Page 61 of Bar Down

Blood splattered the ice as officials rushed to separate the players. The suite erupted in commentary, giving Stephanie cover to edge the bag another foot closer to the door. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her face remained a mask of professional interest.

Just as the officials dragged Chenny toward the penalty box, Reed turned abruptly. His eyes narrowed, gaze dropping to the floor where his bag now sat several feet from its original position.

Stephanie froze, champagne flute halfway to her lips. Had he noticed?

"Food's here," announced a server, pushing through the door with a cart of upscale pub fare. The timing couldn't have been more perfect.

Reed frowned, clearly trying to recall where he'd left his belongings, when Westfield thrust a plate toward him.

"Try the gourmet dogs. They've got that truffle aioli you liked last time."

Reed hesitated, glancing once more at his bag before accepting the plate. "Thanks."

Stephanie released the breath she'd been holding, making a mental note to give the catering staff a substantial tip. As Reed and Westfield returned their attention to the ensuing five-minute major penalty, she checked her watch. Seven minutes until Chilly was scheduled to arrive. Then all hell would break loose—by design.

The next few minutes passed in excruciating slowness. Stephanie circulated through the suite, making small talk with sponsors while keeping one eye on Reed's laptop bag and the other on the door. Reed seemed to have forgotten about his belongings, now engaged in an animated conversation with Westfield about revenue projections.

The buzzer sounded, marking the end of the first period. Perfect timing.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Stephanie announced, raising her voice slightly. "As a special treat, we've arranged for a visit from everyone's favorite penguin."

On cue, the door burst open and Chilly bounded in, flippers waving enthusiastically as her handler followed close behind. The mascot immediately launched into an exaggerated dance routine, drawing laughs and applause from the suite occupants.

"Pictures! We need pictures," Stephanie encouraged, waving everyone toward the mascot. "Westfield, Reed—you should definitely get in on this. Great content for the corporate newsletter."

As the executives and sponsors crowded around Chilly, whose antics grew increasingly elaborate, Stephanie edged toward the door. Chilly knocked over an empty champagne flute—a planned "accident" that caused everyone to momentarily look down.

In that split-second, Stephanie grabbed the laptop bag and slipped into the corridor.

Her heart pounded as she crouched down, unzipping the bag with trembling fingers. The sleek black laptop inside looked ordinary enough, but it potentially contained everything they needed to stop Reed's blackmail scheme.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her look up. Chenny, face still bearing dried blood from the fight but now dressed in street clothes, appeared around the corner right on schedule.

"Hurry," Stephanie urged, passing him the laptop. "Bring it back up here and text me so I can grab it and put it back." She wasn’t sure how she was going to do that, but she’d figure that out when the time came. Depending on what Chenny was able to do, she might not even try to hide it.

Chenny nodded, tucking the computer under his arm. "I'll work fast."

"Good luck."

As Chenny disappeared down the service corridor, Stephanie took a deep breath, straightened her blazer, and counted to thirty before re-entering the suite with the empty laptop bag. The chaos inside continued unabated, with Chilly now leading an impromptu dance contest with the executives.

Reed was currently attempting what appeared to be the chicken dance, his back to the door as Stephanie slipped in and returned the bag to approximately its original position near the couch. She'd just straightened up when Phoebe, still in character as Chilly, gave her the signal—three rapid blinks of the mascot's LED eyes.

Time to wrap this up.

"Thank you, Chilly," Stephanie called out, checking her watch with practiced casualness. "I'm afraid our friend needs to make rounds to the other boxes before second period."

A chorus of good-natured protests followed, but Chilly obediently began her goodbyes, posing for final photos before bouncing toward the exit. As the mascot left, the intermission horn sounded, and attention returned to the ice where players were skating out for the second period.

"What a delightful tradition," Westfield commented, returning to the bar for a refill. "The children in the family boxes must love that."

"Brand loyalty starts young," Stephanie replied smoothly, allowing herself to breathe normally for the first time in fifteen minutes.

Reed settled back onto the couch, reaching for his laptop bag without a second glance. He'd notice nothing amiss—not until Chenny returned the computer, hopefully with the blackmail threat neutralized.

Stephanie moved to the window, looking down at the ice where Marcus was taking his position for the opening faceoff of the second period. From this distance, she couldn't make out his expression, but she knew his body language well enough to see the tension in his shoulders.

Hold on, she thought. Just a little longer.

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