Sydney didn’t know how long she watched him. And when he finally retreated back up the stairs and she settled into her bed again, she could still see his lonely, mesmerizing dance in her mind, his figure glowing in the darkness.

  Maybe his dreams had come to haunt him tonight, too.

  14

  Prelude to the Stage

  Sydney Cossette had stepped into many roles and worn many outfits. But playing someone who usually ended up in the background meant she tended to don ensembles that made her invisible—an attendant uniform in a parking lot, or a forgettable girl on the subway, or the plain black outfit of a security guard.

  Not the bodyguard to a pop star who needed to dress for the equivalent to a costume ball.

  Now she stared at herself in the mirror of her room, unsure how to react. Her costume for the night of Winter’s concert was a deer, and she looked the part in a two-piece silver Oscar de la Renta lamé outfit, the top half exposing her back down to the small of her spine, the bottom a shimmery pair of pants so billowing that it looked like a long skirt. Her shoes were the same—pointed boots in luxurious dark gray suede, with heels low enough to be practical. Her antlers were elegant, coated in hanging trails of Swarovski crystals, and implanted with surveillance chips. She didn’t know whether she felt more annoyed or flattered by them. They were a practical size, and on a band that Winter’s stylist had pinned to her hair in such a way that she could pull it off with a single swipe if she needed to—but the headpiece still made her feel awkward, less a secret agent and more a Bambi mannequin.

  She looked stunning, though. Definitely the nicest secret agent outfit she’d ever worn. And in spite of herself, she struck a subtle pose, sticking one hip out and tilting her head to see the light shift against the faux skirt.

  A light knock sounded on her door, and before she could react, Winter poked his head in. “Our car just arrived,” he said. “Claire says she’s—”

  Then his eyes skipped to her, catching the last bit of her pose, and his words died midsentence. The light changed in his eyes, flickering through a dozen different emotions even as he fought to keep them off his face. His lips parted slightly. He took her in with a single long look, the top and the flowing pants, her pale arms and arched neck, her exposed back.

  It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d worn something that turned heads—but she also didn’t usually care. Not the way she did now, at least, her bared skin prickling pleasantly under the intensity of Winter’s stare.

  Nor had she expected her own internal reaction to his clothes.

  He was wearing just one of half a dozen costume changes he would go through that evening—but it didn’t mean he looked anything less than stunning. His inner collar shirt and thin tie were silky black, while the suit itself had a tailored cape fused with the sleeves, the color a shade of deep forest green with silver embroidery at the hems.

  His first costume’s theme: midnight.

  For a second, they just stared at each other.

  Then she tore her eyes away from him and met his gaze in the mirror. “Did I say you could come in?” she said.

  The hypnotized look vanished from his eyes, and he seemed to snap back into himself as he held his hands up. “Your door was open,” he said. “I figured that meant you were okay without a knock.” Then a bemused smile appeared on his face. “Or are you just embarrassed to be caught posing?”

  Her scowl deepened as she stepped away from the mirror and toward him. “Forget it,” she muttered. “We’re running late.”

  Out in the hall, she could still hear his prep team packing up their supplies in the other bedroom-turned-beauty-room. Now that she stood right in front of Winter, she could see the faint dusting of makeup on his features: a subtle foundation, a light darkening of his already dark brows, and the thinnest sheen against his eyelids, as if they’d been painted with moonlight.

  He was very obviously trying not to stare too long at her.

  “If it helps,” he said as they walked together down the hall, leaning down to her so that his breath warmed her ear, “you look beautiful.”

  Sydney couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or making fun of her, but she was glad that he looked away before the flush rose on her cheeks.

  “How do you feel?” she asked him as they stepped out of her room and headed toward the stairs.

  He shrugged, but she noticed the way his eyes darted around the corridor, afraid to settle. “No more nervous than I do before any concert.”

  Sydney nodded. She could hear the unspoken words in the air, that this wasn’t just any concert. But somehow she knew Winter would pull off his part of the job without a hitch. She, on the other hand, had a Panacea contact she needed to connect with tonight, at a newly approved drop site right outside the concert venue itself. It was a less ideal place, busier and closer to danger, but maybe the chaos of the event would work in her favor.

  They reached the top of the stairs. Beside her, Winter offered her his arm. She stared at it dumbly for a second, unsure what to do for once.

  “I’m your bodyguard,” she said as they stood there.

  “Yes. And?”

  “Do you help all your bodyguards down the stairs?” She looked skeptically at him.

  “This one, I do.” Winter smiled a little at her. “Look—you cannot dress like that and not expect me to walk you out to the car. I’m not here to start a public rumor that I’m an asshole.”

  “If that’s your idea of flattery, I’m amazed it’s worked out this long for you.”

  He cast her a withering look. “Just take the arm already, before Claire blows a fuse waiting out there.”

  * * *

  Eli Morrison had rented out the Alexandra Palace for his daughter’s private birthday concert, a sprawling 196-acre entertainment complex in north London. Under the glory of a spectacular sunset that threw bands of purple and pink across the sky’s smattering of rain clouds, even Sydney had to put her cynicism aside and admire the space.

  She’d done her requisite research on the palace, of course; it’d been built in 1873, then was burned down and rebuilt twice over the centuries, serving in between as everything from a museum exhibition to World War I refugee center to a news station to a concert venue.

  She emerged first from the car in preparation to escort Winter inside. Beside her, Claire stepped out and glanced briefly at the estate before turning her attention to the crowd of fans that had gathered below the palace’s lawns. She was dressed in gold and white like a Grecian queen, gold makeup glittering against her dark eyelids.

  “How they always find out, I’ll never know,” she murmured in the direction of the fans. Still, she smiled and nudged Sydney, a satisfied glint in her eyes. “No such thing as bad publicity, right?”

  “I’ll say,” Sydney murmured back as she looked at the scene. There must have been over a thousand people waiting on the lawn directly across from the palace’s street entrance, all clustered eagerly together with their signs as police and hired security linked arms before them, struggling to keep the restless crowd from clamoring over the cement barricades. Their cheers rose and fell in rhythm.

  A dozen of Morrison’s men were already here, lined up in two rows on either side of their cars’ doors, ready to escort them along a red carpet that led up the steps to the palace’s entrance.

  Sydney noted the stream of black sedans lined up behind them, carrying a vast assortment of other celebrities, wealthy elites, and personal invitees. This night would make the news solely based on the importance of its guest list.

  A second later, Winter finally emerged from the car, his cape flowing behind him, and waved to his fans. The crowd exploded, surging forward like a tide. The police line undulated as they pushed back.

  “You’re going to cause a full-on riot out here,” Sydney said to him as he offered her his arm.

  If the sight of the barely contained mass frightened him at all, he didn’t show it on his face. Instead, he winked at Sydney before leading her up the steps toward the entrance’s towering portico. “And you’re going to be triggering rumors by morning,” he replied. “I hope you’re ready for it.”

  As the screams behind them echoed across the night, Leo and Dameon joined their line out of the car as they made their way along the red carpet. Cameras flashed with every step. Sydney kept a straight face through it, her eyes roving the space in apparent protection of Winter. A perfect excuse to note the stream of guests heading inside, along with the palace’s interior.

  The security check for the event itself began in the inner atrium. As they entered the main hall, Sydney saw a red velvet rope spanning the space, where a line of security staff were checking in the guests against a master list. There was also a metal detector, along with a team of guards scanning purses and bodies.

  Sydney’s eyes went to the smaller halls that branched off before the security line. A bathroom down the left hall was where she needed to head in order to attempt, once again, to retrieve her Panacea asset’s parcel. The postbox would have been a much subtler drop, but at least these milling crowds were full of so many important people that no one’s eyes would be fixed on her. She could steal out here, then find her way back inside without stirring up much suspicion.

  Besides, Panacea didn’t send mediocre assets to deliver things.

  Their progress down the red carpet was infuriatingly slow. Eli Morrison had invited half a dozen reporters to the outer atrium, intent on recording just how epic a birthday bash this event would be. Now Winter found himself dodging mics shoved in his direction and being stopped to answer sets of questions.

  Finally, they made it inside a quiet hall, then down an elevator to a subterranean series of rooms that must have been meant as private practice and rest areas for performers.

  “Ashley, follow Winter to the dressing rooms until he’s escorted off backstage,” Claire was now telling her as she walked briskly along with them. She nodded at Leo and Dameon. “You boys, too. Behave yourselves. I’m heading back upstairs to take my seat.”

  “Hope you sit next to a gorgeous heiress,” Winter called after her. “And she takes you out on a fancy date.”

  She turned around long enough to give Winter a playful point of her finger, then disappeared into the stream of people.

  In the prep rooms, Dameon and Leo were already running through part of the set when they arrived. Sydney looked on as Winter greeted his friends, laughing at some inside joke while his prep team descended on him.

  It took her a second to realize that the team was actually starting to undress him, sliding off his cape jacket and unbuttoning his collar shirt as they began transforming him into the first of his stage ensembles.

  Undressing.

  Sydney quickly averted her eyes, but not before she caught a glimpse of his body. He was built like a dancer, lean and strong, the muscles shifting under the light as he stretched his arms out to either side.

  Then one of the designers started undoing his belt, preparing to change his pants. Sydney decided it was time for her to step out to the bathroom.

  Two of Morrison’s men were at the entrance of the practice room, watching her as she left, but she murmured “bathroom” to them and they seemed to lose interest immediately, their attention shifting to the thousand other little things happening in the chaos around them. Sydney noted this with some satisfaction; Eli’s initial suspicions of her had just been grandstanding, after all. Maybe he’d officially dismissed her as nothing more than a bodyguard with benefits.

  She made her way down the hall and out beyond the security line toward the bathrooms. Once inside, she noticed with relief the telltale marker left by her Panacea contact—a smudge of red lipstick against the door of the last stall. She wiped the lipstick off with a tissue, locked herself in, then lifted the lid for the toilet’s water tank.

  The parcel was so slim that anyone who didn’t know where to look might never have noticed the gray plastic taped against the inside of the tank. Sydney felt for the groove along its side, then gingerly undid the parcel from the tank and sliced it slowly open along the top with her nail. The packaging gave way without a sound.

  Inside were the items from Niall. Winter’s earrings identical to the ones he would wear onto the stage. The snake ring. Along with a couple of other things, too—a slim pen with a blinding flash installed on its tip, her hotel crest pin equipped with the hidden needle blade, and new phones installed with Panacea software for tracking and tracing.

  Lastly, she saw a tiny symbol scrawled against the inside lining of the package. She paused, then looked closer at it.

  It was a scribble of a heart, with a cross drawn through it like a dagger.

  She rolled her eyes, a slight smile on her lips. The Panacea asset who’d dropped this parcel off for her was an agent she’d once worked with, someone with whom she’d had a brief fling.

  She shook her head. Maybe it was good luck, getting a familiar sign from her past. Maybe this mission would start to go right from now on. She switched out her phone, then opened a small, hidden pocket sewn onto the inside of her pants’ waist and dropped the items in. When she clipped it back into place, it seemed to disappear into the billowing fabric, untraceable against the interior’s anti-surveillance mesh.

  Someone else stepped into the bathroom. Clicking heels echoed against the tiles. Sydney flushed the toilet once and let the noise of it cover the sound of her ripping the parcel into tiny pieces.

  Then she stepped out.

  And ran right into Penelope Morrison.

  15

  More Similar Than Not

  Penelope startled by the sinks at the sight of her. The girl was already in costume—a black and white dress that shimmered under the light, along with an elegant silver and gold headpiece that combined the circle of a sun and the crescent of a moon. A jeweled hairpin gleamed beside her ear.

  This bathroom was located outside the security area; Sydney had headed here intentionally, prepared to give the excuse to anyone who asked that she was looking for a more private space than the crowded rooms beyond the line.

  What was Penelope doing here?

  Penelope blinked at her and looked quickly away. Immediately, Sydney could tell that the girl had been sobbing; her eyes were still red, and her makeup had smudged slightly in the corners.

  Sydney gave her a reassuring smile and pretended she hadn’t noticed anything.

  “You’re Winter Young’s bodyguard, right?” Penelope said after a moment’s hesitation, looking at Sydney through the mirror with her wide eyes. “Ashley?”

  “Yes, Ms. Morrison,” Sydney said as she washed her hands beside the girl.

  “You’re not going to tell my father’s crew I’m in here, are you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m Mr. Young’s handler, miss, not yours.”

  At that, Penelope seemed to sag with relief. A little breath escaped her. “Thanks,” she said with a rueful laugh, and returned to fixing the corners of her makeup. “I’m just trying to escape them.” She paused, then smiled at Ashley’s dress. “You look amazing, by the way. I love the antlers.”

  “Thank you.” Sydney was careful to keep her eyes lowered, her posture almost subservient, as she washed her hands. “Just following Mr. Morrison’s instructions to have the guards match the theme.”

  “Actually, it was my instructions.” Penelope gave her a sheepish grin. “I didn’t want a hundred of my father’s men in black suits breaking up the look of my party. They make me nervous. I’m sorry you got caught up in that—I know it sounds obnoxious.”

  Sydney laughed a little. “You don’t need to apologize for giving me an excuse to dress up.”

  At that, an eager light appeared in her eyes, cutting through her sadness from a moment ago. “Is Winter dressed up already, too?”

  “They’re prepping him now,” Sydney said, giving her a wink. “You must be excited.”

  Penelope sucked her breath in and lowered her eyes shyly, unable to hold back a smile. “He’s the best part of this birthday,” she admitted.

  Sydney felt a pang of pity for the girl. For the star of the occasion, she didn’t seem ecstatic about celebrating. Something about the way Penelope glanced nervously around like a trapped bird reminded Sydney of her own past, of feeling like she was living a life she couldn’t escape.

  At least Sydney knew the truth of who her father was.

  Poor rich people, she told herself wryly. She watched the girl coil an errant strand up onto her head, then glanced at the door.

  “You know,” Sydney said, “if I run into some of your father’s guards, I can tell them you’re somewhere else. Give you a little extra time to yourself.”

  Penelope grabbed a towel to dry her hands. “That’s kind of you to offer,” she said, casting her a grateful glance.

  Sydney shrugged. “I’m used to hiding from fathers, too,” she replied.

  She had shared this little piece of herself with Penelope as a tactic, part of drawing in the girl’s trust. But the way Penelope’s wide eyes turned to her in empathy was so genuine that Sydney felt a hint of shame.

  Penelope gave her a small, sad smile. “We’re the same, then,” she said.

  They weren’t, of course, not really. Penelope’s father was a billionaire. Her own father earned seven dollars an hour in a slaughterhouse. But Sydney nodded anyway, taking advantage of the chance to bond.

  “More similar than not,” she decided to reply.

  Penelope shook her head. “Thank you,” she said politely, her voice even smaller and shyer than before. “But it’s not necessary. I have to give a gift to my dad before the concert starts, anyway—he won’t be around afterward. I just … needed a moment.”

  Sydney nodded. So there was still some love underneath the tension between them, however slight. She could hear it in the pauses of Penelope’s speech, as if she herself didn’t want to admit it.

  “I hope you enjoy the rest of your party, Ms. Morrison,” she said.