PROLOGUE
Jaime
Three Days Earlier
The fluorescent lights glared in my eyes. I wasn’t used to them. They were giving me a fucking headache. I rubbed my temples as I processed the reason I was here.
I’d just been given the opportunity of a lifetime, but I wasn’t sure if I could go through with it. So much shit could happen and it could all blow up in my face. As I procrastinated answering his last question, I took in Special Agent Marshall’s office.
It was nothing like mine. Basic steel-gray, functional furniture. A desk. A couple of armchairs, one of which I was sitting in. Plus a window with partly opened vertical blinds offering a decent view of downtown Manhattan. Located on the twenty-third floor of the Jacob K. Javits Federal Building, The FBI’s New York field office was one of the largest branches in the country with over 2000 full-time agents.
A massive computer occupied his desk. The credenza behind it was stacked with thick files along with a few framed photos of his family. An American flag stood next to it. To the right, a bulletin board filled with mug shots of the FBI’s most wanted criminals and to the left, a wall full of honors he’d received while working for the Bureau. Among them were commemorations for bringing down numerous Wall Street inside traders, including Bernie Madoff, whose notorious Ponzi scheme ruined the lives of many innocent people. These arrests had led him to being appointed the head of the local bureau’s white-collar crime’s division. Agent Andrews, who was leaning against his superior’s desk, his arms folded across his chest, was part of his team. While I hadn’t taken off my suede jacket, not knowing how long I’d be detained here, both men were now coatless and jacketless, with the sleeves of their crisp white shirts rolled up. With their buzz cuts and frat-boy looks, they were clones of each other though separated by at least twenty years. Almost father like son. I wondered if the older, more experienced agent, was grooming the younger to one day take over his job .
“Well, Mr. Zander,” said Agent Marshall, his voice curt. “Are you in or are you out? Can we count on you?”
What they were asking me to do had huge ramifications for me personally. I pondered their offer. Professionally and emotionally, the timing couldn’t be worse.
The payoff, if I was successful, could be a game changer.
But if I wasn’t, Gloria and everything she’d worked for could blow up in smoke.
“We need you to get close to her.”
“You want me to sleep with her?”
“Whatever it takes,” responded Agent Andrews stiffly, his eyes penetrating mine. “Even if you have to fuck the truth out of her.”
With a shaky breath, I nodded. “I’m in.”
Faint smiles crawled across the two agents’ faces. A pleased Agent Marshall clasped his hands on his desk.
“You have twenty-four hours to change your mind. We will be in touch.”
Agent Andrews explained the covert way they would communicate to me. The code.
“We will need you to go to Los Angeles,” added Agent Marshall.
Now, I had even more reason to go to LA. The earlier events of the evening spun around in my head. A cluster fuck. Gloria had caught me kissing Vivien and fled. I owed her an explanation.
After the briefing, which lasted about an hour, I hurried out of the building and immediately called my assistant Ray to make travel arrangements. He was used to my often spur-of-the-moment plans.
“Are you planning on seeing Gloria there?” he asked.
Not revealing the true purpose of my trip, I filled him in on what happened at the bar.
“Jaime, she’s not heading to LA.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kevin told me she’s going to Paris.”
“Paris? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“He’s right here. He’ll tell you himself.”
I didn’t have time to ask Ray what he was doing with Gloria’s PR guy, who got on the phone and vague-explained that Gloria had detoured to Paris for personal reasons.
Shit. Maybe she had a lover there. Spite me sex.
“Where is she staying?” I spit out.
“The InterContinental.”
“Let me speak to Ray.”
I waited a brief second for Ray to return to the phone. “Have them fuel the plane for Paris. I’ll be at the hangar by ten.”
With that, I ended the call. The wind that was kicking up bit me. Walking briskly, my heart racing, I hailed a cab to take me back to The Walden. Once back in my hotel suite, I packed a bag and grabbed my passport. One hour later, my private jet was airborne and heading to Paris.