Page 35 of Secrets in the Dark

"Visual confirmed," Chen replied. "Crystal clear feed. Excellent work, Phoenix."

As I closed the panel, I caught sight of the first VIP guests entering the theater's reception area. Among them, right on schedule, was Thomas Licata.

He moved with casual confidence, dressed in an expensive charcoal suit that suggested legitimate business rather than criminal enterprise. His black hair was slicked back, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face. Nothing in his demeanor betrayed the violence he had planned for the evening. He chatted amiably with a theater usher, slipped the man what appeared to be a substantial tip, and accepted a program with a gracious nod.

Only someone with trained observation skills would notice the calculated awareness in his eyes—constantly scanning exits, security positions, staff movements. The perpetual assessment of a predator in unfamiliar territory.

Our eyes met briefly across the crowded foyer. I maintained the pleasant, mildly disinterested expression of a casino employee attending to wealthy clients. The suspect's gaze slid over me without particular interest or recognition. Just another faceless staff member in his peripheral vision.

The non-reaction confirmed what I'd suspected: despite our brief encounter in the service corridor, he hadn't identified me as a potential threat. His focus remained entirely on Celia and the "distraction" he planned to create during her performance.

I moved toward the VIP reception area to meet my "clients," passing close enough to Lace to observe a final critical detail: the slight bulge beneath his jacket, just above his right hip. He was armed.

Casino security protocols strictly prohibited weapons within the venue. The fact that Tommy had managed to bypass metal detectors confirmed both his connections and his intentions for the evening.

"Phoenix to Nightwatch," I murmured into my communication device. "Subject is armed. Repeat, subject is armed. Weapon tucked beneath his jacket at right hip, likely compact semi-automatic."

"Acknowledged," came Chen's terse response. "Tactical teams alerted. Proceed with caution."

I escorted my assigned VIP group—including the two undercover agents—to their reserved seats, positioned with a clear view of both the stage and Tommy's location. As we settledin, the theater lights began to dim, signaling the imminent start of the performance. The rich burgundy curtains caught the fading light, seeming to absorb it into their heavy folds.

In my earpiece, I heard the backstage preparations—Val's final instructions to her crew, the technical director's lighting cues, and somewhere beneath it all, Celia's steady breathing as she waited in the wings.

"Communication check," I said softly. "Nova, do you copy?"

"I copy," came her equally quiet response. "Target location?"

"Front row, center section, fifth seat from the left aisle," I replied. "Dark suit, blue tie."

"Visual confirmation in approximately three minutes," she said. "Opening sequence places me stage right, full spotlight."

"Understood. Maintain your routine until advised otherwise."

The house lights dimmed completely. A hush fell over the audience as the first dramatic notes of Val's entrance music filled the theater. Atmospheric fog curled across the stage, illuminated by shifting blue lights that created the illusion of ocean depths.

Valentina made her entrance—a flourish of crimson cape and commanding presence that drew all eyes to center stage. Her voice carried to the farthest reaches of the theater as she welcomed the audience to an evening of illusion and wonder.

All eyes except mine. I watched Tommy Lace.

He sat motionless, program open on his lap, the picture of cultured appreciation. Only the slight tension in his shoulders betrayed his heightened alertness. His right hand rested casually on his thigh, inches from his concealed weapon.

Val's introduction reached its climax. A drumroll built tension as she announced her assistant, "the mysterious Nova, keeper of secrets and mistress of shadows."

Fog parted. Lights swiveled. And there was Celia, emerging from darkness into brilliant spotlight. The audience applauded appreciatively at her dramatic appearance, unaware of the life-or-death stakes hidden beneath the theatrical presentation.

In that moment of revelation, the gunman's composed facade cracked. His lips curved into a smile that contained no warmth, only cold anticipation. As Celia moved through the choreographed opening sequence, his right hand rose to his throat. With deliberate slowness, he drew his finger across his neck in the universal gesture of execution.

The threat couldn't have been clearer if he'd shouted it aloud.

Every instinct screamed: neutralize the threat. Extract Celia. End it—now.

But tactical discipline held me in place. We needed Tommy to act. To hand us proof too strong to escape.

In my earpiece, I heard Celia's sharp intake of breath. She'd spotted Tommy. Recognized the threat gesture.

"Stay calm," I murmured into the communication link. "He's making a show of confidence. The real move will come later."

"During the finale blackout," she whispered back between scripted movements. "When the theater goes dark for the disappearing cabinet."

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