Chapter 3 - The Interception
The sound of the shattering phone caused Agent Miller to spin around instantly.
His hand darted toward his chest holster before he realized it was just a woman standing in the shadows.
He squinted at me, his eyes trailing over my expensive dress and sharp haircut.
I prayed that the dark makeup and the passage of ten years would keep me entirely anonymous.
I bent down quickly to gather the broken pieces of the phone, my hands shaking violently.
Miller took a step closer, his professional curiosity quickly turning into suspicion.
He asked if I was lost, his voice carrying the same authoritative edge that used to haunt my nightmares.
I forced a light, dismissive laugh, adopting the persona of a spoiled mafia girlfriend.
I told him I had simply dropped my phone after having too much champagne.
He crouched down next to me, his cold blue eyes locking onto my face.
A flicker of recognition suddenly sparked in his gaze.
He softly asked if my name was Penelope Woods.
My heart stopped completely.
I knew that lying to an FBI agent while standing in the middle of a mafia gala was a guaranteed death sentence.
I slowly stood up, refusing to break eye contact or show weakness.
I asked him why a federal agent was serving drinks at a private party.
Miller smiled grimly, standing up to match my height.
He explained that Larkin Steves was about to receive a massive illegal weapons shipment from the Russians tonight.
He told me the gala was nothing but a cover for the transaction.
Miller stepped uncomfortably close, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper.
He said he could offer me full immunity and a place in witness protection if I helped him access Larkin's private suite.
If I refused, he promised to arrest me as an accessory to international terrorism.
I realized with sickening clarity that Larkin had lied to me about the assassin.
There was no hitman, only a federal raid closing in on all of us.
Before I could answer Miller, a heavy hand clamped down on my bare shoulder.
I turned around to find Thomas glaring at us, his face twisted in a mask of pure rage.
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Thomas pulled a gun from his jacket and jammed the barrel directly into my ribs.
He told Miller to walk away, or he would paint the terrace with my brains.
