Chapter Twenty-Seven
Twenty-four hours later, Amelia had gone from standing in one gorgeous home to standing in another.
Everything in Beth Tourne’s condo apartment was either white, luxurious, or a work of art.
In most cases, it was all three. Amelia was scared to breathe the wrong way and accidentally shatter some thirteenth-century vase on loan from the Smithsonian or the Met.
Despite all that, she figured Beth was about as laid back as Beth could be.
She hovered between the makeup artist and the stylist charged with readying Amelia for the night.
“Damn, Amelia, you are hot to trot, lady.” Her lips pursed as though something was missing. “We need wine.”
“Good idea.”
Wine might’ve been about the only thing that could get Amelia to Beth’s level of chill as she readied for Esme’s party. Esme’s party. Her stomach bottomed out for the hundredth time. Any time she thought of the looming night, crash went her stomach.
The stylist turned Amelia around to face the mirror. “And you worried that I would buckle you into latex, paint your lips black, and scoot you out the door like a vamped-up Elvira on her way to a ball.”
“I didn’t say that—oh…” Amelia stared in the mirror. “I look like a different person.”
Black lace was painted over her arms and shoulders and down a deep V-cut between her breasts with a base material that perfectly matched her skin tone.
It was completely sheer and melted over her body like a black shimmering glow that cupped her curves.
Still, the dress somehow covered her modestly as the lace became a black sheath dress that reached to midcalf.
The unusual hemline would’ve been discreet except for two slits that ran up her thighs.
“I didn’t know dresses like this existed in real life.”
The stylist hooted and tossed her head back, making her braids click. She reached around and patted herself on the back. “I knocked it out of the park.”
“Yeah, you did. I don’t even recognize myself.
” Then Amelia eyed the makeup artist, who had painted her eyelids with champagne shimmer and added feathered eyelashes.
She used a lipstick that glimmered every way that Amelia turned her head.
“Even my face glitters.” Amelia turned to the two women, who were now packing up their bags. “You two are magicians.”
“Va va va voom.” The makeup artist studied the stylist’s work, pleased, and said with a laugh, “You should see what we can pull off when we’re tasked with turning you into the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
Beth returned with two glasses of white wine in hand. “Wow, Amelia.”
“That’s what I said.” She took one of the wineglasses offered.
She waited for Amelia to take a sip. “Do you like the wine?”
It was fresh and citrusy. Beyond that, the intricacies of its flavor and taste were lost on her.
“I usually enjoy a nice glass of wine, but maybe a shot of something that burns would be a better choice for tonight. You know, a little liquid courage.” She suddenly realized how ungrateful she sounded. “Honestly, you don’t have to waste your wine on me.”
“Pfsh.” Beth waved a hand. “You’ll do fine, and I’ll waste what I want on you. You deserve it.”
“You’re only saying that because your colleagues had me thrown in prison.”
Beth snorted. “Good point. I should break out the really good stuff.” But then she shrugged and held the wineglass up to the light. “But kidding aside, I have to know this for work. It’s research.”
“Here’s to research.” Amelia took another sip. “I would say I wish my job was dresses and drinking, too, but it sort of was. Is,” she corrected. “I taste-test menus for events. Why do you have to know about this?”
Beth hummed. “I have to know about the Clos de Vougeot, a French commune in the Burgandy region that produces world-renowned wines.” She lifted her wineglass to the two other women, who had just about finished packing. “Would either of you like a glass of work research?”
Laughing, they declined, citing other assignments they were headed to shortly.
“Doing hair and makeup for spies. Oh, the lives you all must live.” Amelia fidgeted with her wine glass. “I’m a little jealous.”
With a wave goodbye, they each pulled wheeled bags out of Beth’s enormous bedroom.
The stylist called, “Don’t forget to have fun.”
Amelia took another sip and thought of the night ahead. Fun wasn’t what she’d thought about having. Maybe she would start with not having a panic attack. Fun…
Beth set her wineglass down, clasped Amelia on her shoulders, and turned her to face the framed floor-to-ceiling mirror. “You look fantastic.”
“I look like someone else.”
“That’s all part of the game.” Beth picked at an invisible lint piece and smoothed her hand over the fabric. “Do you remember what to do if you’re uncomfortable?”
Her heartbeat jumped. She was uncomfortable now. Before Camden set eyes on her, before they’d walked into Esme’s crazy party, her nervous system was shouting: danger ahead. Still, she wouldn’t get answers if she stayed home and buried her head. Amelia nodded. “Defer to Camden.”
“Exactly. Someone asks a question you don’t like? Look at Cam. See something you don’t understand? Look at Camden. Don’t have a damn thing to say? Camden is your golden ticket.”
Her throat ached. She nodded and must’ve looked unconvinced or ready to throw up.
Beth continued, “No one will know your dynamic or lack thereof. This will be the kind of party where subs defer to their doms, partners need permission, et cetera, et cetera. Okay? Just stay calm and quiet, and Camden will handle any rough patches.”
Amelia could do that.
Beth stepped back and assessed Amelia from head to toe. She flushed. She tried to clear her head, but all the uncertainties and unknowns bubbled into her glitter-and-lace-covered chest.
“I know what Esme explained, but I don’t entirely understand what we’re doing tonight.” She bit her bottom lip. “These might be people Hailey and Jonathan worked with. They might be a lead. But how will I even know if it is?”
“Don’t eat your lipstick,” Beth chided. “Have you ever gone to a party where you don’t know anyone—” Beth caught her expression.
“Right, professional event planner. Of course you have, which means you know that situation where you have to go in and make a friend. You make small talk with people you might never see again. Do that until Esme tells you otherwise. She’ll know who Hailey and Jonathan circulated with. ”
“But how will I know if someone says something important?”
“You won’t. You take information and debrief it with analysts.”
That actually made sense. She bit her lip again but stopped at Beth’s chiding voice in her head. “Do you think the people who took Hailey will be in the room?”
Beth laughed. “Absolutely not. These won’t be the people who get their hands dirty, but the employers of the people who took her? Yeah, maybe.”
The possibility jackknifed her heart. “Maybe…?”
“It’s a safe bet that several party guests have their own goon squads on their private payrolls.”
That didn’t settle Amelia’s nerves. “I don’t understand how no one at the CIA knows who Hailey and Jonathan were focused on. I don’t get it.”
“There was someone who knew,” Beth reminded Amelia. “But that person is dead.” The brightness in her expression faded to somberness. Her shoulders dropped as though that was simply the price they paid for an office mishap.
Wasn’t that all the more reason the CIA should be storming Esme’s party?
The murders and abduction were obviously connected.
Why weren’t federal agents attending tonight?
Or maybe they were, but no one had told Amelia.
She recalled what Esme had said: There were many ways to find a solution to a problem.
The doorbell rang.
Beth shook off her grimness. “That would be your handsome partner in crime.” She leaned in close like she was about to share a secret.
“His stylist sent me a couple pics. Dark suit. Dark shirt. Matches his dark eyes and hair. He looks like one of those movie stars who plays schmexy Italian mobsters.”
Amelia looked away and laughed, certain that Beth and her CIA skills could sense her stuttering pulse and rising internal temperature. Camden was already a fantasy. Throw him in a well-fitted suit, and Amelia might pass out.
“Wait here,” Beth directed, “and I’ll grab him.”
Amelia took another long sip of her wine as Beth disappeared. She never drank before a work event. That night was different. She had many reasons to be nervous.
Beth squealed at her front door. Amelia’s stomach base jumped into the abyss.
Their chatter mingled with Camden’s approaching footsteps.
Her insides vibrated with anticipation, then Camden entered the bedroom.
She nearly melted into a puddle of sheer lace and feathery eyelashes.
Hollywood actors had nothing on Camden. He was leading-man material: tall, dark, and handsome with a lethal dose of danger.
Camden stopped short, like he’d run into an invisible wall, and pulled in a sharp quick breath. “Damn, Amelia.” His eyes ran from her head to her heels and back to her face. “You’re about to steal the show.”
“Isn’t she?” Beth squeaked. “I thought the dress was gorgeous, but when I saw it on Amelia, I died…”
She continued, but the words went fuzzy when Camden stared at Amelia like that. His gaze wrapped around her like his large warm hands had before. He covered her, caressed her, floated her to the highest possible place before her body would combust.
Camden held out a hand. Amelia placed hers in his palm and let him pull her close. Dark heat simmered in his eyes. Desire ticked in his jaw, and the corners of his luscious lips curved.
His mouth dipped to her ear. “You take my breath away.”
“Mine is already gone,” she whispered.
Beth prattled on, oblivious to their sizzling chemistry, which was making Amelia’s knees weak.
He side-glanced toward Beth and cleared his throat. “Maybe I should have stopped for flowers or something. This is like we’re headed to an adults-only prom.”