14. Erik
ERIK
Rowan comes out of the elevator wearing my mother's diamonds, and conversation in the foundation lobby changes before she reaches me. Trustees pretend not to stare. Donors make less effort. Two men I know from shipping stop speaking until they understand I've seen them.
The dress Liya chose leaves Rowan's back bare. Dark silk follows her body without enough ornament to compete with the necklace. I offered the dress. Rowan chose to wear it, which matters more to me than it would have a month ago.
She stops in front of me and looks at the hand I've kept at my side. "You're supposed to put that somewhere convincing."
I offer my arm instead. "You object when I assume."
"I'm currently objecting because you aren't." Rowan moves closer, takes my hand herself, and places it against her waist. "Tonight is theater. You should try to keep up."
I press my fingers against the silk while she adjusts the front of my jacket. "I can manage."
"I've seen your teaching skills." She finishes with my lapel and looks satisfied with the result.
"That was one morning."
"It was memorable." Liya appears behind her in a black gown of her own. "You're both already performing. You can enter now."
The ballroom holds more than four hundred people by eight-thirty.
University money occupies the first layer, including trustees, donors, athletic boosters, and several people Richard needs more than he likes.
My family fills another portion with shipping partners, foundation officers, lawyers, and legitimate executives who know Peter without asking why he attends a charitable gala.
The third group is smaller. They know what the Danilov name means outside annual reports.
Every one of them notices Rowan on my arm.
I keep my hand at her waist while we move through the room. She greets donors without pretending to enjoy them, remembers names after one introduction, and never once looks intimidated by a balance sheet wearing a tuxedo.
A trustee asks whether law school has become difficult with the investigation. Rowan takes the champagne she has no intention of drinking and gives him a polite expression. "Law school was difficult before the investigation."
He laughs because he thinks she's joking. I know better.
When he leaves, Rowan leans closer. "That woman near the auction display offered me a summer position while asking whether my father stole from her."
"She liked you."
Her lips curve upward. "I threatened to subpoena her golf-club records."
"That may be why."
Rowan looks toward me. "Your social circle needs help."
I chuckle. "My social circle has fewer lawyers than yours."
"That proves my point." She starts to turn toward the next donor when Makari touches his cuff once from the far side of the room.
Orell has arrived. He enters with Rahil several feet behind him and another man near the ballroom doors. Nobody stops them because Orell's credential is valid, the donor allotment is real, and throwing him out publicly would give him exactly the spectacle he came to create.
Rowan follows my attention. She doesn't ask whether the man approaching us is Orell. She's seen enough photographs to recognize him.
Her body comes closer to mine without any instruction from me.
Orell stops in front of us with the easy manners of a man attending a legitimate fundraiser. "Erik, I appreciate the invitation."
I arch a brow. "You didn't receive one from me."
"No." He glances around the ballroom. "Fortunately, charitable giving makes generous people flexible."
Rahil stops beside him.
I keep Rowan on my left, away from the easiest approach from the service corridor. Orell watches the adjustment and almost smiles.
His attention settles on her. "Miss Bennett, your father and I had business interests in common."
Rowan doesn't offer him her hand. "That's a careful way to describe money laundering."
Orell's amusement survives. "I see why Erik keeps you close."
"You don't know why I'm anywhere."
"That's also true." He turns toward me again. "You've chosen persuasive protection for your reputation. The dean investigating a dead financial officer appears much more reasonable with the dead man's daughter at his side."
Rowan's posture changes beside me, though she doesn't move away.
Orell takes a champagne flute from a passing tray and studies the bubbles without drinking.
"I don't need an army inside Blackthorne.
I have compliance officers who prefer their mortgages paid, an athletic director who understands donor pressure, and attorneys who can turn three years of theft into a procedural disagreement.
Institutions are cheaper than soldiers."
No raised voice. Nothing anyone ten feet away can quote as a threat, but I still stiffen.
Rowan threads her fingers through mine. I look down at our joined hands before I can stop myself.
She doesn't look at me. Her attention stays on Orell while she gives me exactly what the room needs to see, a calm man with a woman beside him instead of the violence I'm considering.
Orell sees that too.
"Your father understood institutions eventually," he tells her.
Rowan's fingers close harder around mine. "You knew my father."
"I knew what frightened him."
The ballroom continues around us. Music plays near the raised stage. Waiters pass with trays. A trustee five yards away laughs at something Richard says.
I want Orell's throat under my hand.
Rowan keeps hold of me. She looks at him without giving him the reaction he wants. "Dad was killed eighteen months ago. You're talking about him like you were there."
Orell takes the accusation without blinking. "Jeremy Bennett spent a long time believing signatures protected him. He learned too late that records belong to whoever survives long enough to explain them."
Rahil shifts half a step toward Rowan.
I move before I think about what the room will see. Rowan is behind me in seconds, my body between her and both men.
Orell looks past my shoulder toward her, then back at me. There's satisfaction in his expression now. I gave him what he came for.
"You should leave," I say quietly.
Orell sets his untouched champagne on a passing tray. "Private attachments have an unfortunate habit of becoming public weaknesses."
Rahil steps back with him.
I don't follow. Rowan touches the center of my back, which is probably the only reason I stay where I am.
Orell leaves through the ballroom instead of the nearest door. He wants everyone to see that he arrived, spoke to me, and walked away without consequence.
Makari reaches us less than a minute later. "His credential traces through Henley's old donor block. Liya is locking the account now."
"Follow him."
"I have two operators outside already." Makari looks at Rowan before returning to me. "Rahil entered clean. The third man hasn't left the east wall."
Rowan comes around to my side. "You put me behind you."
"Yes."
"In front of four hundred people."
"I'm aware."
Her expression gives me no indication whether she intends to argue or thank me. "He wanted you to do that."
I keep my tone unchanged. "I know."
Makari watches the doors. "You can discuss the psychology after we move you away from this entrance."
This time Rowan goes without objecting.
We cross toward the interior side of the ballroom, where the foundation offices sit behind a secured corridor. Liya meets us halfway and shows me the access record on her tablet.
"Henley's credential was reactivated yesterday under a donor-services override." She scrolls to the authorization line. "The request carries my account."
"You didn't approve it."
"If I had, I wouldn't be showing you this."
Rowan leans closer. "Same pattern as Erik's credentials."
"Different network." Liya closes the record. "Same result."
Makari points toward the inner hall. "We move now."
A glass breaks near the ballroom exit. The sound is wrong. It comes before the scream, then the first shot cracks from the service corridor.
I turn toward Rowan.
The second shot comes while I'm moving.
I drive her down behind a banquet table and put myself between her and the doorway. People scatter in every direction, chairs overturn, and the musicians stop so abruptly that the next shot sounds louder.
Makari fires once from behind a stone column.
Someone screams near the auction tables.
"Kitchen," he calls to me. "West kitchen."
I pull Rowan up by the arm and push her ahead of me toward the catering doors. She keeps moving even when another shot hits glass behind us.
The next round catches me across the left side.
Heat tears over my ribs before I register the impact. My jacket jerks against my body, and I lose half a step.
Rowan sees it. "Erik."
"I'm moving." I put my hand against her back and keep her in front of me.
She reaches for my jacket. "You're bleeding."
"Kitchen."
Makari gets the door open while two foundation operators cover the corridor. Liya is already inside with three staff members. Peter appears from the opposite entrance with a weapon under his coat and anger radiating from him.
Makari points toward the loading exit. "Vehicles are repositioning."
Rowan looks down at my hand where I've pressed it against my side. Blood has reached my cuff.
Her face loses color. She catches my arm before I can move around her. "You should've told me you were shot."
"There wasn't time." I pull free only enough to keep us going. "You can be angry in the car."
She glares at me. "I'm already angry."
"Good. Stay that way."
We move through the loading corridor while security locks the ballroom behind us. The first siren reaches the front of the building before we reach the vehicles.
Richard calls Makari while we're still in the underground drive. He puts the call on speaker once the doors close.
Richard starts without a greeting. "Campus police have the initial report. A departing donor was confronted near the service hall by an armed man who attempted a robbery and fired while fleeing."
Rowan looks at me.
Makari's expression doesn't change. "That isn't what happened."
"It's the version communications can support from verified witness statements."
"I witnessed it," Rowan says from beside me. "There was more than one shooter."
Richard pauses.
I keep pressure against my side while the SUV accelerates away from the foundation hall.
Richard changes direction rather than arguing the fact. "The building footage is being preserved. Police are looking for a lone suspect who exited through the service corridor."
Rowan sits straighter. "You just changed the number of attackers while talking to two witnesses."
Richard sticks to his narrative. "We don't know how many weapons discharged."
She scoffs. "We know how many people were shooting at us."
Richard's tone stays maddeningly reasonable. "Ms. Bennett, the immediate priority is preventing panic until law enforcement confirms the facts."
She looks at the phone as if she wants to cross the distance through it. "You're writing the official record before they finish collecting it."
Nobody answers her, which tells her enough. By the time we reach the hotel, the foundation statement is already online.
Attempted Armed Robbery Disrupts Danilov Foundation Gala. One Suspect Sought. No Life-Threatening Injuries Reported.
Rowan reads it from Makari's phone while Serena cuts my shirt away from the wound.
She turns the screen toward me. "They wrote this before the police finished clearing the ballroom."
I wince when Serena pulls fabric sticking to my wound. "I know."
Rowan is scowling. "You let them."
I grit my teeth when Serena pulls the last of my shirt free. "I let security get four hundred people out alive. Richard handled communications."
"That isn't the same as stopping him." She's still clearly angry.
Serena looks between us while preparing the anesthetic. "I'm about to put a needle into him. You can decide whether this argument improves the experience."
Rowan walks to the hotel window.
Serena cleans the wound. The round crossed the lower ribs without entering. The skin is torn badly enough to require stitches, while the deeper damage appears limited to bruising.
Rowan turns when the first instrument touches me. She lasts another half-minute before leaving the window. "You could've died."
"I didn't."
"That isn't an answer." She crosses the room and stops several feet from Serena's tray. "You saw the doorway. You knew where the shots were coming from, and you stepped in front of me anyway."
"Yes."
Rowan presses her teeth together before asking the question. "Why?"
I watch her instead of the needle. "You know why."
She shakes her head. "I want to hear you explain why nearly getting yourself killed was acceptable."
"It wasn't acceptable."
She takes another step. "You still did it."
I half shrug. "There was never a version of tonight where I did something else."
Whatever answer she expected, that wasn't it. She sits in the chair opposite me and looks down at the torn side of my shirt.
Serena finishes the last stitch before speaking again. "You'll be sore for several days. You aren't lifting anything heavy, and you aren't returning to that ballroom."
I nod. "That wasn't the plan."
"Good. I enjoy occasional cooperation." Serena covers the wound, then gives Liya instructions for the medication before packing her kit.
Rowan stays in the chair until Serena leaves.
Makari checks the hotel suite next. The first bedroom passes. He spends longer in the second before returning to the living room.
"That room isn't usable," he says. He points toward the cleared bedroom instead. "The first one is secure."
Rowan looks toward the second door. "What's wrong with it?"
"It has an exterior window over a low roofline." Makari pockets the flashlight he used during the inspection. "I won't sign off on it."
"There's a sofa in here." Rowan looks from the sofa to me.
I know what she's deciding before she says anything.
"You can take the bedroom." I reach for the medication Serena left on the table. "I'll use the sofa."
Rowan looks at the sofa again, then at the open door to the cleared room.
She picks up her overnight bag and walks past me. "You're taking the bedroom."
I wait for the rest.
She stops in the doorway and turns back. "I'm not sleeping anywhere I can't hear you breathing."