At the bottom of the stairs, they passed a fire-eater blowing out a line of flame through a hoop, eliciting gasps from his little cluster of onlookers. Shops and stalls were set up along the edges of the shaft leading in toward the former train tunnels; there were bar carts and food stations and tables lined with gold gift bags. Servers walked around with silver trays, bearing bite-sized samosas and savory pies, tiny cups of fries and dishes of dumplings drizzled with chili oil.

  When he glanced again at Sydney, he noticed that she was doing a sweep of the space, her eyes flitting from one stand to another, a wary scowl on her face. As if she were just a typical bodyguard.

  Winter twisted the snake ring idly on his finger. His eyes had been seeking her out constantly the entire evening. As his hand dropped back to his side, it knocked against the tiny vial of toxin sewn into a hidden part of his pocket. The suicide drink, a reminder of their mission. His breath hitched, and he tried to push it from his mind.

  They stirred up a commotion as soon as they stepped down onto the shaft’s floor. Seconds later, a cluster had gathered around them in a ring, full of eager faces and outstretched hands waiting to be shaken. Cheers of Happy Birthday! to Penelope. Winter hung back with her as she smiled graciously to each of their admirers and the circle around them grew larger.

  “Winter Young?” one of them exclaimed at him.

  Another smiled widely. “I’ve never seen a performance like that,” she breathed, her eyes fixated on him. “You’re going to have to teach us some of those moves on the dance floor.”

  Penelope’s grip tightened around Winter’s arm as she gave the girl a mock frown. “Get your own superstar,” she said.

  “Winter! Winter Young!”

  His name echoed in a radius around him. Among them walked a few of Eli Morrison’s security guards, their massive presence calmly redirecting the growing crowd.

  Winter sensed Sydney’s presence closer to his side. When he looked at her, she was nearly pressed against him, carefully watching the people approaching. She glared at one young man who got too near for comfort—then stepped between them and pushed the guest steadily back just by walking toward him. The man retreated with a look of confused offense in his eyes.

  Winter wanted to laugh a little at the sight. If Sydney hadn’t become a secret agent, she really could have found a career in being an effective bodyguard.

  They made their way out of the thronging cluster of people, security moving around them in an undulating circle.

  “Your bodyguard just pushed away the Prince of Orange-Nassau,” Penelope told Winter with a scandalized grin.

  “I’ll extend my apologies to His Highness later,” Winter told her with a lifted eyebrow.

  Over her head, he briefly caught Sydney’s eye. The two exchanged a knowing look. Still no sign here of the one they needed to see—Connor Doherty. Maybe he didn’t attend parties like this. He would have to find a way to bring up the man’s name.

  They met a couple more of Penelope’s friends in quick succession. The music changed, the tempo mellowing into something slow and sultry, and as an open area of the floor filled with other couples, Winter pulled Penelope in for a dance. Here, at last, the crowd around them dispersed a bit, although he could still see people casting them long glances from every part of the room. Nothing he wasn’t used to.

  Sydney glided off the dance floor to a corner near the wall to give them space. Her eyes still followed their every move. Winter found himself catching her gaze every time they turned.

  “So, Miss Morrison,” he said as they fell into step with the music, “grade me. On a scale of one to ten, how did I score for your birthday performance?”

  Penelope blushed red enough for him to tell even in the low light. “Is ten the highest or the lowest?”

  “Ten would be going on the best holiday of your life.”

  Her smile turned into a giggle. “You get a nine, then.”

  “A nine!” Winter pushed away with a look of wounded shock on his face. “You don’t think I was as good as the best holiday of your life?”

  Penelope covered her mouth with one hand as she laughed. Her eyes turned down shyly. “One point deducted only for being too brief.”

  He put his hand on the small of her back. “Fair enough.”

  They danced a little longer in pleasant silence. Winter let himself be awed by their surroundings. But instead of looking pleased at his amazement, Penelope seemed to withdraw again, that stiffness returning to her step. He looked back down at her.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “But would you mind if I offered you a small assessment?”

  “What?”

  “I noticed something.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You have tension in your dance step.” He pulled her back a little and turned with her. “When you move to the side, see? Like you’re resisting the move.”

  She blushed again, embarrassed this time. “Sorry. I’m a little, ah … nervous around you.”

  He could feel her shaking slightly in his arms. “I used to do the same thing early in my career,” he reassured her. “That’s the only reason why I noticed. My choreographer used to get on my case all the time over it.”

  At that, she met his gaze fully. “Don’t tell me Winter Young was afraid of the stage.”

  “Oh, terrified. I used to tremble before stepping onstage before a packed stadium. It drove my choreographer nuts. So the first thing I ever learned was to fake a sense of ease. To most people, I looked relaxed. But I knew the stiffness was there.” He quieted, then studied her. “Sometimes it takes a nervous person to recognize one.”

  Her smile took on a rueful tint, and he felt her relax a little toward him, as if grateful for his acknowledgment. “I’m sorry,” she started to stammer out, “I don’t mean to be—”

  “One should never be sorry on her birthday,” Winter replied, and she laughed again. Lessons from Sydney and their week of training streamed through Winter’s mind. Always make the people around you trust you.

  “I didn’t take you as one who also felt so conscious in the presence of others,” she said at last. With the way she phrased it, she didn’t mean the crowds around them, but the invisible, all-present hand of one person.

  “You’re talking about your father, aren’t you?” he asked.

  She gave him a small smile and turned with him so that he could plainly see Eli’s security watching them against the walls. “Don’t you feel exhausted, being watched all the time?” she murmured.

  Winter cast a meaningful look in Sydney’s direction, and found himself momentarily distracted by the way her dress caught the low light. “By that one? Extremely exhausting. But at least I’m in good company.”

  Penelope regarded him with a new expression in her eyes. Something about their conversation had made her shoulders relax, had helped a bit of ease trickle into her footwork. As if she’d found a kindred spirit.

  “Then let’s go somewhere with fewer prying eyes.” She paused for a moment and took his hand. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  She tugged him gently along, biting her lip to keep her smile back. “I promise your bodyguard will forgive you.”

  He glanced instinctively toward Sydney, who watched him go, and turned his head just once, slightly, to tell her to stay put. She nodded in return, understanding immediately. But as he forced his eyes away, he noticed some guy trying to talk to her, a well-dressed man in a white suit and rather garish top hat. He glimpsed Sydney giving him a careful smile and a brief answer before he and Penelope reached the other side of the floor.

  She didn’t lead him toward the main tables lining the edges of the party, nor the clusters of her guests who waved at them as they passed by. Instead, she took him past the stairs and into a shadowed segment of the space, through a tunnel that had previously been blocked off. The guards stepped aside for them without a second’s hesitation.

  Winter could feel the warning buzz in his mind at the realization he was leaving Sydney behind completely. He could almost hear Claire in his ear, as if this were the first time he was attending an awards show without her, could feel her upbeat pat on his back.

  Be as terrified as you need to be. Just don’t you dare show it on camera.

  So he kept his muscles relaxed and his smile easy, focusing his attention in curiosity on the tunnel around them.

  “There are dozens of abandoned tunnels under the streets of London,” Penelope told him as they went. “Not that it means they’re unoccupied.”

  Then she reached the other end of the passageway, where a guard stepped aside and opened the door for them.

  A burst of noise and light hit Winter.

  Inside, other tables and chairs were laid out, the air hazy with smoke and music. The clientele in here looked a little less like Penelope’s friends—the rich young people preening around in the main party space, trying too hard—and more like a crowd that couldn’t care less about keeping up with the social scene. Some glanced up, recognizing him, and he heard the usual eager murmurs of his name. But they didn’t swarm him, and after a moment, everyone went back to their activities.

  Winter saw none of Eli’s usual security in here, probably to Penelope’s relief—but even though he didn’t see the elder Morrison in person, he could feel the danger of the man.

  Penelope peered up questioningly at Winter, her eyes twinkling, as if she was eager to show off all the cool corners of her party to him.

  Winter saw the man right away. He stood near the edge of a craps table, applauding the current winner of a round. Unlike everyone else in the room, he wore no costume tonight—instead, his vest was proper and plain, his jacket and suit black, his eyes covered with an unembellished black mask. His hair was cut short on both sides and then combed neatly back on top.

  The elusive Connor Doherty had finally made an appearance.

  18

  Dangerous Games

  He was a thin, slight young man, with no unusual features. But just as Sauda had claimed, the little jewelry Connor wore was noticeably expensive. A thin necklace, rings resplendent on his hands, a platinum and gold limited-edition Rolex. He wasn’t showy in his attire, but definitely had a penchant for expensive accessories. And now was finally Winter’s chance to get close to him.

  The hotel crest pin Sydney had slipped him felt heavy in his pocket. Winter noted it, glad to have a hidden weapon with him.

  Just be yourself, Sauda had said. And so, because he knew it was what he’d say if he weren’t undercover, Winter turned his charisma up, leaned close to Penelope’s ear, and whispered, “Who’s that?”

  Penelope shivered at his breath against her ear. She cast a smile over at the table. “Mr. Doherty is one of my accountants. Why do you ask?”

  Identity confirmed, Winter thought. “He has good taste in jewelry,” he said honestly.

  She grinned, as if pleased that he’d noticed. “Yes,” she replied, “I sometimes send him to pick out jewelry for me.”

  Winter gave her a playful smile. “Can he pick mine out, too?”

  Penelope laughed, her cheeks pink. “Never hurts to ask.”

  He must have noticed them approach, but he didn’t look up from where he was watching the action. Instead, as they drew near to the game table, he pushed his glasses higher on his nose and said, “Bored of your birthday already, Miss Morrison?”

  “Can’t a girl visit the private rooms when she wants?” she said, casting Winter a conspiratorial smile. “We just both wanted a break from the eyes watching us.”

  Being in here, away from her father’s men, seemed to boost Penelope’s confidence, as if she were indulging something secret and wholly her own. Winter could sense the straightening of her figure and the fading away of that stiff gait in her walk, the new smugness in her posture at showing this side of herself to him.

  Connor offered her an amused smile and a deferential nod. His eyes went to the bejeweled pin in her hair. “Glad you’re wearing it,” he said.

  She lowered her eyes, pleased, and patted it. “It’s perfect,” she gushed.

  Winter watched them closely. He could feel a hint of tension between them, an electricity in the air that didn’t exist with usual business associates. But there was also something off about it that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Was Panacea certain they had the whole story about them?

  Around them, Winter noticed the other spectators as they each gave Penelope smiles and well wishes.

  Connor now said mildly to Penelope. Then he glanced over for the first time, caught sight of Winter, and looked back to the table again with disinterest. His eyes were a pale, watery blue. “You’ve brought a friend.”

  So he wasn’t much of a fan. Maybe he wasn’t a fan of meeting people in general.

  Penelope slipped into the spot beside him and shot him a look, something that Winter read as a silent plea to be nice. “This is Winter Young,” she said.

  “Yes, the entertainment,” he answered. One of the players threw the dice, and a cheer went up.

  “Mr. Young wanted to pay you a compliment,” Penelope said.

  Winter gave the man a respectful nod. “Sir,” he said over the noise.

  “Connor Doherty,” the man replied, although he didn’t extend a hand.

  Good, Winter thought. An underestimation. He’d gotten this sort of look before, from people who didn’t think there could be much in the brain of a pop star.

  “I noticed your worthy collection,” Winter said, unfazed, nodding at Connor’s jewelry.

  Now the man’s eyes rose to Winter’s own. Sure enough, he looked immediately to the snake ring on Winter’s left hand.

  For the first time, his eyes widened slightly in interest, then narrowed before he peered closer at it.

  “Is that a meteorite?” he said.

  So Sauda and Niall had been right to give them this ring. Winter smiled back at Connor and nodded. “This? A genuine stone from the Hierapolis meteorite,” he replied. “It made its debut at a Christie’s auction recently.”

  “Yes, I know. I lost the bid on it.” Connor made a sound of mock dislike, then looked at Winter with new interest. “Apparently, I lost it to you,” he said with a laugh.

  Winter acted amused by his words, then said, “Do you want it?”

  Connor blinked at him through his glasses. It must have been rare for him to be taken by surprise, because even Penelope seemed to note his expression. “What do you mean?” he said.

  “Was custom-made for me from the full meteorite,” he said with a wink. “I ordered a bunch of pieces set from it.”

  Now the man looked genuinely stunned. Then he clapped his hands together and laughed. “Here,” he said to the person beside him, handing him his dice. “Finish the game for me. I’m going to have a word.”

  Winter slid the ring off his finger and handed it to him. Connor took the jewelry in his hand, then held it up to the light to admire the flecks of olivine shining in the rock.

  “It takes a man of good taste to set a meteorite as beautiful as this one,” he said.

  Winter shrugged. “The stone gave me no choice,” he said.

  Connor smiled at him, then looked at Penelope. “I like this one,” he answered.

  “He means that,” Penelope told Winter, giving Connor a teasing nudge. “I’ve never seen him this pleased about anything all year.”

  Winter put his hands into his pockets to hide them, just in case they started trembling. After-party habit. Maybe they didn’t suspect him, but it didn’t help calm his nerves any. He wondered what Sydney might be thinking out there on the main floor as she watched and waited for him to show up again. Maybe she was silently counting how many minutes he’d been gone and gauging when she might have to come hunt him down. Maybe she approved of how he’d been swept away. Maybe she was eyeing the entrances and exits to the place, working out their best plan should things go wrong.

  Maybe she was still chatting with that guy in the damn top hat. Not that he cared, one way or another.

  Penelope’s hand on his arm shook him out of his thoughts again. Connor had pulled them aside to one of the tables lining the edge of this smaller room, then poured them both a drink. Winter purposely waited a second, looking with admiration around the room until Penelope had taken a sip. It must be safe. He did the same.

  Whiskey, a good one.

  “You’re a fashion connoisseur,” Connor said to Winter, pointing his drink at him. He nodded at Winter’s outfit. “Are you a connoisseur of astronomy, too, then?”

  Winter shook his head. “I just know to appreciate a rare thing,” he replied. “And I know that this pallasite meteorite is one of the most precious objects ever to grace our earth.”

  The answer seemed to please Connor. “And what’s so precious about it to you?”

  “Because this piece of rock has been around since before anything in our solar system,” Winter answered. “It was out there before everything around us, before any civilization, animal, speck of living dirt. And now I get to sport it on my finger.” His smile turned sly. “That’s a sign we’re winning, isn’t it?”

  It was the kind of answer Winter knew would reflect the personality of whoever he happened to be talking to. It disgusted him nevertheless. Still, Connor smiled again, then eyed him approvingly. “I’ll have to show you my personal collection sometime. I think you would appreciate it.”

  The knot in Winter’s stomach twisted. On the surface, he let himself lean forward in interest. “I’d like that.”

  Connor looked satisfied. Definitely the kind of wealthy man who enjoyed showing another wealthy man his own worth. “We’re alike, you know. When he finds something valuable, a wise man either keeps it for himself or sells it to the person who wants it more.”