Page 61 of After the Fall

I scanned the room. The centerpiece artwork hung on the back wall, glowing an eerie red. Goosebumps prickled my arms, the hairs raising. We’d hung a framed copy ofThe Great Wavein our living room growing up. It was Dad’s favorite. Now I was staring at the original.

A small crowd of guests were milling about the room, sipping cocktails and admiring their expensive gift bags filled with what looked like luxury beauty products and perfume. I pushed through the crowd, my dad the only thing on my mind, as the chimes continued to echo. But just as suddenly, I came to a stop.

Through my mask, I could make out a giant, tuxedo-clad man in a top hat in the corner of the room. A tall raven-haired woman was hanging off his shoulder, her gown the color of the tablecloths. I recognized the top hat, but it didn’t matter – my body would know his anywhere.

My heart raced out of control, threatening to escape from my chest. Damn Wyatt. Would my body ever not respond to his? Would he ever stop having this immense power and control over me?

I took a deep breath. There was no way he could recognize me. He wasn’t expecting me to be at the gala, and I’d done a careful job of slipping past the guards posted outside Savannah’s apartment building. As far as Wyatt was concerned, I was spending the night at home, alone.

Straightening my shoulders, I continued to walk, slow and steady, towards the painting, trying not to draw attention to myself. A waiter paused next to me, extending a tray of canapés, but with a flick of my wrist, he moved toward the next closest guests.

As I neared the wall, the crowd suddenly parted like the sea in the painting, and my breath hitched as I took in the enormous man shuffling nervously on his feet. His hair matted against hisfull-faced black stag mask, he seemed to be scanning the room for something. As I came into focus, he froze.

Seconds felt like minutes as we just stood there, facing each other. His hand hung at his side, and he raised a few fingers to acknowledge me.

The final chime rang through the gallery. This was it, the moment I’d been waiting for. I’d finally found my father.

THIRTY

WYATT

The string sectionof the orchestra played a series of notes that somehow managed to make their cellos and violins sound like rusty door hinges. It wasn’t until the rest of the orchestra joined them that I was able to place the song, “Thriller.”

“Cliché.” Valentina clicked her tongue and then jutted her chin at Savannah. “What do you want to bet that girl organized a flash mob to do the dance scene?”

“Bet…” My voice trailed off. “Mob.”

“Are you even listening to me?” My skin stung as Valentina pinched the back of my arm. I rubbed my suit jacket and turned to face her. The woman in silver had disappeared, but I had a hunch that I knew her. Intimately.

“You were saying that you want to go dance or something?”

Valentina rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “What is wrong with you? Get it together, Westwood. We need to find out who is involved with the Carders. We’re not going to get any intel if you’re making googly eyes at every woman in the place.”

I definitely wasn’t making googly eyes at anyone, but my heart was beating a little harder than it should’ve been. Thescent in the room had changed when the silver woman had walked in. It couldn’t be Harper, and more importantly, itshouldn’tbe Harper. But the pit in my guts told me otherwise. How the hell had she managed to get past the guys I’d posted at her place, and get into the gala without a ticket?

Chuckling, I looked to the ceiling in a weird mixture of amusement and anguish. The woman was going to be the death of me, but at least she was consistent – consistently a pain in the ass.

The room teemed with energy, the bassline of the song sending ripples through the water glasses on the tables. I wove around the masked guests, hoping that the horrendous Zorro-style sash across my eyes disguised me enough to get past making any small talk.

The last place I’d spotted the woman in the silver dress was near the back of the room, but by the time I got there, she was gone. I sniffed the air. Vanilla and sandalwood. It was definitely her. “Goddammit, Harper,” I muttered. “What the hell are you doing here?” I whispered to myself, my voice lost in the noisy crowd. It was a moot question. I knew exactly why she was here. My heart hardened. It didn’t have anything to do with me. Harper was there to get answers about her dad. If I couldn’t find the man and fulfill my promise to Harper, she was going to go out there and do it for herself.

She might have lived this long, but if she set out on that mission, she would either lose her memory again, or worse, her life.

The crowd cheered and a group of people flooded the dance floor. They moved like professional dancers, and as the orchestra reached the chorus, the group broke into a choreographed dance. Over top of the limping and twirling flash mob, Valentina’s gaze locked with mine. Her lips stretched into a grin and she mouthed, “I told you so,” then sipped herchampagne while surveying the dancers with her perfected look of disdain. The woman was horrible, but she was also brilliant, a terrifying combination.

To get to the private banquet rooms, I was going to have to weave through the dance floor zombies. I ducked and dodged to get past their flailing arms. By the time I reached the other side, there was still no sign of the woman in silver. I reached into the inside pocket of my suit jacket and popped a quarter-sized amount of dried moss between my lip and bottom teeth, like a cowboy with tobacco. I might not be able to see her, but I could smell her.

It only took a second. The hues of crimson and midnight black that surrounded me intensified. Every slide of the cellists’ fingers down the strings of their instruments was amplified, and the chemical smell from the cologne and perfumes of the guests stung my nostrils.

Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I closed my eyes and focused, and let my instinct lead me down the corridor at the back of the room. Gold numbers glinted on the doors, and I passed by numbers one through nine, pausing at each to allow my senses to do their thing.

I strode to the last door, number ten, but before I could reach for the handle, a tug on the tail of my suit jacket stopped me in my tracks. “Leave me alone,” I growled and turned, expecting to see Valentina.

“Excuse me?” The woman’s voice sounded aghast, but her body was speaking a different language. She angled her tits towards me, her French-manicured fingers tracing the space below her collarbones. There was a smile on her face. She wasn’t offended, she was entertained.

“Sorry,” I grumbled. “I thought you were someone else.”

The woman’s voice was a purr. “I’m glad I’m not someone else. Do I need to leave you alone?”

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