. It was one of those members-only clubs in Meatpacking wh

mbed the garden wall, ruined her manicure, and taken

dn't jus

ault? The one whose provenance I authenticated for that stolen Monet? Call him. Tell hi

ous-looking manager who led her not to the main floor, but to a small, dark security office

s hard to miss. It was the only booth wher

is tie. His top button was undone, exposing the hollow of his

s wearing a dress that was more concept than fabric. She

ull away. He ha

"paparazzi" who had

ist. He pulled her closer. It loo

en stabbed. She zoomed in on

tograph

fted away from Sasha, creating a distinct ga

art a cold lump in her c

thick manila envelope from Art

e was pa

and headed towa

into the ladies' room. Unseen." He nodded, po

asha was at the mirror, reapplying lipstick. Cinnamon slipped

tered to her reflection

d up behind he

. "Jesus! You scared me. Wait

nnamon

innamon up and down. "Oh. The ward

he paying you

t's not just pretending. It's crisis management. And to

sked, her voice b

r nails. "And having a fiancée whose father was a con artist doesn't lo

from her face. "He's... he's d

sweetie. A walking red flag. He's trying to k

her. To keep them

or swu

tly. He saw Cinnamon, and his face went dark

e barked

e. She grabbed he

Cinnamon, advancing on her until she

u break out to... what? Interrogate my paid dist

ack, shoving his chest. "I wanted to

is a

you kept me? Is that why you kissed me? Because I'm the password to some stolen fortune?" She subtly turned on the high-fidelity digita

l. The anger vanished, repl

shoulders. "Wha

she whispered

is hand. His eyes darted to

tion against her skin. "Never say tho

red at him o

n't de

t of losing her love

st like h