Page 31

Holden

I can’t take my eyes off her. I know I should. Hell, I’ve spent the entire evening trying to convince myself to look anywhere else, but it’s a losing battle. Arden commands the room without even trying, and it terrifies the hell out of me.

She doesn’t just look beautiful; she looks untouchable. The sleek black dress hugs her body in all the right ways, and the poised and confident way she carries herself makes it impossible not to notice her.

Not just for me but for every damn man in this room.

I remind myself this is just a cover. A role we’re playing to watch Fallon in line and keep the mission on track. That ring on her finger is nothing more than a prop, a symbol of the lie we’ve both agreed to live for now.

But it doesn’t feel like a lie.

And that scares the fuck out of me.

I clench my jaw, forcing my focus to shift around the room. The senator is making his rounds, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with the city’s elite. Arden stays close to my side, her hand resting lightly on my arm, her presence grounding and distracting me in equal measure.

From across the room, I catch Tate watching me. His expression is relaxed, but a knowing look in his eyes makes my skin prickle. I ignore him, shifting my attention to Park. He’s leaning against a pillar, his gaze fixed on me, his expression darker than usual.

The glare is cutting, but he doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Especially not when I suspect it has something to do with the woman on my arm. I turn my focus back to Fallon, watching everyone he interacts with, cataloging faces and names when possible.

It’s not just Fallon or the mission throwing me off tonight. It’s her.

Arden’s hand rests lightly on my arm, her presence grounding and maddening all at once. I’ve been in situations ten times more dangerous than this—rooms full of killers and back-alley deals that could go south in a second—and my pulse never wavered.

But tonight? Tonight, I feel like I’m one wrong move away from unraveling.

She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me. Every glance, every subtle shift of her body, every damn breath she takes feels like it’s designed to test my limits. And the worst part? I can’t even blame her for it.

Because the truth is, this isn’t about her. It’s about me. The part of me that’s breaking every rule I’ve lived by, every boundary I’ve set. The part that’s starting to wonder if this thing between us isn’t just an act.

If I’m not careful, I’ll lose myself in her. And that terrifies me more than anything else in this room.

The senator finally makes his way back to us, a drink in hand and a satisfied smile on his face. “Mr. Smith,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You can’t keep a woman like this hidden all night. Go dance with your wife. I’ll be fine here.”

“I’m fine,” I say, my tone curt.

Fallon’s smile widens, and he shakes his head. “Nonsense. She’s too beautiful not to show off. The room’s waiting for it.”

Arden’s hand tightens ever so slightly on my arm, and I know she’s won't make this easier for me. The thought of holding her and being that close to her in front of all these people sends a wave of unease through me.

“Senator, with all due respect—”

“I insist, Mr. Smith.” Fallon astonishes, stepping back and gesturing toward the dance floor. “Show us how it’s done.”

Reluctantly, I offer Arden my hand, my jaw tightening as her fingers slip into mine. The feel of her skin against mine is enough to shake the little control I’ve managed to hold on to tonight.

As we step onto the dance floor, the low murmurs of conversation die down, and all eyes shift to us. The music swells, and I place my hand on her waist, pulling her close.

“You’re terrible at this,” she murmurs, her voice low enough that only I can hear.

“You’re lucky I’m even doing this,” I shoot back, my tone gruff.

Her lips twitch, a faint smirk playing at the edges. “You don’t like people looking at us, do you?”

“I don’t like people looking at you,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Her eyes flick up to meet mine, and something unreadable passes between us. For a moment, the room fades, the noise and the people disappearing as the world narrows to just her.

“You’re staring again,” she says softly.

“Maybe I like the view,” I reply.

Her cheeks flush, but the moment shifts as her body tenses against mine. Her fingers dig into my shoulder slightly, and her head tilts ever so subtly toward the edge of the room.

“Two o’clock,” she murmurs.

I adjust our position, maneuvering us just enough so I can follow her line of sight. My eyes land on a woman standing near the edge of the room, partially obscured by shadows, her bright red hair catching the low light. But it’s not her hair that snags my attention. It’s the man standing beside her.

The Russian.

The memory of that day slams into me. The loud crack of gunfire, bullets raining down toward Fallon, and Shaw’s fucking “test.” My jaw tightens as I watch the two of them, unease coiling low in my gut.

“Who’s the redhead?” I ask, my voice low and sharp.

Arden’s grip tightens on my shoulder, her fingers digging in like she’s trying to anchor herself. “Do you remember hearing about the woman who went missing during my FLETC class?”

“Vaguely,” I mutter, my focus flicking between the redhead and the Russian. The pieces aren’t fitting together, but the edges are sharp enough to cut.

Arden hesitates, her breath catching as she lowers her voice. “Do you remember when we went to pick up the senator, and you asked me what was wrong?”

I nod once, the memory immediate. She hadn’t fought me to get out of the car that time, and it was one of the few moments where her guard slipped. “Yes. What about it?”

She swallows hard. “I saw her that day, the redhead. She was standing on the side with some man. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I was… shocked. Everyone said she went missing, so I thought I was imagining her. I didn’t know what to do.”

I turn to face her fully, my expression hardening. “You should’ve told me.”

“I know,” she says quickly, guilt flickering across her face. “I know, but I couldn’t believe it was her. No one disappears like that without a trace. Not unless…” Her eyes dart back to the redhead.

"Unless what?” I press, my voice a low growl.

“There were… rumors,” she admits, her tone hesitant, like she’s walking a tightrope. “People said she was a Russian spy, that she was discovered, and that’s why she vanished.”

Her words hang in the air between us, heavy and damning. I glance back toward the redhead, unease knotting tighter in my chest. She’s standing too close to the Russian man, and their body language is too casual for strangers.

Something is wrong.

The threads of the past and present are tangling together, forming a web I can’t yet see, but the instinct clawing at me is undeniable. Whatever this is, it’s bigger than we’ve been led to believe.

Before I can say anything else, the redhead approaches Park. The way she moves, the way her hand brushes his arm, it’s subtle, but it sets off the remaining alarm in my head.

“Her and Park?” I ask, tension threading through my voice.

Arden doesn’t answer, her attention locked on the interaction. My eyes scan the room for Tate, but he’s nowhere to be found.

The pieces don’t fit, but I can feel them shifting, aligning into a picture I’m not ready to see. The dance ends, but the tension doesn’t.

I keep my eyes on the dance floor, watching the way the redhead’s hand grazes Park’s arm. To anyone else, the interaction is brief, but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Arden is still at my side, tense but steady, her eyes darting between Park and the woman. I can feel the storm brewing inside her just as strongly as I feel it in myself.

My instincts are screaming, the low hum of unease growing louder by the second.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Tate slipping back into the room. He’s on the far side of the ballroom, but he doesn’t blend into the crowd like the others. His gaze locks on mine almost instantly, and he gives a subtle nod toward the back exit.

I don’t hesitate.

“Stay close to Fallon,” I murmur to Arden, my voice barely above a whisper. Her brows knit together in confusion, but she doesn’t question me this time.

I weave my way through the room, ignoring the press of bodies and the occasional attempts at small talk. The back alley is dimly lit, and the cool night air is a sharp contrast to the stifling warmth of the ballroom. Tate is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Where have you been?” I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.

“I went out for a smoke. My bad, commander. I didn’t know I needed your permission.” Tate’s tone is light, but his eyes sharpen as if he could read the trouble written on my face. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Do you recognize the redhead?” I ask, ignoring his attempt at humor.

His eyes scan the crowd, an eyebrow rises as his gaze finds the woman. “Should I?”

I glare at him, my patience wearing thin. “The woman who was missing from Arden’s FLETC class. What do you know about her?”

Tate’s smirk fades, replaced by something closer to curiosity. “Not much. Just that she disappeared. No one could get in touch with her, and it wasn’t exactly treated like a high-priority case. Why?”

“Possibly a problem,” I say curtly. “Keep an eye on Park.”

Tate nods, his expression tightening as he pushes off the wall. “I won’t let him out of my sight.”

I let him go, my mind already racing as I pull out my phone and step farther into the shadows. I scroll through my contacts until I find the name I need and hit call.

Alyssa picks up on the second ring, her voice sharp and irritated, the sound of some loud movie in the background. “It’s ten o’clock on a Friday, Holden,” she says, her tone biting. “This better be life and death.”

“I need a favor,” I say, brushing off her teasing. “I need everything you can find on a woman who went missing from FLETC around this time last year. She was in Arden’s class. Russian. Red hair.”

She sighs heavily, but I could hear faint sounds of keys clacking in the background. “You know, your timing is impeccable,” she adds. “Most people are out enjoying their lives right now.”

“I’m not most people, Alyssa.”

“No kidding,” she says dryly, and the typing grows louder. “Give me a sec.”

I pace the length of the hallway, the cool air doing little to calm the tension knotted in my chest.

“Now, this is interesting,” Alyssa says finally, her tone laced with intrigue. “Her name’s Natasha Petrov. Her file is… well, let’s just say it’s incomplete. A lot of redactions. Missing sections. Feels like someone went through it with a fine-tooth comb and left phrases only a crazy person could piece together.”

“What else?” I press, tension coiling tighter. There has to be more.

“A lot of code names, but there’s one you might know, Nightwalker ,” she says. “Ring any bells?”

The word hits me like a cold slap, and I stop pacing, the name settling over me like a dark shadow. My thoughts flicker to the confidential file sitting at the bottom of my duffel bag. The one Alyssa handed me nearly a month ago.

I hadn’t opened it. Hadn’t even touched it, if I was being honest. I didn’t want to know whatever truth it held. Now, I wish I had.

“That’s not even the weirdest part,” Alyssa continues, her tone dropping slightly.

“What is?”

“The person who entered her into the system and redacted most of this information was Leo O’Malley. I didn’t even know his clearance was that high.”

Neither did I, but there is clearly a lot I still didn’t know about him. The breath leaves my lungs in a rush, and for a second, I can’t move.

Leo.

The name reverberates through me, colliding with the other fragments of this case that refuse to fit together. I grip the phone tighter, grounding myself against the storm building in my chest.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I say quietly, more to myself than to her. “Why would he do that?”

“None of this does,” Alyssa replies. “I need to make a call. Stay by your phone.”

The line goes dead before I can respond, leaving me alone in the dark with more questions than answers.

Nightwalker.

The name echoes in my mind, pulling at threads I can’t quite grasp. And Leo, what the hell does he have to do with this?

Does Harris know? He has to. I saw his face when I mentioned the code name, saw the flicker of emotion that flashed. He has to know.

I shove the phone back into my pocket, my focus sharpening as I step back into the hallway leading to the ballroom. The hum of voices grows louder, but something feels off.

I scan the crowd, my eyes searching for Arden. For Fallon. For any sign of them on the dance floor where I last left them.

But I don’t see them.

The knot in my chest tightens as I move farther into the room, my gaze sweeping over every corner, every face.

They’re gone.