months

deck of the Shadow Trust, a massive, hundred-meter

on the top deck, Etienne Strickland

o buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up

tellite phon

ping to a lethal, icy register. "I don't care if

ossed the phone onto hi

ders, his jaw ticki

, stepped into the office hol

ndicates we're tracking for money launderi

ipped the

financial data until they lo

osive rise of an underground

rry photograph of

the chaotic, vio

in his shoulder where she had

d the fol

Etienne snapped. "I'm not attending that pre

ck, the atmosphere wa

softly over the sound of

ailing, a glass of vinta

p dress that clung to every curve. Her hair wa

girl from Cali

g of the Royal College of Art, rub

a conversation in fluent French

rned to look out at the ocean, let

lyn R

er like a bucke

d around the stem of

rned s

loral shirt was Julian Thatc

socialite clin

emained a mask o

ly. "I think you have the wr

s eyes raking over her bo

thinks you're locked up in a padded cell, and he

red, looking Katelyn up a

d against her ribs, but

ll her location to Arnett for

idn't

nd threw the freezing champag

kward as the alcohol burned

telyn spun around and walked quick

urple with rage. He pulled out his phone

rough the doors,

eded t

wn a quiet, dimly lit co

avy velvet-lined doo

private a

few dramatic spotlights illuminatin

rity boots entering the corridor. They were

sive marble statue of Apollo, press

ld her

gallery. But they were

the private elevator a

down to escape

nting, his sharp ears catchi

d his he

locking onto the edge of a black dre

footsteps completely si

her eyes shut, pr

, calloused hand sh

around her bare wri

e ripped her out of the dark

ed, her eyes

ctly into a soli

look

nished fro