Page 8 of Concerto of Crows and Cowards

“It’s clear,” Eden said. “You can remove the device and shut down.”

“Something’s going on down here, Max,” Nate said. “You should probably hurry. Some kind of political powwow is happening in one of the alcoves.”

“Eden,” Max said. “There’s no chance our signal was picked up?”

“No, I would have gotten an alert if there was someone else monitoring the system.”

Max grunted and shut down the computer, closing the lid and placing it exactly how he’d found it on the senator’s desk. He pocketed the flash drive and the nifty device Eden had given him, wiped down the surfaces he’d touched, and headed back to the door.

He listened carefully for anyone out in the hallway and then slowly cracked the door open. The hall was clear and he stepped out of the office and made sure the door locked behind him. He straightened his bow tie and then headed for the stairs.

He almost made it.

“Hey! You there,” a man’s voice called from behind him. “Stop where you are.”

Max turned and gave the guard a superior look. Another guard joined him, and Max swore silently as he saw the guard was already talking into his headset to alert security. Max shoved his hands in his pockets casually and adopted a bored expression, not looking like a man who’d just stolen national security files from the senator’s computer.

“Are you talking to me?” he asked.

The guard came closer until he was standing just in front of Max. The stairs leading down to the party on the first floor were more than a dozen feet away.

“The senator’s office is off limits to guests.”

“I wasn’t in the senator’s office.” Max picked at invisible lint on his sleeve and then gave the guard a sheepish look. “I was in that room right there,” he said, pointing to the door next to the office. “A lady friend and I had a—meeting. She’s familiar with the house and told me where to meet her. But I’d prefer that not get out. Her husband might not like it.”

“You’re going to need to come with us, sir,” the guard said, pointing toward the way Max had originally come—back to the family wing. “Do you have your invitation?”

Max let out an audible sigh and started walking. He stayed relaxed when the other guard flanked him. “I don’t think you know who I am,” he said indignantly. “I’m not going to be treated like a common criminal in the senator’s home.”

Max heard footsteps pounding up the back stairway and knew he had to make his move quickly. His foot lashed out and kicked the guard on his right at the side of the knee. A sickening crack sounded and Max covered the guard’s mouth with his hand so his scream couldn’t be heard over the party below. Max touched the pressure point in the guard’s neck and let him fall unconscious to the ground.

The other guard reached for his weapon, and Max grabbed his wrist, twisting it so the bone broke and the gun fell from his useless grasp. He gave him a short punch to the jaw, and the guard crumpled on top of the other one.

“I need a distraction,” he said, running toward the stairs at the front of the house.

“I’m on it,” Nate said.

An enormous crash sounded below, and Max heard a few screams from the women in the crowd as champagne glasses filled to the rims crashed to the marble floor and splashed their dresses. Nate had come through, and Senator Henry was apologizing to his guests while berating the poor server Nate had tripped.

Max walked at a sedate pace down the wide center stairs at the front of the house, pushing past the crowd of people that had converged there while they waited for the mess to be cleaned up. He ignored the shouts from upstairs where he’d left the guards and kept moving forward, getting closer to freedom. He reached the bottom of the stairs and Nate bumped against him, giving him the opportunity to slip the flash drive into Nate’s pocket. The front door was only steps away and people were starting to panic from the unknown shouts and the sudden swarm of security everywhere.

“There he is!” someone yelled from behind him. “Stop him!” He didn’t turn around to see who had said it. His training kicked in, and the only thing he worried about was blending. Making himself invisible. None of the people around him could tell who the guards were pointing to.

“I’ve got an alternative pickup en route,” Eden said. “I just got word from Atticus about half an hour ago that he’s in town and we have extra men. I’m trapped behind a limo. Head east toward the next cross street and they’ll meet you there.”

Indignant shouts of partygoers echoed in his ears as guards shoved their way through the crowd, and Max slipped out the front door and down the garden path. The front gardens were lush and the fragrant scent of roses reminded him of his grandmother—overpowering and slightly stifling. Each of the estates in the exclusive neighborhood sat on a couple of acres that were tree lined and picturesque. Only people with a lot of money could force their lawns to be that green in a Texas summer.

The air was stagnant and smothering and the humidity so thick it felt like breathing water, so the only people outdoors were parking attendants. Max was halfway down the arched driveway before security guards swarmed from each side of the house. He couldn’t fight all of them, and he didn’t want to kill anyone. They were only doing their jobs. But he knew they wouldn’t have any compunction about using their weapons on him, and damned if he felt like taking another bullet anytime soon.

He ran. It was all he could do, and he hoped to God the pickup team was waiting where Eden had said it would be. Yells came from behind him, but he focused on the trees to the east and on the street he knew would be on the opposite side.

The loud crack of a gunshot sounded like it was right next to his ear, and the bark on the tree in front of him exploded, sending tiny shards of wood into his face and neck. Blood ran into his eye and his leg ached as he pushed himself harder and harder. He weaved in and out of the trees, in no particular pattern, making himself a smaller target, but the gunshots didn’t stop and if anything, they sounded closer.

He ran out of the cover of trees and straight into the open residential street in front of him. If his driver wasn’t there, he was screwed. He heard the squeal of tires before he saw the tiny silver car turn the corner and drive straight toward him. He kept running as the driver’s side window opened and a slim hand appeared, holding a semiautomatic handgun.

The driver laid down cover for him, firing shots steadily, and he heard a couple of grunts from too close behind him as the bullets found their target. The driver turned the wheel at the last possible second and the passenger door flung open. Max jumped inside, and the car was speeding back down the street in the direction it had come from before he was able to get the door closed.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said.

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