Chapter 4
four
The clink of crystal against crystal cut through the ambient chatter as Atlas Frost raised his champagne flute, commanding the room’s attention without raising his voice.
“To courage and curiosity.” His voice carried effortlessly across the penthouse. “May our expedition into one of Earth’s last frontiers yield discoveries that change our understanding of the world.”
The crowd murmured their agreement, glasses clinking as the toast concluded.
Elliot kept his expression neutral as he lifted his own glass, noting how Frost’s eyes didn’t match his smile.
The toast seemed innocuous enough, but something in the phrasing—“our expedition”—grated against his nerves.
As if Frost would be there with them instead of safely ensconced in his Manhattan penthouse while they battled sub-zero temperatures and whatever Praetorian had planned.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Rue’s voice was low, close to his ear, her breath warm against his skin. Her perfume—faintly tropical—momentarily distracted him.
Jesus. He needed to focus.
He gave his head a shake and scanned the room again. “Tell me about the expedition team.”
“All right.” Rue angled her body toward his in a way that looked casual but kept their conversation private.
“That’s Dr. Simon Keene,” she said, nodding toward a tall man in his late fifties with wire-frame glasses and a slightly distracted air.
He was flanked by two college-aged kids who were clearly in awe of the setting.
“He specializes in studying microalgae trapped in sea ice. Totally harmless. I don’t think he even knows what room he’s in half the time.
Those two with him are grad students, Tyler Grant and Mia Chen.
I had one of my dad’s guys run background checks on all three of them. They’re all clean.”
Good to know. If Gabe Bristow’s man had vouched for them, they were probably clean. Gabe wasn’t just Rue’s father—he was a legend in special operations circles, and his intelligence network was second only to Wilde Security’s.
Next, Rue nodded to a man in a black suit standing near the bar, posture rigid and watchful. “That’s Noah Braddock. Officially, he’s a geologist. Unofficially? I’d bet money he’s Praetorian. Or at least he works for whoever Frost answers to. He definitely doesn’t look like a scientist.”
Elliot studied Braddock without appearing to look directly at him. He’d worked with enough operatives to recognize one on sight, and the man had the unmistakable bearing of military—or at least paramilitary—training.
“He’s the reason you called me?”
“Yeah, part of it,” Rue confirmed and frowned slightly as she took a sip of her rocket fuel. “He jangled some alarm bells.”
“What’s the other part?”
“Dr. Irina Volkova.” She indicated a woman with platinum blonde hair and sharp cheekbones who was engaged in animated conversation with a group near the windows.
The name tugged at Elliot’s memory. He’d heard it before, possibly in a briefing about Praetorian’s scientific division. He made a mental note to check the WSW database when he returned to the office.
“What about her?”
“She’s a microbiologist who specializes in extremophiles—organisms that survive in extreme conditions—but she’s officially signed on as the expedition medical doctor,” Rue said, her voice dropping lower.
“I mean, that’s weird, right? Why would a world-renowned microbiologist come as a glorified medic? ”
Elliot nodded slightly. “Yeah, that’s weird.”
“And the blonde woman talking to Braddock and Frost?” he asked, noting how the woman’s predatory gaze kept returning to Rue.
“Camille Middleton. Other than Frost, she’s the expedition’s primary investor.” Rue’s smile tightened. “She’s been grilling me all night about our communication capabilities in isolation.”
Before Elliot could respond, the blonde detached herself from Frost’s side and made a beeline toward them, her diamond earrings catching the light with each determined step.
“Ms. Bristow,” she called in a posh British accent. “I’ve been hoping to speak with you again before you disappear to the bottom of the world.”
Rue’s posture shifted subtly, her public persona sliding into place with a wide, welcoming smile. “Ms. Middleton. Enjoying the party?”
“Immensely.” Middleton’s gaze slid to Elliot, assessing him from head to toe. “And who might this be?”
“This is my fiancé, Elliot,” Rue said, her hand sliding into his with surprising ease. The sudden warmth of her palm against his caught him off guard, but he recovered quickly, wrapping his fingers around hers. “He’s joining the expedition.”
“Fiancé?” Middleton’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows arched. “My, my. That wasn’t in your file.”
The casual admission that she had a file on Rue sent a warning signal through Elliot’s system. No legitimate investor would speak so carelessly about keeping dossiers on expedition personnel.
“It’s recent,” Rue replied smoothly. “When you know, you know.”
“Indeed.” Camille’s smile was tight, but whether that was from suspicion or copious amounts of Botox was anyone’s guess. “And what is it you do, Elliot, that allows you to accompany your fiancée to such a remote location on short notice?”
“Security consulting,” he answered, keeping his tone neutral despite the internal alarms blaring. “It’s a family-owned firm, so my schedule can be as flexible as I need.”
“How convenient.” She tilted her head, studying him with renewed interest. “And tell me, Ms. Bristow, have the transport arrangements been finalized? I’m particularly interested in how isolated the team will be once you arrive.”
Rue’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his. “The details are in the expedition brief, Ms. Middleton. But yes, we’ll be quite isolated. That’s kind of the point of Antarctica.”
“Of course. I’m simply concerned about the safety measures. So much valuable research, so far from help if something were to go... wrong.”
The threat was thinly veiled, and Elliot’s shoulder muscles tensed in response. He stepped slightly closer to Rue, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by Camille.
“Protective, aren’t we?” she remarked, her gaze sharpening. “You must be very proud of your fiancée’s accomplishments.”
“Extremely,” he replied easily. “Though I’m curious why an investor would be so concerned with transport security.”
A flash of something—irritation, maybe—crossed her features before she masked it with another practiced smile. “In my experience, Mr...?”
“Wilde,” he supplied.
“Mr. Wilde.” She paused, recognition flickering in her eyes. “As in Wilde Security?”
Elliot kept his expression neutral. “The same.”
“Interesting.” She seemed to recalculate something. “In my experience, Mr. Wilde, the most valuable discoveries require the most careful handling. I simply want to ensure our investment is protected.”
“Rest assured,” Rue interjected, “every aspect of the expedition has been meticulously planned. Your investment is in capable hands.”
Camille held Rue’s gaze for a moment longer than was comfortable. “I certainly hope so. I’ve sunk a lot of money into this.” She glanced at her watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another engagement. Safe travels, Ms. Bristow. Mr. Wilde.”
As she walked away, Elliot watched her path through the crowd, noting how she paused to speak briefly with Braddock before disappearing into the elevator.
“Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all,” Rue muttered, still holding his hand. “Should I be flattered that I apparently warrant a file?”
“No, you should be concerned.” He turned to face her fully, using their joined hands as an excuse to pull her closer. “That woman is dangerous.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Rue rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her unease.
“She recognized my name,” he said.
“Is that surprising? Your family’s company isn’t exactly low-profile.”
“She wasn’t happy about it.”
Rue’s expression sobered. “You think she’s Praetorian?”
“I think we have at least one Praetorian operative on this expedition team, and an investor who’s asking very specific questions.” He glanced around the room. “Whatever they’re after in Antarctica, it isn’t fucking ice algae.”
Rue’s fingers tightened around his. “Which means it’s valuable.”
“Or dangerous.” Elliot met her gaze. “Possibly both.”
Her eyes held his. “Well, then it’s a good thing you’ll be there to keep me out of trouble.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Elliot felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “I don’t think anyone could manage that, Trouble. Not even me.”
“That’s what makes it fun.” She grinned, and the genuine smile transformed her face.
Most men would describe her as cute before they called her beautiful, but they’d be wrong.
There was nothing diminutive about Rue Bristow when she smiled like that—all heat and mischief and dangerous promise.
Beautiful didn’t cover it. Neither did stunning.
She was magnetic in a way that made his chest tight and his pulse kick up like he’d been running.
Christ. He needed to get his head on straight.
Because when it came to Rue Bristow, his judgment was compromised in ways he couldn’t afford on a mission like this.
Not when their lives might depend on his ability to stay focused.
The air burned with cold, but Rue breathed it in like salvation.
She leaned against the terrace railing, letting the winter wind slice through her party dress as Manhattan’s lights blurred beneath her.
The bite of it was clarifying, cutting through the champagne haze of Atlas Frost’s penthouse party like a knife.
She didn’t want to go back in there.
Rue shivered, but not from the cold. She’d led expeditions to some of the most remote places on Earth—the Atacama Desert, the Siberian tundra, the depths of unmarked caves. But Antarctica was different. Three weeks of isolation in the harshest environment on the planet with a team she didn’t trust…
If she had any sense, she’d pull the plug now.