“Get Rowan inside,” Reggie snaps. “He’s completely exposed. Anyone could take a shot at him.”
I feel like the world has tilted sideways. “Ava! I have to get to Ava!” I gasp, gripping Cal’s arm.
“Logan!” he shouts over the guests surrounding us. At once the beefy security guard is with us. “Take Zee to her room and stay there. Message Freddie. We need all guards to be on alert. Paxton is here.”
“What?” His voice is a shout. “I’m going with you.”
“I need you to stay with Zee. Protect her. I’m going to finish that bastard tonight.”
“I’m going to finish him,” Logan argues.
“You’re wasting time!” I gasp, wiping away the tears. “Somebody get to Ava!”
Reggie is already gone, headed in the direction of the royal couple. Cal’s eyes meet mine, and I see the fierce determination burning there.
“I won’t let him get away this time. I promise you.”
28
Double Strike
Cal
Reggie takes off in the direction of Rowan. I signal Freddie. He’s across the room in a plain black tuxedo and no mask, but he’s hampered by the multitude of guests. We’re not alerting the crowd of what’s happening in the hopes of avoiding a panic.
I scan the four exits searching for a skull mask, gold damask, and a black cape. So many masqueraders are in the ballroom, and the legion of headdresses and Venetian costumes makes it almost impossible to find him.
“Like a needle in a haystack,” I growl, pushing through the dancers.
Frustration tightens in my chest. I promised Zee. I promised myself—I will not let Wade Paxton slip away this time. A thump at my wrist, and I pull my sleeve up to check my smart watch. It’s a text from Freddie. Southeast corridor.
Turning quickly, I catch a glimpse of a man in a black cape moving quickly and steadily through the dancers toward the south door leading out, and I immediately spring into action.
Grabbing arms and waists, I gently but firmly move the party guests aside, keeping my eyes on that black cape. He’s ahead of me. He’ll be out into the courtyard before I make it to the exit, but he’ll still have to cross to the palace gates before he’ll be able to hail a cab or get in his car. For security reasons, the courtyard is completely cleared of all vehicles during royal events.
Sure enough, he’s gone, but I’m making better time. I’m right after him in mere seconds. He’s moving slower to avoid drawing attention. Too late, you bastard, you’ve already got my attention.
Out in the courtyard, he’s walking fast in a straight line to the black wrought-iron gates. Mask gone, I pull off the white tie at my neck and break into a run. The noise of my shoes echoing on the cobblestones alerts him, and he breaks into a run as well. My only hope is that he’d planned to hail a cab and doesn’t have a car waiting. Would he be that stupid?
Paxton is through the gates, but just as it slams, I’m pushing it open. He doesn’t stop at the line of cars, rather plunging into the crowd of spectators instead. His skull mask is still over his face, but I’m exposed. Smart motherfucker. He knew the crowd would stop me.
I see him ahead, slowing to a stroll now. He pauses at the corner and turns back to face me, doing a little salute in my direction before resuming his casual walk into the night. The sight of his audacity flashes my chest. NO! He will NOT get away this time.
Instead of diving into the crowd, I run to the first Towncar. “I need you to drive me one block north—just on the other side of this crowd! Quick!”
The driver answers in the affirmative and pulls the black vehicle out of the circular drive. The spectators part, leaning forward to see who is leaving early. I look away from the flashbulbs popping in the windows and strain toward the edge of the crowd. It’s like the shore of a great sea.
Once we’re close, I pat the man on the shoulder, toss him a fiver, and dive for the door. “Thanks, old man. You’re a life saver.”
I’m out the door and running full speed in the direction Paxton was headed. It’s possible he had a car waiting for him around the block, but I have to hope he didn’t. I have to believe he’s cocky enough to think he won again.
I’m right.
My breath is coming in heavy pants when I skid around the beige stone building, and looking up the winding alley decorated in colorful lights and little tables at the cafés, I see a man in a gold suit slowly walking away. He must have ditched the cape.
I break into a run, dodging pedestrians and casual diners until I’m almost to him. My wrist catches on a wrought-iron grate, momentarily stopping me. He takes a left off the main route, and I snatch my arm free. When I reach the point where he turned, I see it’s a narrow, dark alley. With only a moment’s hesitation, my military training kicks in.
I’m defensive, stepping slowly into the potentially deadly space. My eyes are dazzled from the lights of the street. We’re behind the shops, where the garbage cans and back doors meet in a dingy corridor.