Chapter 9 - The Gala
Clara froze in the middle of the ballroom.
Her emerald gown caught the light of the crystal chandeliers, drawing eyes from every direction.
She saw the woman standing next to Martin.
Tall, blonde, wearing a sharp white tuxedo jacket.
Special Agent Sarah Vance.
"Turn around, Clara," Adriano ordered in her ear.
"Walk toward the coat check."
But it was too late.
Martin had seen her.
His arrogant smile froze on his face.
Then, his eyes dragged over her expensive dress and the diamonds at her throat.
He whispered something to Agent Vance.
Vance turned, her piercing blue eyes locking onto Clara like a sniper's laser.
"They saw me," Clara murmured, pasting a confident smile on her face.
"I can't run."
"It will look too suspicious."
"Clara, do not engage," Adriano warned, his voice tight with real panic.
"If Vance detains you, I can't protect you."
Clara took a sip from a passing waiter's tray.
"You told me to play the bait."
"I'm playing."
She walked straight toward the beast.
Martin stepped away from the FBI agent to intercept her.
"Clara," he purred, though his eyes were frantic.
"You have a lot of nerve showing up here."
"I work for you, Martin," Clara said loudly enough for passing guests to hear.
"You told me to always attend the charity events."
Martin grabbed her elbow, digging his fingers in hard.
He pulled her toward a secluded alcove near the kitchen doors.
"Where is Moretti?" he hissed.
"I don't know," Clara lied smoothly.
"He dropped me off and said he had business."
Martin scoffed, his eyes darting around the room.
"You're a terrible liar."
"He wants the key."
"He's not getting it."
Clara moved closer, pressing her hand flat against Martin's chest.
Just like Lucas had taught her.
She could feel the heavy silver chain beneath his silk shirt.
"Martin, please," Clara whispered, forcing tears into her eyes.
"Moretti is crazy."
"He held me hostage."
"I just want my old life back."
Martin's grip loosened slightly.
His ego was his biggest weakness.
He loved the idea of his quiet, obedient secretary crawling back to him.
"You want your life back?" he mocked gently.
Clara slid her fingers up his lapel.
Misdirection.
With her other hand, she smoothly unhooked the clasp at the back of his neck.
She caught the heavy key in her palm just as the chain slipped.
"Yes," she sobbed softly.
"I'll do whatever you want."
Martin smirked, reaching up to stroke her cheek.
"Good."
"Then you'll go upstairs to Room 412."
"Agent Vance is going to ask you some questions about Moretti."
"You tell her he kidnapped you."
Clara nodded, clutching the key tightly in her sweaty palm.
"Okay."
She pulled away, taking a step back.
She had done it.
She had the key.
"Cherry," Clara whispered as softly as she could.
Nothing happened.
"Cherry," she repeated, slightly louder.
The lights in the ballroom stayed blazing bright.
Martin stopped smiling.
He reached up to his chest, realizing the chain was gone.
"You little bitch," he snarled, lunging for her.
Clara spun around to run.
But standing directly behind her, blocking her escape, was Agent Vance.
Vance pulled a black handgun from inside her white tuxedo jacket and pointed it at Clara's stomach.
"Hand it over, Miss Bennett," Vance said coldly.
Clara's heart stopped.
Then, the earpiece crackled back to life.
But it wasn't Adriano's voice.
May you like
It was Lucas.
"Duck."
