Page 83 of One Last Stand

He nodded, but as York let himself out of the room, and as Shep stared out through the dark pane of glass, he heard his father’s voice, quoting some obscure psalm that seemed to live in his bones.“The wicked draw their swords and string their bows to kill the poor and the oppressed, to slaughter those who do right.

His hand closed around the jump drive.

So, he guessed he was going to a ball.

* * *

London didn’t recognize herself.

Again.

Which probably boded well for tonight’s events, but still . . . the woman who stood in the mirror’s image seemed too . . . confidant. Too regal.

And not even a little fragmented and confused and at odds with the life she’d thought she loved. Because as she’d planned out tonight’s heist, a terrible, familiar, and intoxicating buzz had started to simmer under her skin.

Laney Steele, rising like a Phoenix.

She blamed York, who’d pulled her aside after dinner last night with the news of Tomas’s escape. York would attend the ball, on the alert for Tomas, then, when she was ready, help her break into Cryptex and upload the new and improved virus before she transferred the money back to the Petrov Bratva.

“I can ask Coco to hack into the electrical grid to the palace and temporarily shut it down. She’s already mapped the route to Cryptex. The entire mountain is a Faraday cage and supported by generators powered by the water that runs through the mountain, so there’s no way to break the lock, but she can disrupt power to the palace and distract the guards so you can get in. The hiccup can only last five minutes tops, which means we need to create another reason for the palace guards to leave their post to give you more time.”

Shep had been a part of that conversation, listening, arms folded as if he hadn’t liked any of it. “Just pull a fire alarm, right?” he’d said.

York had looked at him. “Brilliant.”

Shep had raised an eyebrow as if he hadn’t expected York’s agreement.

“And while everyone is managing the alarm, you get into Cryptex, log into your account, and upload the virus.”

“Just like that,” London had said, and that’s when the simmer had lit.

And hadn’t left. Worse, it had grown as she’d picked a dress for tonight’s ball, then let her mother’s stylist do up her hair in a loose French twist. She’d applied some makeup—hadn’t worn that in over two years—and a hint of lipstick, then slid into the gown. The neckline dropped in a steep V in front and back, the sleeves long and loose and gathered at the wrist in a satin cuff. No slit up the leg, and the tight bodice had no give, but the looser skirt meant she could hide a plastic night-vision scope.

She’d wanted to take that KA-BAR that Shep had joked about, but on the off chance that she’d be wanded, she didn’t want to risk it.

She had tucked the jump drive with the virus into a pocket at the apex of the front V, right under the pendant of her necklace, which had just enough metal to alert the wand, but not so much as to stop her, and wow, now she felt like a Swan.

An unpredictable, unexpectedBlackSwan.

She slipped into a pair of peep-toe mesh heels, sturdy enough to run in, added her gold pendant necklace and teardrop earrings, grabbed her purse with her cell phone and the speed dial straight to Ziggy, and stepped out into the hallway.

Shep was outside his room, standing at ease, his hands clasped in front of him, watching her door, dressed in a tuxedo that perfectly, devastatingly, outlined his wide mountain-man shoulders, those lumberjack arms, the jacket tailored to his trim waist, the pants fitting his strong skier’s legs. He’d shaved, of course, and his dark hair appeared freshly trimmed.

“Are you wearing hair gel?”

“I do not want to talk about it.” His gaze travelled down her, back up, and he offered a wry smile. “The only thing good about tonight is seeing you in that dress. However, I feel like I need to hand you my jacket.”

“You’re just used to seeing me in my red jumpsuit.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I might like this better.” He held out his elbow. “You look . . . breathtaking.”

She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. “And you’re very princely.”

“I’m a peasant in a monkey suit. This night can’t end fast enough. And I did mention I can’t dance, right?”

“Preacher’s kid?”

“Two left feet.”

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