Page 50 of Luke's Revenge (Walker Security - Lucifer's Trilogy 3)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Ana

We exit the main foyer of the house with our weapons intact, thanks to Kurt, and enter a spectacular room with a red bar to match the door, with guests in fancy garb milling about, many of which hold champagne glasses. A waiter offers us our own glasses and we wave him off. A clear head and empty hands work in our favor. A wall of windows presents us with a swimming pool, which is obviously heated considering this is Colorado and almost October, and it’s filled with crystal blue water. There are levels above us, cool, modern stairwells that allow travel beyond where we stand.

I assume we will be watched and tormented by said watching for some time and I plan to make it work by meeting as many people as we can, and digging for information. I motion to an important-looking man—forty-something, sandy brown hair, an expensive watch, and suit—with a crowd around him that is clearly trying to please him and gain his good graces. “Target number one,” I say, and start walking.

Luke falls into step with me and it’s right when we step into the circle that I spy Savage out by the pool, talking with a familiar face. He’s standing with Phillips’s wife, holding a tray, while she smiles up at him, flirting up a storm with an ex-assassin who is also a happily married man. She will get nowhere with this exchange but we might just get everywhere.

I exchange a look with Luke, who smirks his approval for Savage’s fast action. We’re ready and waiting for confrontation. Bring it. Bring it now. But it’s not now. It’s an hour later, and way too much schmoozing when a tall, bulky man in a suit, steps in front of us.

“Mr. Phillips would like to see you both.”

My heart begins a drumroll in my chest, followed by what feels like a tap dance, but on the outside, I’m cool and calm. “Nothing like special attention from the Mr. Phillips,” I say smoothly.

Luke says nothing, but his hand settles possessively on my lower back and I swear I can feel his heartbeat in his palm. Or maybe that is still the tap dance of my own heart, working its way through my body, and into his. Whatever the case, it’s showtime. My phone is in my purse at my hip, while my weapon rests on my thigh. I’m equipped and ready to meet Michael Phillips, who may or may not, be a friend. He also might be the king. Translation: our enemy.

---