“Huh. That’s strange.”
“Talk to me, Carys. What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” she murmured, setting the remote down and walking over to have a closer look. “I think there’s something behind the glass . . .”
She reached up and felt around the edges of the panel. Her fingertips grazed a small bump along the right side—a button. She pressed it, and the mirror popped open.
“Oh, my God. There’s another room back here.”
Not much of a room. Nothing like the spacious, opulent chambers of the suite outside. This was more of a deep, hidden alcove.
Peering into the darkness, she saw a simple desk containing a computer workstation with a large monitor. If Neville Fielding had secrets, this was obviously where they’d find them.
“I’m going in.” She stepped over the threshold.
“Carys, for fuck’s sake, just be caref—”
“Gideon?” she whispered as she crept farther inside. “Gideon, are you there?”
Shit. Only silence answered. Their signal must have cut off, she guessed, taking in the soundproofed walls and ceiling that surrounded her.
She padded over to the desk. The computer on it was powered down, but still warm. Beside it was some kind of communications system.
What the hell was Fielding using this for? Who did he talk to on this secret workstation, hidden behind a concealed door in a house that only a man with ten times his wealth could possibly afford?
There was only one answer, of course. One explanation.
Opus Nostrum.
Dammit. She had to go back out and try to retrieve one of the bugs she’d placed elsewhere. This was the room the Order needed to monitor.
She spun around and started hurrying back toward the hidden door.
“Gideon,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”
The transmitter in her ear was still utterly silent.
And in the quiet that engulfed her, she felt a queer prickling of her senses.
She wasn’t alone.
Someone was there with her now.
She started to gather the shadows around her, but it was already too late. No sooner had she realized the danger, she came face-to-face with the big body and threatening stance of a Breed male now blocking the portal to the exercise room.
Oh, God. It was him.
The leader of Riordan’s thugs who’d shown up at La Notte.
Now, he wore a tailored suit and a glossy silk tie, looking every bit the gentleman . . . except for the threatening twist of his mouth and the lethal coldness of his stare.
“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” he muttered. “The Breedmate bitch from Boston.”
Carys swallowed hard, even as the blood drained from her face. She had to will her Breed instincts to heel under the freezing blast of the deadly male’s glare.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, the only thing she could think to say.
“I think the better question is, what are you doing here? Snooping around in places you don’t belong.” He reached out and snatched the transmitter from her ear, moving so swiftly even her Breed senses could hardly track him. The tiny device disappeared into his clenched fist. “You’re involved in a dangerous business, my dear. A careless girl could get killed if she crosses the wrong people.”