Page 21 of Sigma

“No, ma’am.” His voice is shaky. “A person. A man. With…with a gun…to my head. Demanding I allow him up to the penthouse. He says he’s here to…to collect you.”

I swallow hard. “Send him up.”

“Kyrie!” Duke snaps. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

I chop my hand sharply downward for silence. “Do as he says, Ernest.”

“Yes ma’am.” A pause. “I…I don’t have the key for the elevator, ma’am.”

“I’ll send it down,” I say.

A silence, then his scared, shaky voice. “Very good, ma’am. He says his patience is short, so the elevator had better be fast.”

“It will be. Thank you, Ernest. And I’m sorry you’ve become involved in this.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Roth.”

It’s all absurdly polite.

I end the call and turn to face the room. “Everyone out. To the jet, now. No questions.”

“Key,” Layla begins.

“If it was Bryn?”

Layla’s teeth click down on the rest of her protest. “I’d go. And I’d be figuring out how I can kill some motherfuckers.”

Duke is already ushering Bryn and Killian to the elevator up to the pad, while Harris and Layla hang back.

Harris withdraws a slim black case from his jacket pocket. “Lift your shirt up, Kyrie.”

I don’t hesitate or ask questions—I lift the hem of my T-shirt, exposing my belly and bra. The case contains a syringe, a red safety cap over the end of the needle. Harris stands perpendicular to me, facing my left side.

“Apologies, Kyrie,” he murmurs, pinching a fold of skin and subcutaneous fat where my armpit meets the edge of my breast, near the transition between strap and cup of my bra. He uses his teeth to remove the safety cap and presses the tip of the syringe to the fold of skin between his thumbs and forefinger. “Deep breath, don’t tense.”

I suck in a deep breath, and let it out. I feel a pinch as he inserts the needle under the skin at an angle. Depresses the plunger. Withdraws the needle and replaces the syringe into the case.

“Tracking device,” Harris explains. “There’s a chance you might be scanned, but it’s a prototype designed to not show up. At the least, we’ll be able to follow your movements until they notice it, and hopefully they won’t.”

I nod, letting my shirt drop into place. I toss my phone to Layla—she already has my purse. I let out a breath. “Go,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”

Layla holds my eyes as she steps onto the elevator with her husband—and then they’re gone. I send the other elevator down—there are two elevators in the suite, one up to the roof, and one down to the garage and exit.

I hear the jet overhead, loud and shaking the room slightly, and then it’s gone.

I go back into the main area, closing the door between that and the foyer, needing a moment to collect myself.

The last time I did this, it turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to me.

Something tells me this won’t be anything like that.

I breathe slowly and deeply as I wait.

A few moments later, there’s a knock at the door.

I open it, heart pounding…

The man on the other side is very tall, at least six-six. A complexion that could be Hispanic, Italian, Middle Eastern…anything. Slender, with a hard jawline stubbled with a new beard. Dark hair and beard, not quite black, but darker than brown. His brown eyes are so cold and lifeless as to be almost alien.