Chapter 41
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
Dinner dragged on with multiple courses and increasingly pointed questions from Ravenscroft. Hudson maintained his cover, but he was acutely aware that time was running out.
Friday. The Dubai shipment. The warehouse.
He needed more information, and the best place to find it was Ravenscroft’s study just down the hall. He couldn’t run out of time.
That meant he needed to act now.
“Excuse me.” Hudson stood and placed his napkin beside his plate. “Restroom?”
“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Ravenscroft said.
Hudson nodded his thanks and walked casually toward the hallway, feeling Ravenscroft’s gaze on his back. He kept his pace unhurried, his posture relaxed—just a boyfriend who needed to run to the bathroom.
He passed the first door—a coat closet, he’d noted earlier. The bathroom was indeed the second door.
But the study was the third door—he’d studied the blueprints of the house already, back before he’d even met Natalie. And it was calling to him like a siren song.
Hudson glanced back toward the dining room. Ravenscroft was speaking to Natalie, asking her something about work.
The conversation would keep them occupied, but not for long. A bathroom trip shouldn’t take more than three minutes before questions started being asked.
He made his decision.
Instead of turning into the bathroom, Hudson moved past it to the study door.
His hand settled on the handle—cool brass, recently polished.
He tested it slowly, checking for any resistance or alarm trigger.
Nothing.
Even better, it was unlocked.
Hudson slipped inside and eased the door closed. His training overrode the adrenaline spike that wanted to make him rush, make mistakes, leave evidence of his presence.
He glanced around.
The study was dark except for moonlight filtering through the wall of windows. Hudson didn’t risk turning on the lights. It would be too obvious if someone walked past.
Instead, he let his eyes adjust, picking out shapes in the dimness.
The massive desk dominated the center of the room. Built-in bookshelves lined two walls. A wet bar occupied one corner. The space was expensive but impersonal—not somewhere Ravenscroft spent leisure time.
Hudson’s internal clock started counting. Two minutes and forty-five seconds. That’s all he had.
He moved to the desk, his footsteps silent on the Persian rug.
First things first: He placed a listening device just under the desk.
Then he grabbed his phone and, using its light, scanned the surface.
A leather planner sat open. Hudson’s pulse quickened as he photographed the pages, the camera’s slight click sounding impossibly loud in the quiet room.
Two minutes, fifteen seconds.
Hudson carefully pulled open the top desk drawer, wincing at the slight squeak of wood on wood.
He paused, listening.
No change in the conversation from the dining room. No footsteps approaching.
Inside the drawer: pens, business cards, notepads. Nothing incriminating.
He photographed it anyway. Sometimes patterns emerged later that weren’t obvious in the moment.
Second drawer. Files labeled with shipping company names—legitimate businesses. But underneath, a manila folder with no label.
Hudson lifted it carefully, opening it to find shipping manifests. His eyes scanned quickly, photographing each page. Container numbers. Arrival dates. Origin ports.
One minute, forty seconds.
His training screamed at him to keep searching, to find more evidence, to make this risk worth it. But his instincts—honed by years of operations—told him time was running out.
Hudson closed the drawer, checked that everything was exactly as he’d found it, and turned toward the door.
That was when he heard them.
Footsteps in the hallway. Not rushing, but purposeful. Coming closer.
Hudson’s heart rate spiked for the first time since entering the room.
He was too far from the door to slip out unseen. The windows had alarms—he’d noted the sensors earlier. There was no other exit except—
The door handle started to turn.
Hudson’s mind raced through options in the fraction of a second he had left.
Hide behind the desk?
Too obvious.
Claim he got lost looking for the bathroom?
Weak excuse.
Admit he was snooping?
Career-ending.
The door began to open, light from the hallway spilling into the dark study.
Hudson was out of time.
Natalie had waited, her stomach clenched with anxiety.
She knew exactly what Hudson was doing.
The bathroom had been a convenient excuse. What he’d really wanted was access to her father’s study. He wanted the chance to search for evidence, to photograph documents, to find proof of whatever Blackout suspected.
It was a huge risk. Her father noticed everything.
Natalie forced herself to take a bite of her cheesecake, to continue the conversation as if nothing was wrong. But her mind was racing, calculating how long Hudson had been gone.
Thirty seconds. A minute.
Her father was still talking, something about the shipping industry and new regulations, but Natalie barely heard him. She was too busy tracking time, too aware of the empty chair across from her, too conscious that every second Hudson was gone increased the chance of discovery.
Come on, Hudson. Whatever you’re looking for, find it fast and get out.
Her father went quiet.
Natalie looked up and found him staring down the hallway, his expression thoughtful in a way that made her pulse spike.
Two and a half minutes.
“That’s quite a long bathroom break,” her father said.
She heard the edge beneath his words and quickly said, “He probably got a phone call. Work thing. You know how consultants are—always on the job.”
Her father’s eyes shifted to her, assessing. “Does he make a habit of taking work calls during dinner?”
“No, I—I’m just guessing. I don’t know for certain.”
Three minutes.
Her father stood, his napkin placed carefully on the table.
“I should check on Timothy,” he said. “He’s been gone a while.”
Panic shot through her. Hudson had been gone too long—long enough that her father’s suspicion was clearly aroused.
If he found Hudson anywhere other than the bathroom, if he caught him in the study—
Natalie stood abruptly, her hip catching the edge of the table and nearly knocking over her glass. She caught it just in time, her heart hammering.
“Actually, I’ll check on him.” She forced a smile, tried to look embarrassed rather than terrified. “I need to use the restroom anyway.”
Her father’s gaze sharpened on her face, and Natalie knew he was reading her body language, noting her nervous energy and the slight tremor in her hands.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I need to check in with security anyway. They’ve been texting me.”
That might buy her a few minutes—might give Hudson time to get out of that study and back to the bathroom where he was supposed to be.
She rose to her feet and headed toward the hallway.
The bathroom door was closed but not locked—she checked as she passed it.
Which meant Hudson wasn’t in there.
The study door was closed but with a sliver of light beneath it.
Without thinking, Natalie pushed open the study door and slipped inside.
Hudson stood by the desk, his phone in his hand, frozen like a deer in headlights.
“I was looking for—” he started.
Natalie didn’t let him finish.
She knew her father—he would catch them in here at any moment.
She crossed the room in three steps, grabbed Hudson’s shirt, and pulled him into a kiss.
For a split second, Hudson went rigid with surprise.
Then his arms came around her waist, and he pulled her closer as if this was completely natural, as if they hadn’t been at odds all day.
Behind them, the study door opened.
Her heart pounded harder.
Had her ruse worked?
They were about to find out.