15. Anika #2
Taking a deep breath, I step back into the glittering party.
Crystal glasses clink, laughter bubbles, and the orchestra plays something classical that sounds vaguely familiar.
The music swells around me, couples spinning across the dance floor in a blur of designer gowns and tuxedos.
Waiters glide between guests with trays of champagne.
Everything looks exactly the same as when I left, but now it all feels…
sinister. Like a beautiful mask hiding something ugly.
What have I gotten myself into? And more importantly, what has Griffin gotten himself into?
Trust no one else here. Including your date.
I scan the crowded ballroom for Griffin’s tall frame, my eyes darting from face to face. Where is he? Did something happen to him already?
But the sea of black tuxedos and evening gowns blurs together.
A server passes with a tray of champagne. I grab a glass and drain it in one gulp, ignoring his startled look. Liquid courage. I need to find Griffin, tell him we need to leave, without revealing why. How am I supposed to do that? Not making an untoward proposition, I can tell you that much.
I push through clusters of laughing guests, murmuring apologies as I search. The orchestra’s melancholy song perfectly matching my growing sense of dread.
Then I spot him across the room, his broad shoulders unmistakable even from behind. He’s standing near one of the massive windows that overlook the snow-covered mountains, his back to me.
Relief floods through me. He’s safe. He’s right there.
Now, I just need to get him out of here before whatever danger those strange people warned me about materializes. I start toward him, rehearsing excuses in my head. Food poisoning? Migraine? Sudden urge to make out in the helicopter?
Then I see something that stops me cold.
Oh.
My feet freeze to the floor. The air rushes from my lungs as though someone’s punched me in the stomach.
I blink hard, hoping I’m imagining things. That what I’m seeing is just a trick of the light, or too much champagne, or the stress of being threatened in a fancy bathroom.
But it’s still there when I open my eyes.
The orchestra continues playing, but the music seems to fade away. The laughter around me becomes distant, like I’m underwater. All I can focus on is what’s happening across the room.
My throat tightens. A strange, hollow feeling spreads through my chest.
He’s not who you think he is.
I thought?—
No. It doesn’t matter what I thought. I was wrong. So very wrong.
I was so stupid. So, so stupid to think that tonight was magical.
But now I have a choice to make. Do I trust those strangers’ warning and drag Griffin out of here? Or was their warning part of something else entirely?
Griffin turns slightly, and for a brief moment, our eyes meet across the crowded room. Something flickers across his face. Surprise? Guilt?
I back away slowly, nearly colliding with a dancing couple. I apologize and pivot, the room tilting sideways.
I need to get out of here. Away from this party. Away from Griffin.
Away from the truth that’s staring me in the face.
I turn to look for the exit, but before I can do anything, a hand closes around my arm, and a voice whispers in my ear.
“I told you to leave, Miss Gisler. Now it’s too late.”
The man presses two fingers over his ear. “Meridian, we’ve got company.”
The man’s fingers dig into my arm like talons. “Let go of me,” I hiss, trying to wrench away.
Instead of releasing me, he spins me around so forcefully I nearly lose my footing, pulling me against his chest in what must look like an intimate embrace to anyone watching. My hands instinctively press against his lapels to create distance, but he’s as solid as a brick wall.
“Act naturally,” he murmurs, his mouth close to my ear. “Smile. Dance. Don’t draw attention.”
He begins swaying us to the music, one hand splayed possessively across my lower back. My feet stumble as he continues to move us in time with the music.
“I don’t want to dance with you,” I whisper fiercely.
“Play along until I deem it safe,” he orders, his eyes scanning the room over my shoulder.
I glance across the ballroom and spot Griffin. He’s noticed us. His normally cheerful face has hardened into something I’ve never seen before. Jaw tight, eyes narrowed, brows drawn together in a severe line. He’s already cutting through the crowd, moving with purpose in our direction.
Even from here, I can see the intensity in his eyes. The look on his face makes my stomach flip. It’s protective, fierce, nothing like the playful, quote-spouting goalie who chops wood without a shirt on.
This is someone else entirely.
“My friend is coming,” I warn the man. “And he doesn’t look happy.”
The man follows my gaze, his posture stiffening. “That complicates things.”
“Good,” I snap. “Now let me go.”
The man stops dancing abruptly, his eyes scanning the room. “Listen carefully. There are four OMbrA operatives in this room.”
“I don’t even know what OMbrA is!”
“Keep your voice down,” he hisses. Then, with surprising gentleness, he adds, “Come. I can get you out safely.”
He’s guiding me away from the dance floor, his hand firmly around my upper arm as we move toward a side hallway. I glance back and see Griffin pushing past a cluster of laughing guests, his eyes locked on us.
“Stop manhandling me,” I snap, trying to wrench my arm free. “I can walk on my own.”
His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go as we move down a dimly lit corridor. “I’m trying to save your life, Miss Gisler.”
“I just want to go home,” I say, my voice smaller than I intend. “Alone. Without any man. Without any of…whatever this is.”
He stops at an intersection of hallways, checking both directions before turning to me. For the first time, I notice the tiny scar bisecting his left eyebrow, the only imperfection in his otherwise immaculate appearance.
“There’s a service elevator at the end of this corridor,” he says, pointing to our right. “Take it down to the ground floor, then follow the exit signs to the staff parking area. There will be a black car waiting. The driver knows where to take you.”
“I’m not getting in a stranger’s car.”
He sighs. “Fair enough.” He tugs me down a different hallway. “This way.”
I stumble after him, my heels clicking on marble as we move deeper into the mansion. The music fades completely, replaced by an eerie silence broken only by our footsteps and my slightly panicked breathing.
“Who are you?” I demand as he pulls me around another corner.
“Wilde,” he says without looking back. That doesn’t answer my question at all.
We reach an ornate wooden door at the end of a hallway lined with oil paintings of stern-looking men in hunting attire. Wilde pulls a small device from his pocket, runs it along the door frame, then nods to himself before turning the handle.
“After you,” he says, gesturing me inside.
“No way. You first.”
He smirks, then steps into what appears to be an opulent study. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, interrupted only by a massive stone fireplace. A heavy mahogany desk dominates the center of the room, surrounded by leather chairs.
“Nice place to hide a body,” I mutter, following him reluctantly.
Wilde moves directly to a bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines. “Malcolm Chase likes his secrets,” he says, pulling on a specific volume. Something about financial markets. “And his escape routes.”
The bookshelf swings outward with a soft click, revealing a dark passageway beyond.
I take an instinctive step backward. “Oh, no. No way.”
“It’s the safest way out,” Wilde insists. “This passage leads directly to the second helipad.”
“How do you know about secret tunnels in Malcolm Chase’s private mansion?”
“That’s classified.”
“Of course it is,” I mutter.
Wilde reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out what looks like a sleek metal pen.
With a click, the end illuminates with a bright beam of light.
He hands it to me. “Follow this tunnel straight through. After about fifty meters, you’ll reach a junction.
Take the right path, then the second left.
That will lead you to a stairwell that comes out behind the main kitchen, near the service entrance to the helipad. ”
I take the light, turning it over in my hand. “Is this going to self-destruct in five minutes?”
“It’s just a flashlight, Miss Gisler,” he says, though I catch the ghost of a smile. “However, I wouldn’t recommend disassembling it.”
“Great. So it might explode.”
“Your pilot will be waiting. Tell him ‘eucalyptus,’ and he’ll take you directly home.”
“Eucalyptus? Seriously?”
“It’s a verification code. For your safety.”
I glance down the dark passage, then back at Wilde. “You realize this is exactly how people get murdered in horror movies, right? Strange man leads woman to secret tunnel, gives her cryptic instructions, then locks her inside?”
“If I wanted to harm you, Miss Gisler, I would have done so in the bathroom.”
“That’s…not as reassuring as you think it is.”
Wilde checks his watch. “We don’t have time for this. Get to the helipad and wait for your pilot. He’ll take you home.”
“What about Griffin?” I ask, surprising myself with how much I care about the answer. There’s also the little matter of leaving behind my mother’s furry coat.
“We’ll handle Mr. McGregor.”
“Handle? That sounds ominous.”
“Go,” he says, his voice softening slightly. “Please.”
“Right path, second left, kitchen, helipad,” I repeat. “Eucalyptus.”
Wilde nods. “Good luck, Miss Gisler.”
Before I can say anything else, he’s gently pushing me into the passageway. The panel slides closed behind me with a soft click, plunging me into darkness except for the beam of the flashlight.
“Well, this is just perfect,” I mutter, aiming the light down the narrow stone corridor that looks like it belongs in a medieval castle and not a luxury ski resort. “Just follow the creepy British man’s directions through the secret tunnel. What could possibly go wrong?”