“Please, call me Penelope.” She smiled at Sydney. “Only my father’s guards say Ms. Morrison.”

  Sydney smiled back. “Penelope, then.”

  As Penelope turned to leave the bathroom, Sydney noticed a small tattoo on the girl’s wrist. At first glance, it looked like an errant line. It took a second for Sydney to recognize it as Italian and translate it in her head.

  The heart is wide and deep.

  Her mind skimmed over everything she knew about Penelope. Eli was English, through many generations. But her mother was an Italian woman who had been briefly married to Eli and then divorced when Penelope was three. There was so little information about her mother, though, especially after the divorce—word had it that she’d returned to Italy, then passed away years later from an illness.

  Sydney couldn’t make a judgment one way or the other about the phrase. Maybe it was a phrase that her mother had frequently used. Maybe it was an Italian saying that Sydney wasn’t familiar with.

  Then Penelope was stepping out the bathroom door, leaving Sydney alone.

  Sydney’s hand brushed the edge of her waistline, checking for the weight of the parcel’s contents in her secret pocket. Then she headed out, too, keeping her head down as she walked back through the security line. The sadness etched on Penelope’s face lingered in her mind.

  Just how much did Eli Morrison control his daughter’s life?

  Whatever it was, it was enough for Winter to use. And with any luck, Penelope could be the wedge that cracked her father’s illegal empire.

  16

  The Superstar and the Tycoon

  When the call came for them to head out, Sydney took her place at Winter’s side as they ushered him and his dancers down a private corridor toward the theater’s backstage door.

  He had transformed completely by now into his stage persona, his first performance outfit being one of flowing silver that seemed to shift colors under the light. A light sheen of makeup on his face cast him in a mesmerizing glow. There was a new smoothness to his walk, a fresh confidence in his gait, a mischievous lilt in his voice as he called out a joke to Leo and the boy laughed in return. Sydney couldn’t help feeling impressed. It was as if a real person she’d known had disappeared, leaving behind only the idea of one.

  They reached the end of the narrow corridor, where an elevator waited for them. Standing in front of the elevator was a line of Eli’s guards, who stepped in Sydney’s way. She felt herself tense on instinct.

  “Our own guards,” Leo said enthusiastically. “Look at this royal treatment.”

  The closest one shook his head at Sydney. “We’ll escort them individually from here,” he told her. “You may head to your seat in the audience now, Miss Miller.”

  Sydney cast Winter a brief glance. Already, he, Leo, and Dameon had each been paired with one of Eli’s handlers.

  Leo glanced skeptically up at his guard. “You coming up onstage to dance with us, too?” he quipped.

  The man just stared stony-faced down at him until he looked away uneasily. “I mean, you seem like a people person,” he muttered.

  Sydney let herself hesitate. This was as far as she could go.

  She nodded at the men and took a step away from Winter. He nodded at her. As she looked at him, that stage persona gave way to a glimpse of himself.

  I’ll be okay, his eyes seemed to say.

  She pressed her lips together, then turned back to the guard. “Fine,” she said.

  Leo entered the tiny elevator first, his handler at his side. He gave them a tense smile. “See you all where the fun is,” he said. Then the doors closed on him.

  Dameon went next. At last, Winter entered with his new guard. As the doors closed on him, Sydney met his gaze one last time.

  He gave her a quick grin. “Enjoy the show,” he said.

  Then he was gone.

  She made her way down to the theater’s front entrance, through which now streamed the rest of the invited guests.

  She recognized many of them, whether from the news or from general knowledge of the rich and powerful. There were other young people, likely friends and acquaintances of Penelope, trust fund children. Still others were people she knew based on her time at Panacea—people who worked closely with Eli, directors from MI6, diplomats from other European nations. Her skin tingled at her proximity to them all.

  There was a scent of danger in the air here.

  At the theater hall’s entrance, a guard asked for her name and ID, then scanned her card into a reader. The screen flashed green. She was on the guest list.

  The space inside was massive, dimly lit by sweeping gradients of spotlights. To her surprise, Winter’s stage had not been set up on the original one at the opposite end of the hall, but in the very center of the giant room, on a raised, circular dais. So everyone could see him from all angles.

  She looked up. There had been a new system of hooks and swings installed over the dais, along with a series of small black machines placed at regular intervals around the round stage.

  Sydney made her way to the front circle of people gathered around the dais, then found her spot. She looked around at the audience.

  There was Claire, standing in the front row and talking animatedly with Penelope, who nodded along politely. Sydney noted two other bodyguards of Penelope’s that she had recognized when they greeted them at the house.

  Then she saw Eli Morrison seated beside them, almost directly in front of her, his figure swathed in shadows. It didn’t matter that he blended in, though. He had the sort of presence that triggered the alarms in Sydney’s head. It was the way others acted around him, she realized—how two of his associates sitting on his farther side bobbed their heads quickly when he turned to ask them a question, and how their bodies leaned toward him even when he didn’t speak, as if afraid to miss a signal. When Eli laughed, it was a warm, generous sound—but the others didn’t react like it. They would laugh nervously back, their bodies stiff, as if the sound couldn’t reach the rest of them.

  As if the man could share a joke with them one moment and then arrange for their disappearance the next. Perhaps they’d even witnessed it before.

  Occasionally, she could hear bits and pieces of their murmurs through the noise around them. Dealings on one of Eli’s investment funds. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Then she recognized the third person seated almost directly before her. It was Connor Doherty.

  Connor Doherty, the young man Niall said handled all of Eli’s business finances, who was notoriously absent from almost all of Eli’s public meetings. Who was potentially having an affair with Penelope. Who was their ticket to taking Eli down.

  Every instinct in Sydney zeroed in on the man, as if she’d just spotted a rare animal. He was unassuming at first glance, lean and slight, his posture slightly wearier than a man in his mid-twenties should be, wearing the plainest costume a person could manage—a standard black suit and tie, with an undecorated black eye mask across his small, narrow face. The kind of person who blended in with a crowd.

  Sydney’s eyes went to his hands. There she saw the only hints of the expensive taste that Panacea was counting on—a Rolex watch, a thick platinum bracelet, rings set with diamonds. He leaned toward Eli and spoke to him in a low voice that she couldn’t make out.

  She was in the middle of reading his lips when the space dimmed completely. Fog from the machines around the dais had started to seep through the seats, shrouding her boots, and the first threads of music began to come through the speakers embedded along each row of the arena’s seats. When Sydney turned her head up to the ceiling, she could now see a sheet of stars winking into existence.

  On the dais, icy blue lights bathed the entire stage, highlighting a silhouette that now rose from beneath the stage, crouched on his knees. The audience let out a burst of cheers as Winter came into view.

  He was tied up and gagged, wearing a glittering headpiece of entwined branches and long egret feathers, giving him the illusion of being a bird. His black hair was dusted with silver glitter, and slender rings glinted on his fingers. A white silk scarf blindfolded his eyes, and his arms and legs were bound before him with metal and leather. Around the dais a birdcage of bars rose to surround him.

  The music came on, and excitement rippled through the crowd. Nearby, Penelope sucked her breath in sharply and leaned forward, her eyes locked fully on him.

  They locked the bird up, locked him deep down low

  As the sound of the haunting track filled the room, Winter began his dance. With each heavy beat, he moved to break out of his binds. His wrists twisted and strained against the straps. One of his hands made a flourish of a movement—and inexplicably popped out of the strap, as if it had passed right through the material.

  Sydney blinked. At Panacea, she had learned a dozen different ways of breaking out of restraints. She’d taken one look at Winter’s binds and known, really known, that there was no way he could get out of that on his own. And yet here she was, witnessing him doing exactly that. It looked like his hand was made out of air, the way it just slid soundlessly out of one cuff.

  The cuffs and binds must have been made specifically for this performance, she reminded herself. Just a trick of the eye.

  Winter arched until the back of his head touched the floor of the dais. He stretched his second bound arm straight up, so all the metal cuffs were clearly visible in the light. As the beat dropped again, he twisted his wrist and—again, Sydney watched in disbelief as he slid right out of the binds. They clattered to the floor. In another smooth gesture, he removed his gag and blindfold. The audience gasped in approval.

  They locked me up, but I broke away, broke away

  Winter spun to his feet. In time with the music, he spun and arched backward. One leg and ankle slid out of the binds. Then the other. As he did, he pulled his shirt off, exposing for a shocking second his bare upper body before flipping the shirt inside out and sliding it back on in a single move to reveal cobalt blue silk instead. At the same time, his pants unclipped to a layer underneath in the same bold blue hue. Now he looked less like a bird and more like an ocean. The audience rippled with a gasp.

  He looked around at the audience, a slight smirk on his lips, his headpiece glittering in the light.

  Sydney had watched some of Winter’s performances before they began their mission, had studied the way he moved and done her due diligence in researching him. But she’d never seen him perform live before. And in that moment, every dismissive thought she’d ever had about him vanished from her mind.

  This wasn’t the boy with the sarcastic grin and the quick mouth, the one she couldn’t seem to stop bickering with.

  This was the superstar.

  They tried to catch him, but he turned into the air

  Turned into the water, into the sea between you and me

  Now the backup dancers arrived, stealing through the aisles in dark figures until they reached the stage. Sydney picked out Dameon and Leo instantly. As the chorus to the track kicked in with a thunderous beat, the dancers slid into a formation around him and then all synced in movement.

  In spite of herself, Sydney could feel her heart racing.

  They tried to stop me, but I came all this way, all this way

  Leo tossed him a bouquet of yellow and white flowers. Winter grabbed it, then hopped off the stage in a fluid move. The audience stirred in delight, parting and drawing forward as he headed toward Penelope. The spotlight followed him.

  Came all this way, just to wish you

  He stepped right up to her. Under the light, Sydney saw Penelope inhale and give a little laugh.

  Just to wish you a happy birthday

  The audience burst into a round of laughter and cheers at the tweak in the lyrics that Winter had made for Penelope. He offered her the flowers. She covered her mouth with both hands, trembling, while the friends around her screamed and shoved her in delight. Then she took the bouquet without looking away from him. He smiled sidelong at her and shifted back to the stage as the music changed yet again.

  As he turned, his gaze latched on to Sydney.

  In spite of herself, Sydney felt her breath hitch at the sear of his attention. He hadn’t looked at her like this before—fully entrenched in his stage persona, the light glinting hot in his eyes. For an instant, she felt chained into place.

  Then, in a flash, he was back on the dais and joining his dancers in a furious, fast-paced track. The beat shook the floor under Sydney’s feet. The lights switched to red, bathing the entire space in scarlet—and then some invisible hook propelled Winter from the stage floor to high up in the air. The audience shrieked.

  Sydney let her breath out slowly. What an absolute bastard of a flirt. If Penelope wasn’t cheered up after this, then she couldn’t be swept off her feet by anything in the world.

  A slight movement in the darkness of the audience shook her back into place. She glanced over and across the dais to where Eli Morrison sat. He had risen to his feet along with Connor Doherty and a third man. They exchanged a few more words.

  Sydney itched to get closer. But it would be too obvious here if she, Winter’s primary bodyguard, left now. She had no doubt Eli’s men were watching her from a dozen different spots in the room. So all she could do was let herself steal glances toward Eli and the others.

  Then she saw Connor lean toward Eli and, as Winter segued into his final routine, murmur something to the man. She narrowed her eyes, reading his lips enough to decipher the words.

  “It has to be tonight, sir.”

  Eli frowned back at him as the theater shook with the opening bass beats. “No. The meeting is tomorrow.” Then came some words she couldn’t make out.

  “I’m afraid we can’t, sir.”

  Eli was one of the most intimidating men Sydney had crossed paths with, but something in Connor’s quiet, pleading gaze seemed to make him think. He didn’t answer right away. His eyes followed Winter’s movements on the stage, then turned to the silhouette of his daughter.

  Sydney counted out the seconds in her head. Eight, nine, ten, eleven.

  At last, Eli said, “Tonight, then.”

  There was an urgency in the words, a tension in his body that made Sydney’s heart beat a little faster. Something was happening that felt like a ripple in their plans. Her expression never changed, and neither did her gaze, but Eli Morrison’s words echoed in her mind, solid and ominous.

  Tonight, then.

  She had some tailing to do.

  17

  Characters on a Stage

  Winter Young had been to enough post-concert after-parties to last him a lifetime—but even he was fairly certain he’d never been to one quite like this.

  A couple hours after his performance had ended, he found himself walking with Penelope down a flight of stairs curving along the inside of a massive cylinder that descended underground from a private, guarded entrance alongside the Thames River.

  “It was called Brunel’s Thames Tunnel, actually,” Penelope explained to him as they went, one of her hands restlessly tucking her hair behind her ears. Her bejeweled hairpin glittered as her fingers brushed past it. “Some guy named Brunel and his son built the first tunnel to connect underground beneath a major river. Used to be for carriages, and then for trains. My father funded its restoration some years ago into an exhibition space.”

  Her grip around his arm was tight and nervous, and now and then, he could feel her tremble. Her father wasn’t breathing down her neck here, but his presence still loomed in every detail of this party. Even so, it was the most talkative she’d been since they first met.

  He cast a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Sydney was behind him. It felt strange, knowing that none of his friends would be here. Dameon seemed unbothered, content to head into the city to party on his own, but Leo had been unusually quiet after their performance, had watched Winter prepare to leave for the after-party behind the palace without a word.

  “Is he feeling okay?” Winter had muttered to Claire as he stood before one of Eli’s cars.

  “Don’t worry about your boys,” Claire had told him. “They’ll have their own fun.” Then she’d given him an encouraging well done! look before sending him off.

  Now only Sydney was heading down two steps behind him, her silver pants swishing against her legs in a shimmer of fabric with every move she made.

  It made his heartbeat speed up. The shine in that outfit had distracted him more than a few times during his performance. Maybe Panacea had gone overboard with her look. When she’d caught him afterward and slipped her hotel crest pin in his pocket, he’d found himself skipping a beat in his answer, his tongue tripping all over itself.

  “For your protection,” she’d said.

  The pin must have been part of Panacea’s drop for them, which meant Sydney had collected the parcel successfully.

  Then she’d cast him a sidelong smile before falling into step beside him. “Nice concert,” she’d added before looking away.

  Winter’s gaze had darted to her, and then to the glittering sheen of her swaying pants. He’d opened his mouth, realized he had nothing coherent to say, and closed it promptly. She didn’t even bother looking at him—which was just as well. Better that she hadn’t seen the embarrassment on his face.

  Now he forced his attention back to Penelope. “And did Brunel know how to transform his tunnel creation into a party as good as this?” he said.

  “Almost,” Penelope replied, holding her hand over her mouth to hide a bashful smile. “Apparently it made a better party spot than a transport system. I hear the grand opening had stalls with dancing monkeys and acrobats.”

  Winter looked down as they made their way along the stairs. Well, the acrobats were definitely still here. Strips of bold yellow silks hung from the shaft’s ceiling, and twisted within them were lithe young figures twirling at various heights along either side of the metal stairway. Hanging with them were long, low chandeliers that cast a kaleidoscope of light and shadow against the shaft’s walls. The thud of music reverberated throughout the space, and when he looked skyward, he saw that a starry sky’s worth of crystal bulbs hung twinkling from the ceiling.