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I shake my head. "I'm not getting involved in politics."

Synthia's lips tighten. "You've got a lot of power these days, Angela. You may want to use some of it for good."

It sounds almost like an accusation.

"I don't have that much power. I've been in one successful movie and cast in another. Getting publicly embroiled in a political scandal could put that at risk. Everyone lovesStar Warsno matter which side of the aisle they’re on."

Synthia nods, her lips quirking to one side. She gives a shrug, dropping her shoulders and letting go of any shade she was trying to throw my way. "I get that. Tomorrow, you want to come back here?”

"Yeah, that would be great. Same time."

It's not until I get to my car that it occurs to me that Grand must be having me followed. How else would he know to find me at Synthia’s? And not only that, he wants me to know that he is following me. Doesn't want me to feel safe anywhere.Mission accomplished.

I reach into my purse and pull out the envelope, my car engine humming quietly in the darkened garage. Inside is a single piece of paper—it must be Grand’s assassination instructions. I unfold it slowly. Printed in Times New Roman is just one name: Temperance Johnson.

Temperance takesthe paper from me, and I pick up my glass of wine. His brows raise. "Who dropped it off?" he asks.

"Didn't get his name. But I would recognize him."

"Do you think he knew what he was delivering?"

"No idea."

Temperance looks up at me and nods. "Well," he says, sitting back into the kitchen chair. "He's even bolder than I thought."

"So, what are we going to do?"

"What do you think we should do?”

"What did your superiors say?"

He doesn't respond, just glances down at the paper. I sip my wine, forcing myself to wait. Staying quiet is the best way to get other people to talk. But my simple mind tricks don't work on Temperance.Big shocker.

"Are you afraid of him?" Temperance asks me, his tiger eyes coming up to meet mine.

"Afraid? Sure," I give a shrug. "I'd be a fool not to be. A man with that much power and that much crazy? He's dangerous."

"He also has knowledge. The man has received intelligence reports for the past three months.”

I sit back into my chair, my shoulders coming forward into a protective hunch.

"I'll take care of it." Temperance folds the paper and slips it into his jacket pocket. He's wearing a blazer over a black T-shirt, with indigo jeans and a pair of leather sneakers. The guy could be a successful producer or an agent—the Hollywood kind, not the spy kind.

He goes to stand, and I move with him. "That's it?" I ask.

His brows go up. "Is there something else?"

"I mean, what am I supposed to do?"

"Do you want to do something?"

"I thought—" I cut myself off. Dammit, Temperance is messing with me.

"Thought what?"

That you could solve this!"Never mind." I step back, picking up my water glass and moving to the sink. "I'll see you out." I put the glass down on the counter.

Temperance leads the way into the living room, but a knock at the door freezes us both. He steps forward, checking the peep hole, his body stiffening then waves for me to look.It's Julian.