21. Anika
ANIKA
I swirl the dregs of my champagne, replaying tonight’s casino drama. Griffin started the poker tournament looking like a runway model in his tuxedo. I mean, he was smoking hot.
Don’t judge. I have a weakness for men in finely tailored suits.
But by the end of it, he’d cycled through ten shades of green. Sigh. He still looked good though.
“You seem distracted,” Wilde says, cutting into my thoughts.
We’re tucked away in a corner of the hotel restaurant open for wealthy patrons even though it’s the middle of the night. Money talks, so I’ve learned.
“I’m thinking about the game,” I admit, stabbing at my untouched chocolate mousse. “Griffin kept touching his ear whenever he was bluffing. And when Malcolm went all-in with those kings, Griffin looked like he was going to throw up.”
“Yet he’s still in the game,” Wilde observes, sipping his sparkling water with lime.
Barely.
For five excruciating hours, I watched from the bar as he nearly lost everything during the first few hands, then clawed his way back with a series of lucky draws.
I thought he was finished when the Texan called his bluff.
Griffin just sat there like a deer in headlights until the dealer started tapping the table.
Around 2 AM, when Griffin’s chip stack had dwindled to a pathetic little mound compared to Malcolm Chase’s towering fortress, the dealer finally announced the game would resume tomorrow at dusk.
“He’s down to what, fifteen percent of his original chips?” I scrunch my nose. “I don’t understand why his sponsor couldn’t find someone who actually knows how to play poker.”
Wilde’s mouth twitches in what might almost be a smile. “Don’t underestimate him just yet. They’re feeding him moves.”
“What do you mean…feeding him moves? He’s terrible.”
“Not necessarily. I’ve seen this strategy before. Malcolm Chase is feeling a little too overconfident right now. But when they resume the game tomorrow, I think you’ll see a whole different side of Griffin McGregor.”
“So you think someone is helping him cheat.”
His expression darkens. “Which is precisely why we need information on the woman who calls herself Elodie. What did you learn when you spoke to her?”
I snort. “Other than she’s beautiful, dangerous, and has her claws in Griffin? Nothing much. She shut down the conversation before I could get anything useful.”
“You kept her attention long enough for us to clone her phone. That’s all we needed.”
I blink. “Wait, you did what? When?”
“That’s classified.”
Of course it is.
Wilde taps his fingers on the table. “We need to know who they’re working for.”
“I thought you said they were spotted with the Swiss Secret Service earlier tonight.”
Wilde just scowls into his sparkling water.
“And what exactly does that woman want with Griffin anyway? I’ve seen the man trying to fight off two guys in my bar. Trust me, he’s no Chuck Norris.”
I take a sip of my water, hoping it might help me process the absurdity of this situation. I think about Griffin, his golden retriever enthusiasm, his ridiculous inspirational quotes. The man is basically a walking sunbeam. The idea of him involved in something sinister is ridiculous.
“I need you to get into her room,” Wilde says. “Find her devices, communications, anything that might give us some intel.”
I blink. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”
Wilde gives me a pointed look that makes my cheeks burn. “Through Mr. McGregor’s adjoining suite, of course.”
“No,” I say flatly. “Absolutely not.”
“You have his trust.”
“I am not seducing Griffin to get into Elodie’s room!” The couple at the next table glances over, and I lower my voice to a hiss. “That’s…that’s completely unethical!”
“I never said anything about seducing him.” Wilde hums as he studies my reaction. “Though your mind went there rather quickly, didn’t it? Interesting.”
“I…well…I only meant…” I stutter. “Just find someone else. Scratch that. Don’t find someone else. There will be nobody going into Griffin’s hotel room tonight or ever.”
“Miss Gisler, people’s lives depend on this. Including his.”
A chill runs through me. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly.” His eyes lock with mine. “I wouldn’t ask if there were another way.”
He reaches into his coat pocket and slides something across the table. “I’ve taken the liberty of booking you the suite across from his.”
It’s a key card. But there’s something underneath. Two tiny silver objects no bigger than earrings. Barely visible against the white tablecloth.
“What are these?” I ask, though I already know.
“Tracking and listening devices. State of the art. Completely undetectable by standard sweeping equipment.”
“Bugs? Are you serious right now?”
Wilde’s voice is matter-of-fact, like he’s asking me to pass the mustard. “Plant one on McGregor. The other needs to find its way into Elodie’s possession. Preferably on something she’ll take everywhere. Her purse, jewelry case, cosmetics bag…anything she won’t leave behind.”
I push the devices back toward him. “This is insane. Griffin’s a nice guy. He might have questionable taste in music, but he’s just…he’s…”
“Dangerous,” Wilde cuts in, his expression hardening.
“That’s ludicrous. He’s about as dangerous as a golden retriever puppy.”
Wilde slides the bugs back to me. “Your feelings for him are clouding your judgement. But…right now, you’re our best asset.”
I laugh bitterly. “Asset?”
“Miss Gisler.” His tone sharpens. “I understand your reluctance, but Mr. McGregor could be involved in something that threatens international security.”
“Then why don’t you let me tell him? Warn him?”
“I assure you, we have compelling reasons.”
“Like what?”
“Classified.” His expression doesn’t change. “The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”
“Maybe Griffin knows something that could help.”
Wilde’s expression hardens. “Absolutely not. For all we know, McGregor could be willingly working with the target and compromise my cover as Durand.”
I shake my head vehemently. “No. Not Griffin.”
“You’ve known him, what? A few weeks?”
I scoff. “I’ve known you for all of five minutes.”
Wilde must see the doubt in my eyes. “Help us, and we can protect him…if he deserves protection.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then at least you’ll know the truth.”
I stare at the listening devices for a long moment. The right thing to do is clear. I should walk away right now. Go back to my simple life in Gr?chen.
But what if Wilde is right? What if Griffin is in danger?
“Fine,” I say, finally pocketing the bugs. “How exactly am I supposed to get into Elodie’s room through McGregor’s suite. What if the adjoining door is locked?”
“Your keycard will open anything with a card reader. It’s been…enhanced.”
“Of course it has,” I mutter.
Wilde’s gaze shifts to something behind me.
“You have a visitor,” he says quietly, standing up.
I turn to see Griffin across the restaurant, approaching our table, his face a storm cloud. He’s still in his tuxedo, though his bow tie hangs loose around his neck, and those perfect curls are now sticking up in adorable disarray.
Not that I should be noticing how hot he looks when he’s this angry.
Wilde places a few crisp bills on the table. “I’ll be monitoring the situation remotely. If anything goes wrong, call room service and ask for banana peppers. That’s your distress signal.”
Wilde gives me a curt nod and walks away as Griffin barrels through the room like a freight train, neck muscles coiled with barely-contained rage. His eyes are locked on Wilde, tracking him like a predator.
As Griffin pivots to pass my table, I grab his arm, feeling the solid warmth beneath the fine fabric of his tuxedo. “Griffin, stop!”
He tries to shrug me off, but I tighten my grip, practically hanging off his bicep. People are starting to stare.
“Let me go, Anika,” he growls, still watching the exit where Wilde vanished. “I just want to have a friendly chat with your dinner companion.”
“You can’t just attack people in a five-star hotel!”
His eyes dart between me and Wilde’s disappearing form. “Watch me.”
“No. You’re making a scene.” I press both hands against his chest, which feels like pushing against a brick wall. “Sit. Down.”
For a terrifying moment, I think he might actually lift me out of the way. Instead, he exhales through his nose and drops into Wilde’s vacated chair.
“Tell me who that man is,” Griffin demands, his jaw clenched.
I push the untouched chocolate mousse toward him. “Have some dessert. Your blood sugar is clearly low.”
“Anika.” His voice is deadly serious in a way I’ve never heard before. He grips the edge of the table, knuckles white. “Who. Is. He?”
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is not the Griffin I know. This is someone else entirely, and it should terrify me. Instead, I feel a traitorous heat spreading through my body.
“Who is he?” Griffin repeats. “Is he working for Chase? Against him? What’s your relationship with…what’s his name again?”
“Just a poker player. Like you.”
Griffin’s eyes narrow. “He’s not your type.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I’m your type,” he says, with such conviction I almost believe him. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere since you left the poker room. Why did you disappear like that?”
I swallow hard, searching for a believable lie. “I was craving chocolate.”
“Don’t play cute.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “What are you doing in St. Moritz…with him?”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Why do you even care? You’ve had Elodie practically glued to you all night.”
“Elodie is…” He hesitates, and something flickers across his face. “I’m not saying I don’t trust you. I’m saying I don’t trust him.”
“Well, I can handle myself. I’ve been doing it for years without your help, thank you very much.”
Griffin’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “Did he touch you?”
“What?” The question catches me off guard.
“Just answer carefully,” he says, voice dropping to something primal. “Because if he did, I’ll make sure he can’t use that hand for a very, very long time.”