Page 41 of The Voicemail

“Where were you standing?” he asks.

“By the north wall, near the charcoal study.”

“So not near any windows,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Who was close by? Who did you notice?”

“I don’t know,” I answer desperately.

“Come on, Elena, you can do this. Think about who was around you at the time.”

“I don’t know,” I repeat, harsher this time. “Everyone is close. It’s an event—everyone’s packed in on top of each other.”

His eyes lift from the phone to my face. “Did anyone speak to you?”

“About twenty people in the last ten minutes,” I answer, fighting to keep my breath steady.

“Okay.” He nods. “Then we need to get you out of here.”

I take a step back from him. “I can’t leave, Alex. This is my job. The event has another two hours, and then there’s cleanup.”

He shakes his head. “Your life is in danger, and you’re worried about the job,” he says, low. “You can’t stay here.”

“If I walk out right now, everyone will notice.”

“I don’t care,” he says.

“Well, I do. And Mr. Bellamy will care. Hell, half the donors will care. Plus, if I leave right now, my stalker will see it, and he’ll know I ran because he sent one text. I’m not giving him that.”

His jaw tightens, but his eyes soften. I know he sees my logic. So, when he finally says, “You’re not safe here,” it doesn’t sound like an argument. It sounds like a plea. He’s begging me to see it his way, but I’m not giving in to the fear. Not tonight.

“I know,” I say, voice shaking slightly. “But I’m not safe anywhere, apparently. I might as well do my job anyway.”

12

ALEX

Elena’s hands shake when she steps back into the gallery. She tries to hide it by smoothing them down the side of her dress, but I still catch it. Probably because I notice everything about her. The pale wash of her face, the tightness around her mouth, the way her eyes sweep the crowd while she holds a friendly smile in place.

She’s terrified, but she won’t let it stop her from doing her job. I admire that, even if it makes me worry. I’m starting to realize the problem isn’t that she doesn’t care about her safety. She’s simply too stubborn to let fear win.

Marco appears near the east wall and gives me one short nod. I ask Elena for her phone and carry it over to him without losing sight of her. By the time I’m back at her side, Marco has passed the phone to Luca to analyze the text and see if he can find where it came from.

The event rolls on around us like nothing has changed. Guests sip champagne under perfect lighting. They lean toward the paintings, murmuring things like “I think the artist’s intention was,” and generally sounding like obnoxious assholes.

If it weren’t for Elena, I’d never come anywhere near an event like this. The pretentiousness turns my stomach.

I scan the room for the man I fought a few weeks ago. No one stands out. My team drifts through the crowd, quietly checking faces against the guest list.

One stations himself at the entrance, making sure no one else gets in without the proper credentials. No one seems to notice except Mr. Bellamy and me. He shoots me a stern look, like he’s pissed that I would dare put Elena’s safety ahead of his event. As if gallery openings aren’t a dime a dozen.

“What are they doing?” Elena asks, sidling up to me after a few minutes.

“Who?” I ask, though I know exactly who she means. She’s so goddamn perceptive.

“You know who,” she answers quietly.

I sigh and meet her eye. “They’re adjusting their positions,” I tell her. “Scanning the room to verify identities. There are too many people here, so we have to go one by one to make sure we don’t miss anyone.”

She nods and swallows.