I’m still staring at the door where he disappeared when Strega comes over. “Mio Dio, what happened?”
I don’t even look at her, just answer with a smile. “A breakthrough. A big fucking one.”
I pop the last bit of pastry in my mouth, swallowing it with the last bit of my espresso. “So good, Strega.”
She thinks I’m talking about her food, the pride transforming her look of worry to a soft smile. I’m not talking about the food at all.
But about Kyle.
He’s good, so good.
Or at least he will be if I have anything to do with it.
Chapter 18
Nathan
It doesn’t take much to find out all I can about Emma Daniels once I apply my resources to it. Background check, online presence, family history, criminal records . . . all of those are easy pickings for the people I have on my speed dial.
Within hours, I hold in front of me the whole package deal that she’s walking in with.
At least on paper.
But there’s more to her.
Whatever that is, it’s something I can’t describe, can’t write or draw or photograph. It’s intangible and what draws me to her like a moth to a flame, even though I know the moth burns in that scenario every time. She just has it and I respond to it every time.
But I’m a smart man, contrary to my brother’s bitching. And I know that his calling Emma a ‘honey pot’ is true, now more than ever.
My brain might say one thing, but my hunger says another. I can’t help but want to eat every last drop. So I revert to what I know, research and reconnaissance.
With the thick file in my lap, research is accomplished. Now, it’s time to recon, so I change into dark jeans and a navy-blue Yankees T-shirt along with some plain Nikes. With my hair mussed up and a decent case of five o’clock shadow, I look like countless other guys.
Respectable but not formidable, handsome but not whiplash-inducing, average but not powerful.
I shrug my shoulders, loosening the tension through my body to affect the casual, relaxed posture the military drilled out of me.
I even smile at myself in the mirror, noting that it seems passably real.
This mission is a go.
The drive is quick, and I tell my driver to circle the block and wait for my call to return. I approach the front doors of the brick building, ignoring the ticket window and the posters out front, hoping they’re unlocked but with a backup plan in place if not.
Hell, I’ve got a backup for the backup plan. I’ve done my studying, and Sun Tzu is as well-known to me as Dr. Seuss.
But fate is on my side today and the doors open to me easily.
I make my way through the lobby, making it a point to look at home and like I’m supposed to be here, but no one stops me or questions me in the least.
Finding the next set of doors, I move into stage two of the plan, entering the dark, softly carpeted space like a ghost.
I don’t look up, not yet. Not until I’m in exactly the place I want to be.
I studied the plans for the building. I know just where to sit to be invisible but see everything. The shadows are dark, deep, and concealing as I blend in, finding the seat I scoped out. Silently, I sit, settling in to wait.
Five breaths. I still my body, slow my breathing, calm my racing heart, listen carefully . . . and open my eyes.
Only then do I allow myself to look.
Only practice keeps my reaction silent, because almost instantly, bells are chiming inside like a fucking church on Sunday.
I see her.
Emma.
But not. At least that’s not who she is today. Today, she is Cleopatra VII Philopator of the Ptolemaic dynasty.
The stage is bright, lights creating stark relief with the backdrop that’s still in preparation. And there’s a whir of activity as a voice calls out, “Places . . . running from scene twenty. Emma, it’s your opening line.”
My eyes lock on her as she nods, and when she begins, it’s a thing of beauty. It’s my utter destruction. She’s good.
Not just able to recite lines and move as instructed, but even to my untrained eye, she becomes a two-thousand-year-old dead Egyptian queen right in front of me.
Her mannerisms change, her smile is aristocratic instead of full, and her movements are graceful in a way that Emma is not.