Victoria Stone snipped the head off a prize-winning orchid. The flower fell to the tiled floor of the conservatory with a soft thud.
"Nothing?" she asked, not looking up.
Quentin shifted his weight. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the climate-controlled cool of the room. "No, ma'am. We've scrubbed the city. The woman doesn't exist. No prints, no face match."
"She exists," Victoria snapped. She pointed the shears at him. "A woman doesn't leave a bloodstain and vanish into thin air unless she is trained."
"We checked the guest list again," Quentin said. "The only anomaly was Evita Peck leaving early."
Victoria paused. "The mute."
"Yes."
"Julian Kensington just announced his engagement to her," Victoria mused. "On live television."
She set the shears down. Her mind worked like a trap snapping shut. Evita Peck. The silent, abused girl. The perfect cover. And now, Julian-who never did anything without a motive-had scooped her up.
"Why would Julian want a mute wife?" Victoria asked the air. "Unless her silence is an asset."
"Ma'am?"
"Find out where she was that night. Exactly where. I want a timeline."
Down in the basement level, the sounds of grunting and metal clanking filled the rehab gym.
Jedidiah was doing pull-ups. His wheelchair sat empty nearby. He was strapped to the bar, his upper body heaving, muscles coiling like steel cables under his sweat-slicked skin. His legs hung dead weight, dragging him down.
Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.
Every rep was a battle against gravity and his own broken body.
He dropped from the bar, landing heavily on the mat. He dragged himself toward his chair, refusing the help of the therapist standing nearby.
"Get out," he growled.
The therapist left.
Jedidiah hauled himself into the chair. His arms burned. His chest heaved.
He picked up the tablet Quentin had left on the bench. The news was playing. Julian Kensington, holding Evita Peck's hand, smiling that fake, charming smile.
"Since we connected over our mutual love for quiet European towns..."
Jedidiah stared at Evita's face on the screen. She looked terrified. Her eyes were wide, darting around like a trapped animal.
Wait.
He zoomed in on the video. The way she held her shoulders. The tension in her neck.
It reminded him of something. The woman in the dark. The way she had tensed before...
"No," he muttered. "It can't be."
But Julian was involved. And if Julian wanted her, it meant she was valuable.
Quentin entered the gym. "Sir, your grandmother is asking for a background check on Evita Peck."
Jedidiah looked up. "Why?"
"Because of the engagement. She thinks... she thinks there's a connection to the breach."
Jedidiah looked back at the screen. Julian looked smug. Like he had won a prize.
A cold, competitive rage filled Jedidiah's chest. Julian had been in Beirut the day the car bomb went off. Julian had always wanted what was Jedidiah's.
"Prepare the car," Jedidiah said.
Quentin blinked. "Sir? You haven't left the estate in three years."
"I said prepare the car," Jedidiah snapped. He wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. "I think it's time I congratulated the happy couple. I want to meet my future... neighbor."
He looked at the image of Evita again.
"If she's the spy," Jedidiah whispered to the empty room, "I'm going to break her."
