Page 28 of Secrets in the Dark

He can't save you.

The message confirmed my worst fear. Tommy Lace had witnessed our encounter and accelerated his timeline. The implied threat wasn't just to Nova, but to me as well—a challenge from predator to perceived interference.

I stared at the words, fury and determination crystallizing into absolute resolve. Professional distance be damned. Operational parameters were no longer the priority.

"Watch me, motherfucker," I whispered to the empty room.

Chapter Seven

Celia

I couldn't do this anymore.

Standing in my dressing room, staring at the lipstick message still smeared across my mirror—He can't save you—I made the decision I'd been circling for days. This charade had to end. Playing magician's assistant while a psychopath hunted me was madness. My stalker had escalated from notes to sabotage to explicit threats. The next escalation might be fatal.

The memory of Roman's touch lingered on my skin, a ghost of pleasure amid mounting fear. What had I been thinking? Our desperate encounter in the prop room had been reckless, potentially explosive for both our carefully constructed facades. I still didn't know who Roman King really was or whyhe carried himself with such vigilance. All I knew was that being around him made me feel both safer and more endangered.

But this wasn't about Roman. This was about survival. I needed to leave the Jade Petal immediately, contact Detective Alvarez, and demand a new safe house. Somewhere far from Las Vegas, with no connections to my previous life or to the mysterious dealer who had somehow slipped past all my defenses.

I packed quickly, stuffing essentials into my shoulder bag. The costume department could have their sequins and feathers back. I'd changed my mind about becoming Nova Sinclair. I'd changed my mind about hiding in plain sight.

After scribbling a hasty resignation note to Val—who deserved better than my abrupt departure—I headed for the staff elevator that would take me to the hotel's secure parking structure. My rental car waited there, keys already in my pocket. Miles had rented it under a third name, neither Celia Marshall nor Nova Sinclair. I'd drive to the police station, demand protective custody, and let the professionals handle this mess.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. I stepped inside, punching the button for the garage level. As the doors began to close, a hand shot between them, forcing them to reopen.

A man in a maintenance uniform slipped inside, hood pulled up over a baseball cap despite the building's warmth. He kept his face angled away from the security camera in the ceiling corner.

My pulse spiked. The elevator felt suddenly airless, confined. I pressed myself against the cool metal wall, hand slipping into my pocket where I kept the panic button phone Detective Alvarez had given me.

The man reached past me to select a floor, his sleeve riding up to reveal a distinctive tattoo on his right hand—a coiled snake winding around his ring finger, its scales a dark greenish-blue against his skin.

"Going somewhere, Ms. Marshall?" he asked, voice low and silky. "Or should I call you Nova?"

Ice flooded my veins. He knew both my names. He knew everything.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I managed, thumb hovering over the panic button.

He turned toward me then, finally letting me see his face. Late thirties. Dark hair. Unremarkable features except for the cold calculation in his eyes. Eyes that had watched me from shadows, from audiences, from the other side of my apartment door.

"You looked better in navy," he said, the non sequitur sending chills down my spine—a deliberate reference to the note that had started this nightmare.

I straightened, fight instinct overriding flight. "Who are you?"

"Just an admirer," he replied, lips curving in a smile that never reached his eyes. "Though I'm disappointed you're trying to leave before tomorrow's performance. A lot of people are looking forward to thefinale."

The way he emphasizedfinaleleft no doubt about his meaning.

"What do you want from me?" I kept my voice level, refusing to show the terror clawing at my throat.

"Justice." He leaned closer, invading my space with deliberate intimidation. The scent of stale cigarettes filled my nostrils. "My brother enjoyed the accommodations you arrangedfor him. Ten to fifteen years, wasn't it? I thought you might appreciate a similar experience—confined, watched, knowing every moment might be your last."

Understanding flickered—this was about a criminal case. Someone I'd helped put away. Miles had warned me that my stalker might be connected to one of our firm's prosecutions, but which one? We'd handled dozens of cases with prison sentences.

The elevator slowed, approaching the next floor. My stalker shifted closer.

"Tomorrow night," he whispered, breath hot against my ear. "Front row seat. Don't disappoint me, Celia. Running only makes the hunt more entertaining."

The doors slid open, revealing Riley Cho waiting to board, arms full of costume accessories.

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