Page 3 of The Prize

“Me too—she’d have liked you very much.” He threw me a smile.

I sensed there might be a chance to enter through that chink in Wilder’s armor if I let him open up naturally without me prying. I hoped he’d let me in again.

He parked a little way down from 432 Park Avenue, and the mirrored skyscraper that loomed was impossibly high. Peering up at its sheer height brought a wave of vertigo.

Tobias killed the engine. “It’s certainly impressive.”

Which was his way of saying we’d be taking the elevator whether I liked it or not.

We watched the decadently dressed guests arriving in their chauffeur-driven cars, then exiting and strolling toward the door. They were already masked and it infused an eeriness into the evening. The concierge greeted guests in the doorway and checked them in before they could proceed any farther.

“I’ve deactivated your phone’s GPS.” Tobias unclipped his seat belt. “It will be impossible to track.”

I unclipped mine and turned to face him. “So I can’t tell anyone I’m here?”

“Not yet. Look, once you’re back online the FBI will track every email you send. They’ll be aware of every purchase you make and your location if you use any of your credit cards. We only need a week.”

What must they think of me back at Huntly Pierre, I thought painfully and caressed my belly to ease the guilt for letting them down. Wilder’s techno genius would keep the authorities busy for a while as they continued to hunt us. Our plane had taken off yesterday in LA and landed on a private airstrip off the East Coast with no record of us being on the flight or arriving in New York.

Tobias gave a thin smile. “I’ve got this.”

The realization we were about to see Elliot Burell, patriarch of the infamous family and CEO of Burell Industries, sent a wave of terror cycling up my spine.

We had to pull this off. And then get the hell out of there. Alive, preferably.

“One step at a time, Zara.” Tobias scrolled across his phone.

A quick glance and I saw he was tracking a blip on his screen. “Is Burell here?”

He dipped his head and looked out the window. “He’s in the penthouse.”

“And Eli?”

“He’s in there too.”

We’d both experienced how dangerous Burell’s son was when Eli had tried to kill us both in Arizona. As I peered up at that high-rise I questioned my sanity for even considering entering that building.

“Why don’t you stay in the car?” he reassured me.

“I’m ready.”

“Say the word and I’ll get you out of there.” Tobias pried the masquerade mask from out of my hands.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Okay, turn around.”

He brought the mask to my face and I held it there as he secured the ribbon behind my head and then trailed his fingers down my blond bob to smooth it out. It made my scalp tingle.

I faced him again and reached out to press my hand against his chest, needing his affection. He caught my hand before it reached him and he gave it a comforting squeeze and then nudged it away. That one gesture proved he’d come to terms with us being over. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise—I mean, there’d been an underlying tension since I’d boarded his plane.

Wilder provided our fake names to the concierge, who stood beside a tuxedo-wearing security guard with an earpiece. The concierge threw Tobias a big smile when she found our names on her list, though had she known he’d hacked into her system a few hours ago to add them and they weren’t even real, she wouldn’t be smiling at all.

We were granted access and made a beeline for the elevators at the back.

Once inside the elevator the steel doors slid closed and we ascended fast. I tried to remember how to exhale. I hated small spaces. Lifts, mostly.

“Almost there,” Tobias said with an edge that anchored me.