calculating how fast we could get out of here without drawing attention. “And what if the reason is to see how deep you’ll dig before he decides to bury you?”
I smirked. “Then I better start digging fast.”
His jaw clenched. “Claire.”
I set my empty glass on the bar, slipping the file into the folds of my dress as discreetly as I could. “Relax,” I said lightly. “I know what I’m doing.”
Diego muttered something in Spanish under his breath that I was fairly certain was not a compliment. Then he exhaled, rolling his shoulders back, schooling his expression into something more relaxed. The perfect mask.
“Fine,” he said smoothly, taking another sip of his drink like we weren’t standing in the middle of a viper’s den. “But if we end up dead, I’m haunting you.”
I grinned. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
But beneath the teasing, my pulse was pounding.
Because Diego was right.
This just got a lot more interesting.
Diego didn’t let me bask in my victory for long.
“What’s the plan now?” he murmured, keeping his tone light, casual—just two friends chatting over champagne, like I hadn’t just emerged from the shadows clutching a stolen file from one of the most powerful men in Charleston. “Because if you say we keep it, I’m going to assume your orgasm rewired your common sense.”
“Two orgasms,” I replied. “Or was it three? I think I might have blacked out at some point. ”
I shot him a look, but my heart was still hammering. He wasn’t wrong. Keeping the file was out of the question. I had no idea who else in this room might have eyes on me. No idea if Marcus would let me keep it, or if I was about to find out exactly how much he’d let me get away with.
“We need to find somewhere quiet,” I said under my breath.
Diego nodded, already scanning the ballroom. “Powder room?”
“Too much foot traffic.”
“The terrace?”
I shook my head. “Too open.”
His eyes flicked toward a side hall, where a set of gilded double doors stood slightly ajar. He tipped his head toward them. “Library?”
I followed his gaze. The room was dimly lit beyond the doors, just a few wall sconces casting a soft glow over shelves lined with books. More importantly—it was empty.
Perfect.
I moved first, slipping away from the crowd as naturally as I could, Diego just a step behind. We ducked inside, and I exhaled as the noise of the party muffled behind us.
“Okay,” I muttered, glancing around to make sure we were alone. “Let’s see what Marcus was so eager to not hide from me.”
I perched on the edge of a mahogany desk, yanking the file from its makeshift hiding spot in my dress. Diego leaned over my shoulder as I flipped it open.
Documents spilled across the file—dense blocks of text, surveillance logs, blurred photographs taken from too far away. But my gaze locked onto the list of names, inked in precise black letters, most of them redacted into nothingness.
Except one.
One face stood out, unredacted and unmistakable.
A sharp jolt shot through me. I knew that face.
It wasn’t just familiar—it was important. A puzzle piece I hadn’t even realized was missing until now.
I swallowed hard, reaching into my clutch for my phone.
Diego arched a brow. “We’re committing a felony now?”
I gave him a sharp look. “We’re documenting.”
He sighed, but he didn’t stop me.
I snapped photo after photo, making sure I got everything—names, addresses, timestamps, every tiny detail I could grab before we had to get rid of the evidence.
Once I was done, I tucked my phone away and exhaled.
“Now,” Diego said, crossing his arms, “we put it back?”
I hesitated. “Or stash it somewhere.”
He frowned. “Claire.”
Diego’s gaze flicked to the file in my hands, then back to me, his brows knitting together. “You do realize he saw you take that, right? You just told me he did.”
I exhaled sharply. “He saw me pick it up—he said as much. But maybe he doesn’t realize I actually took it.”
Diego scoffed. “Oh, come on, Claire. You were in a room alone with him, and you just casually plucked a classified-looking file off his shelf while he was still recovering from—” He gestured vaguely. “Whatever the hell happened in there. There’s no way he missed that.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. He wasn’t wrong. Marcus was too sharp, too calculating to have overlooked something like that. Which meant …
“He let me take it,” I murmured.
Diego tilted his head. “Or he wanted you to take it.”
I lifted a hand. “Just hear me out. If I put it back exactly where I found it, Marcus knows I saw it. He’ll know I read it, he’ll know I took something from it. But if we leave it somewhere else—somewhere discreet, somewhere he can find it later—then maybe he wonders. I want him to wonder.”
Diego let out a low whistle. “Damn, you’re ruthless.”
I smirked. “You knew that already.”
His eyes gleamed with something sharp. “Okay, fine. So where are we stashing it?”
I tapped the file against my palm, considering. “Somewhere close enough for him to find, but far enough away that it doesn’t look deliberate.” My lips curled. “And we make sure he sees me with it first.”
Diego grinned, shaking his head. “Claire Dixon, playing mind games with a Dane? God help us all.”