Page 34 of Over the Edge

Vidal approached and leaned down, murmuring something in Moreau’s ear.

“Take care of it.” Moreau didn’t look at me again when he added, “And escort her out.”

I stood slowly, offering my most gracious smile, and let the guard lead me toward the exit. This night hadn’t been a complete disaster—I had managed to secure an invite to the auction—but I kicked myself for reacting the way I had to the kiss. I should’ve slid my tongue into his mouth, climbed into his lap, and used the opportunity to plant the tracker.

Instead, in the moment of truth, I’d flinched. Recoiled like an amateur.

C’mon, Lyric. You’re better than that.

Yes, I was. And I was going to plant the damn tracker.

At the last turn in the corridor, I opened my clutch and slowed, pretending to search for something. Vidal slowed, too, but his attention was on his phone now, brows drawn in a tight scowl as he typed one-handed.

He was distracted.

Which was the best opportunity I was going to get.

I stepped too close, bumping his arm with my shoulder as I reached for something inside my clutch. The phone slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor at the same time my lipstick, compact, and a handful of credit cards spilled from my bag.

“Oh, how clumsy of me,” I said smoothly, already kneeling.

Vidal let out a sharp sigh and crouched, too, reaching for his phone.

But I got to it first and pressed the tiny tracker against the case, where it would hopefully blend into the matte black finish. Ozzy assured me it would be undetectable unless someone were explicitly looking for it. They couldn’t scan for it either. The tech was too new, too advanced.

“Forgive me,” I murmured as I handed it back with a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

He didn’t respond, just gave me a long, flat look and slipped his home back into his pocket as he straightened to his full height.

I rose more slowly, tucking the last of my things back into my clutch and smoothing my hair.

“Mr. Moreau has arranged transportation for you,” Vidal said, his accent clipping the words into harsh consonants. He gestured toward a sleek black Mercedes idling at the curb.

I smiled. “That won’t be necessary. I have my own car.”

Vidal’s expression didn’t change. “Mr. Moreau insists.”

Of course.

I kept my smile plastered on my face until I reached the hotel, maintaining the charade of gratitude for Moreau’s “courtesy.”

The moment the car pulled away, I dropped the façade, my shoulders slumping, hands trembling. I curled them into fists to hide it, fighting the urge to tear the diamond bracelet from my wrist and throw it into the sparkling fountain.

I had to get inside and out of this dress.

Because whatever Moreau had told his man tohandle… I had a feeling it wasn’t good.

CHAPTER11

FLYNN

Waiting’sthe one thing I’ve never been good at.

I paced the suite, whiskey glass in hand, trying to outrun the images of Lyric with Moreau. Dinner. Wine. His hands on her. His mouth.

Fuck.

I’d already checked her tracker three times. Sent Ozzy a dozen texts until he basically told me to fuck off. Verified the extraction plan with Ethan. And then again with Trent.

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