Page 62 of Dark Soul

“No,” Rogue said, his voice suddenly very heavy. “Just the two of them.”

Dark shared the heaviness. Because if there was nobody else there, and this was where the meeting was taking place, then Alexia was the fixer.

20

* * *

Alexia

Alexia’s shivers had nothing to do with her short-sleeved dress.

She’d messed up.

She wasn’t a secret agent.

She was a teacher from upstate New York.

She should have said goodnight to Nikolai and headed back downstairs to the party—or, even better, down to her room in the basement.

Under her covers sounded good right around now.

But the hallway had been empty when she’d come out of Nikolai’s bedroom. She’d made it all the way back to the stairs before realizing Kvyat’s office door was ajar.

That had never happened before, in all the weeks she’d been here.

She hadn’t been able to help herself. Taking a quick look around to make sure she really was alone, she’d gone to the office door and knocked softly, her mind running a hundred miles a second, trying to figure out what she could say to Kvyat if he came to the door.

But Kvyat didn’t come to the door, and Alexia breathed a sigh of relief.

A strange feeling came upon her, then, as if she were being observed, but once again, there was nobody there.

She didn’t think Kvyat had any cameras in the house. She’d never seen any, and the man valued his privacy too much for that. Besides, if there were cameras, she was already in trouble. She might as well go all the way.

Go inside.

Just a quick look.

If there was nothing there, she was going to email her contact and let him know she was done. She couldn’t keep living like this.

Tonight, when she’d seen Dark coming in, she’d wanted so badly to go to him. He’d seemed surprised to see her standing there, and she realized he still had no idea where she lived.

Because you kept it a secret from him.

She wondered how he’d scored an invitation. He’d been with one of his friends—the guy with the ponytail and the intense gray eyes. Maybe they were more famous, or richer, than she’d realized. It made no difference to her, but she didn’t want to keep hiding things from him. Not if there was a chance that—

Focus, Alexia.

Focus on the office.

The corner office was large, the space dominated by two windows—each facing a different part of the mountain range—and an enormous wooden desk in varnished wood. Unlike in the rest of the house, however, there were Asian influences here—a child-sized sitting Buddha bronze statue near the window, an antique Japanese screen in the opposite corner of the room, a shelf full of oriental-looking figurines. It was so different from the rest of the house, Alexia wondered vaguely whether Kvyat had brought these objects with him.

And then, resting on the floor against the desk, Alexia noticed the shiny silver briefcase.

Kvyat’s briefcase.

The one he carried to and from his bedroom every day.

She held her breath.