Page 75 of Critical Mass
She would have been nervous but excited. Would have hoped her father liked him, hoped Timothy would fit into her life, her family, her future.
Instead, she was sitting at a table between a man who might be a terrorist and a man who’d used her as an intelligence asset, while they pretended to be a happy couple while secretly gathering evidence that could destroy them all.
The salmon tasted like ash in her mouth, and Natalie had to force herself to swallow.
This was her life now. Lies upon lies upon lies, with no solid ground left to stand on.
And the worst part? She still didn’t know which man at this table was the real threat.
The father who’d raised her with love and secrets.
Or the boyfriend who’d loved her with lies.
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
Dinner draggedon with multiple courses and increasingly pointed questions from Ravenscroft. Hudson maintained his cover, but he was acutely aware that time was running out.
Friday. The Dubai shipment. The warehouse.
He needed more information, and the best place to find it was Ravenscroft’s study just down the hall. He couldn’t run out of time.
That meant he needed to act now.
“Excuse me.” Hudson stood and placed his napkin beside his plate. “Restroom?”
“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Ravenscroft said.
Hudson nodded his thanks and walked casually toward the hallway, feeling Ravenscroft’s gaze on his back. He kept his pace unhurried, his posture relaxed—just a boyfriend who needed to run to the bathroom.
He passed the first door—a coat closet, he’d noted earlier. The bathroom was indeed the second door.
But the study was the third door—he’d studied the blueprints of the house already, back before he’d even met Natalie. And it was calling to him like a siren song.
Hudson glanced back toward the dining room. Ravenscroft was speaking to Natalie, asking her something about work.
The conversation would keep them occupied, but not for long. A bathroom trip shouldn’t take more than three minutes before questions started being asked.
He made his decision.
Instead of turning into the bathroom, Hudson moved past it to the study door.
His hand settled on the handle—cool brass, recently polished.
He tested it slowly, checking for any resistance or alarm trigger.
Nothing.
Even better, it was unlocked.
Hudson slipped inside and eased the door closed. His training overrode the adrenaline spike that wanted to make him rush, make mistakes, leave evidence of his presence.
He glanced around.
The study was dark except for moonlight filtering through the wall of windows. Hudson didn’t risk turning on the lights. It would be too obvious if someone walked past.
Instead, he let his eyes adjust, picking out shapes in the dimness.
