Page 24 of Secrets in the Dark

My pulse quickened. The "merchandise" reference aligned with our intelligence about a major cash transfer, but the "Petal distraction" was new information. I'd assumed it was code for the casino itself—the Jade Petal. Now, with the sabotaged lighting grid, a more ominous possibility emerged.

Petal. Nova. The connection crystallized with sudden clarity. The Licatas were using the chaos surrounding the attacks on Valentina's show as cover for their money movement.

Nova wasn’t collateral damage—she was part of the plan. Whether she knew it or not. The question was whether she was a knowing participant or an unwitting pawn.

The recording continued: "Tommy confirmed attendance for tomorrow's performance. Front row, as arranged. He'll handle the Petal situation personally while we manage the exchange. Make sure the private elevator to Dragon's Crown is secured for our VIP clients—I want no interruptions."

Tommy. Thomas Licata. Front row for the performance, just as Detective Chen had confirmed.

The realization hit like a physical blow. Tommy Lace wasn't just surveilling Celia Marshall; he was actively targeting her. The sabotaged lighting grid, the threatening messages—they weren't random acts of violence but calculated elements of a larger operation.

I saved the recording to my secure drive and sent an encrypted summary to Detective Chen:Thursday operation confirmed. 'Petal' = distraction involving Nova/target. Tommy Lace personally involved. Possible merchandise transferduring show blackout at Dragon's Crown. Require immediate surveillance authorization.

Her response came within minutes:Authorization granted. Priority surveillance on Licata, Petal, and Crown locations. Maintain cover. Additional resources deploying.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, mind racing through implications. If Tommy Lace intended to "handle the Petal situation" during tomorrow night's performance, Nova was in immediate danger. Yet revealing my knowledge—or my identity—would compromise an investigation that had been building for years.

The classic intelligence dilemma: sacrifice the individual or risk the mission.

With grim determination, I exited the theater and headed toward the security surveillance hub. I needed more information about Tommy Lace's movements within the casino—and I needed it before tomorrow night's performance.

The Jade Petal's early morning quiet was deceptive. Despite the reduced foot traffic, the casino never truly slept. Maintenance crews polished marble floors. Accounting teams counted the previous day's take. Security personnel monitored the ever-present cameras, their eyes perpetually scanning for anomalies in the house's carefully crafted ecosystem.

I moved through the employee corridors with purposeful strides, nodding to the occasional passing staff member. My shift wouldn't begin for another four hours, but high-limit dealers often appeared at unusual times to accommodate VIP players—my presence wouldn't raise eyebrows.

The service corridor behind the entertainment wing provided the best vantage point to observe Nova's movements without drawing attention. I positioned myself near an inconspicuous alcove housing vending machines, a coffee cup providing plausible cover for my surveillance.

At 7:30 am, right on schedule, Nova emerged from the staff housing elevator. Even in simple street clothes—fitted jeans and a burgundy blouse that complemented her highlighted hair—she moved with the heightened awareness of someone who knew she was being hunted. Her gaze swept the corridor before she proceeded, one hand keeping her bag close to her body where, I suspected, she carried a panic button or weapon.

She disappeared into her dressing room, but I remained at my post. Experience had taught me that predators often observed their targets' routines before making contact. If Tommy Lace was indeed planning something for tomorrow's performance, he might be conducting reconnaissance today.

My patience was rewarded twenty minutes later when a maintenance worker rounded the corner pushing a cleaning cart. Nothing about him immediately triggered suspicion—standard uniform, appropriate badge, unremarkable physical appearance—except for the fact that he moved with the deliberate economy of someone trained to minimize attention. His eyes, though downcast, cataloged details with professional assessment.

I knew that look. I employed it myself.

The man positioned his cart near Nova's dressing room, angling it to block security camera coverage while providing a clear view of her door. As he methodically wiped down the corridor's decorative wall sconces, his right hand emerged from his sleeve—revealing a distinctive snake-shaped ring on his fourth finger.

Tommy Lace.

The positive identification sent adrenaline surging through my system. Here, mere feet away, stood one of our primary targets—the missing Licata lieutenant whose arrest could provide critical testimony against the entire organization.

Protocol demanded I maintain surveillance without engagement. Every instinct urged immediate action. The internal conflict was familiar—the constant tension between mission objectives and human impulse.

I casually adjusted my position, angling my phone to capture photos without appearing to do so. Tommy worked his way methodically down the corridor, wiping surfaces that didn't need cleaning, his attention focused primarily on Nova's door.

When she emerged ten minutes later, heading toward the stage for morning rehearsal, Tommy's posture changed subtly—a slight tensing followed by deliberate relaxation. The predator registering prey movement.

He waited until she was out of sight before approaching her door, removing something from his pocket. A key card, or perhaps a bypass device. He glanced in both directions before sliding it into the electronic lock.

I needed to intervene without revealing myself. Thinking quickly, I "accidentally" dropped my coffee cup, the resulting clatter echoing down the corridor.

Tommy's head snapped up. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second—long enough for me to memorize his features but hopefully not long enough for him to register mine as significant. I immediately bent to clean up the spill, muttering apologies for my clumsiness.

When I straightened, Tommy had abandoned his attempt at Nova's door and was pushing his cart toward a serviceelevator. His surveillance was temporarily disrupted, but I had no doubt he would return—and next time, I might not be positioned to intervene.

I needed to warn Nova without compromising my cover or hers. The complexity of our intertwined deceptions had created a dangerous knot of competing secrets, and pulling the wrong thread could unravel everything.

"Mr. King, just the man I was hoping to find."

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