Chapter 2 - The Decoy
The music swelled around us, but all I could hear was the frantic rushing of my own pulse.
I looked back up at Larkin, my eyes wide with sudden panic.
I whispered that the assassin was currently circling the champagne fountain to our left.
Larkin did not even turn his head to look.
His composure was terrifyingly absolute.
He quietly instructed me to keep dancing and act completely natural.
I followed his lead, my steel-tipped stilettos gliding flawlessly across the polished marble floor.
Larkin signaled his security team with a nearly imperceptible nod of his chin.
Three massive men in dark suits began to converge silently on the champagne fountain.
But the assassin was incredibly fast, sensing the trap before it could snap shut.
He abandoned his tray of glasses and vanished into the dense crowd near the balcony doors.
Larkin cursed under his breath, his grip on my hand becoming painfully tight.
He told me we had to flush the killer out before the Russian boss arrived in exactly ten minutes.
He guided me off the dance floor, leading me straight toward the dimly lit terrace.
The chilly autumn air hit my bare back, making me shiver uncontrollably.
I asked him what he expected me to do against a trained killer.
Larkin looked down at me with a dark, intense expression that made my stomach flip.
He said I was the only person in the building the assassin would not view as an immediate threat.
He handed me his personal cell phone, showing me a live feed of the security cameras.
My job was to walk the perimeter and alert him the second I spotted the man's face.
I took a deep breath, clutching the phone like a lifeline as I walked away from the safety of Larkin's shadow.
I moved through the shadows of the terrace, my black dress blending perfectly into the night.
I spotted a figure standing near the stone balustrade, adjusting something inside his jacket.
I crept closer, my stilettos completely silent on the outdoor rugs.
The man turned his head slightly to check his watch.
The moonlight illuminated his sharp jawline and the small scar above his left eyebrow.
I dropped Larkin's phone, the device shattering against the stone floor.
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This man was not an assassin hired by a rival crime family.
It was Special Agent Miller of the FBI, the man who had arrested my father ten years ago.
