Page 9 of Secrets in the Dark

I accepted the bag, touched by the gesture. "Thank you, Dustin."

His grin practically glowed. "Anytime. Literally, anytime. We're open until two."

After he left, I examined the sandwich with a mixture of gratitude and caution. An innocent gift from a starstruck deli worker—exactly the kind of normal interaction I'd taken for granted before pink roses started appearing on my desk. Before my secure life had shattered into paranoia and assumed identities.

I was unwrapping the sandwich when I noticed it: a cream-colored envelope tucked into the bag's side pocket.

The paper cut into my finger as I tore it open, heart hammering against my ribs.

I like how the feathers will match your boots. Midnight blue suits you, Nova.

The sandwich slipped from my suddenly numb hands.

The feathered headdress. My costume change had happened less than an hour ago, behind closed doors. The boots—custom-dyed to match—had only emerged from the costume department this morning.

He was here. Watching. Perhaps even now.

I forced myself to breathe, to think. The delivery boy—Dustin—had seemed genuinely surprised by my reaction. Was he an unwitting messenger? Or part of the surveillance?

Mechanically, I reached for my panic button phone, then hesitated. What would I tell Detective Alvarez? That I'd received another note? She already knew the stalker had found me. Alerting the police now would only draw more attention, perhaps expose my identity to the entire casino, while whoever it was remained unknown and at large.

I needed to handle this myself until I had something concrete to report. Something beyond flowers and flattering notes.

With shaking hands, I reapplied my stage makeup. Tonight was the first full run-through of Valentina's show for an empty house—testing lighting cues, sound levels, and transitions before tomorrow's performance with actual audience members. I couldn't fall apart now. Couldn't jeopardize my cover. Couldn't let the fear win.

By the time I joined Val backstage, I'd locked my terror behind a mask of professional composure.

"There she is," Val declared, adjusting her signature top hat. "Ready to dazzle the empty seats,estrella?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Perfect. Remember, timing is everything. I promise we'll have you floating as calm as a swan above the audience in a sea of glitter and rhinestones before the week is out."

The next ninety minutes passed in a blur of costume changes, forced smiles, and precisely timed entrances. Despite my inner turmoil, muscle memory carried me through the complicated choreography. I appeared where needed, vanished on cue, and managed not to trip over a single set piece—a significant improvement over yesterday's rehearsal.

Performing to an empty theater, however, proved unexpectedly unnerving. Two thousand vacant seats stared backat us like silent witnesses. The cavernous space swallowed our movements, the darkness beyond the stage lights concealing any number of watchers.

Was he out there? Sitting in the shadows, noting every move, every costume change, every moment I believed myself unseen?

During the finale—Val's signature illusion involving a flaming cage and my "teleportation" to the theater's upper balcony—I scanned the empty seats from my elevated position. The theater's darkness revealed nothing, but the persistent itch between my shoulder blades told me I wasn't merely performing for technicians and stagehands.

"Excellent energy," Val declared when the house lights came up. "Though your smile during the levitation looked more like a grimace. Remember—seduction, not constipation."

"Sorry. Just nervous."

"Don't be. No one died during rehearsal today, which makes it a success by industry standards." She squeezed my shoulder. "Take thirty minutes, then we'll run the flash-powder sequence once more. I want to adjust the timing before we add the doves tomorrow."

I retreated beneath the stage to the props area, seeking a moment alone to collect myself. The subterranean maze of corridors beneath the theater housed everything from mechanical lifts to animal enclosures for the various exotic creatures that appeared in Val's act. Unlike the sleek public areas of the Jade Petal, this underground warren remained utilitarian—concrete floors, exposed pipes, and the persistent hum of machinery creating a stark contrast to the gilded luxury above.

I'd ducked behind a rack of costumes when a familiar voice drifted from around the corner.

"The timing's wrong. Thursday's too soon."

Roman King. The dealer whose eyes seemed to see straight through my disguise.

I froze, straining to hear the rest of his conversation.

"I understand the urgency, but rushing creates mistakes. We need more surveillance on the secondary targets." A pause. "Yes, I've noted the connection. No, I haven't established the extent of involvement."

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