“Eeeeeeeeeeeek!” Marlis jumped up and down like a toddler on a sugar high. She clapped too. Larkin was surprised she could hear the frantic applause after the intense shriek.

“God is a woman. Bet on it.” Behind Mar, Genevieve lifted her hands to the sky in praise.

Libby stood in the circle of friends in the bedroom where she and Beckett had first acted upon their desire for one another. Her friend didn’t yell or thank a deity. She just shook her head.

“What?” Dread gathered in Larkin’s belly. If Libby didn’t like him … Well, she’d hate losing touch with one of her dearest friends. The last thing she intended to do was lose touch with Beckett. Why would she, when they were so mind-meltingly good?

“I just can’t believe it.” Libby draped the dress she intended to wear for the party on the bed. She spread her arms wide and tackled Larkin.

“Oh!” Larkin’s laughter bubbled full and frothy through her chest like it hadn’t all day.

“Love. Jesus. Who’d have thought you’d be the first of us to fall?” Genevieve hooked an arm around Marlis and pulled her close. “No offense, muffin, but I always thought it’d be you.”

“She has to stop boning married men first,” Libby jabbed.

“One time. It was one time.” Marlis threw a shoe at Libby, and her, by default.

“All right. All right.” Larkin waved around the black dress she’d yet to put on. “We only have five more minutes before people will begin arriving. Do we need to go over the plan again?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Marlis held the other shoe to her bare stomach.

“No, muffin, you’re with me. We’ll be fine.” Genevieve hugged her close. “How many drinks is the limit again?” She held up a manicured hand.

“Half of that,” Larkin corrected.

“Party pooper.” Gen shooed her words away. “We have reason to celebrate. Love is in the air,” she crooned.

“Save it for the after-party.” Libby kissed Larkin’s cheek and released her hold. “Get ready.” Her friend grabbed the pink cocktail dress she’d chosen from Larkin’s overstuffed closet, unzipped the side, and slipped it over her head. “Now we know what to do. Don’t we, ladies?”

“Damn skippy.” Gen smoothed a hand down the red beads clinging to her body that in total made a dress.

“I’m with her.” Mar slipped the shoe on her foot. “Will one of you pass me the other shoe?”

“Can you catch?” Libby asked.

“No.” Marlis crinkled her nose. “It’s not a skill I need to run my business.”

“It’s a life skill, Mar. A life skill.” Libby crossed the distance with the stiletto.

“Thanks, Mom.” Marlis puckered her lips.

“Call me mom again and you’ll be kissing something, and it won’t be my ass.” Libby walked back to the shoes on the bed, zipped the dress as she went, and swished her bottom side to side for emphasis.

Gen hooted. Larkin laughed and stepped into the high-neck, low-back number she’d chosen.

“Zip me?” Larkin turned her back to Genevieve.

“It’s not my specialty, but I’ll see what I can do.” Gen shrugged.

Her friend did a great job.

“Thanks.” Larkin breathed deeply. The material gave enough for her to move quickly, if the need arose.

“I’m going down,” Libby called.

“You’re so ready for this.” Mar huffed.

“Just another day at the office, babe.” Libby’s voice faded down the staircase.

“Let’s go get you a drink.” Gen grabbed Marlis’s hand and dragged her toward the staircase.

“You’ll do great. I know it.” Larkin smiled at Mar until they disappeared. “Not a big drink,” she yelled.

“What, Mom? I couldn’t hear you.” At least Marlis was joking. It was a step in the right direction.

Larkin walked to the vanity and opened the top drawer. The small flesh-colored earpiece lay where Beckett had placed it not thirty minutes ago. She ignored the quiver in her hand, reached for it, and stuffed it into her ear behind her long, loose hair.

“Beckett?” she whispered.

“Larkin, you just made a fatal mistake.” His rich voice rumbled in her ear.

“Mistake?”

“I’m inside you, sweetheart.”

Her cheeks flushed in the reflection. “It’s not the first time.”

“Oh, but it is. No one has been in you like I am.”

“That was true before I put this thing in my ear, Beckett.”

“Hot damn, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

A laugh shook her shoulders. Voices filtered up from downstairs. “Will you focus?”

“I am focused. One hundred percent. Come to the window by your frilly flower painting.”

She chuckled. The artist was famous. The painting cost more than her car. She’d bought it as a hurray for turning a profit in her first year of business. And he called it her frilly flower painting as though she’d smeared her fingers in paint and swirled them around the canvas.

“What’s fu … Holy shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Larkin’s heartbeat spiked. Her neck warmed. She looked down to the road below. A short string of limos and Town Cars rolled slowly in front of her pre-war home. “Is Bronson here?”

“Forget Bronson. You look good enough to eat.”

“You can see me?” Her gaze darted around the rooftops, looking for him.

“Don’t waste your time looking, sweetheart. You won’t find me.”

“Where are you?”

“Touch your lips.”

Larkin did as he commanded.

“I’m right here.”

Her lips spread under her touch.

“Now, your neck.” His voice was husky, gravelly with hunger.

She swallowed, and her neck moved under her fingers.

“I’m here.” He waited a beat. “The clasp of your zipper. Now lower. Yes, Larkin, over that sweet ass. I’m here.”

He was in her. All over her. Every touch raced a thoroughbred herd of want through her veins. She licked her lips, closed her eyes, and sighed. “Beckett.”

“Touch your delicious clit.”

Her eyes shot wide. Heat filled her cheeks. “People can see me.”

“Show them where I am.”

Inside her chest, her heart beat its fists against her sternum demanding obedience or sanity, she wasn’t sure.

Larkin’s hand slid across her hips, down her thigh, and to the sweet center of her need.

“I’m here.”

Before he could ask, her hand slid up to her breasts. Both her nipples fought against the confines of her dress and thin bra. “You’re here.”

“Larkin,” he growled.

Her hand slid over her belly and up her side. At her neck, her hand spread wide, encompassing her throat.

“The valley between your breasts now.” She obeyed. The snap in his voice made her move faster than she had been. “I’m here.”

“You’re here.” Euphoria lifted her to stand ten feet tall. It strengthened her determination and reinforced her nerves. “We’re going to get him, Beckett.”

“I know we will, sweetheart.”

She blew him a kiss.

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“His car just rounded the corner.”

“Here we go.” She turned away from the window.

“Sweet Jesus,” Beckett barked.

“What?” She headed for the stairs.

“That’s a dress, but the body inside it. Fuck. I can’t wait to get it off you.”

“Work first.” Larkin cleared the one flight. “I’m nearing the main.”

“Going quiet. I’m here. If you need me, I’m there in less than twenty seconds.”

“I know. Prepare to be lulled to sleep by elite NYC socialization.”

“The sound of your sexy voice will keep me awake and ready.”

Larkin hit the middle of the last flight of stairs and cheers erupted. Her gaze flew around the room in search of the cause of the commotion.

“Let’s hear it for Larkin Ashford.” The owner of the bank she used clapped and whooped above the crowd. Of course, he was glad she hadn’t kicked it. More digital dollars behind his thick walls.

She smiled sweetly and waved to the room brimming with people she knew from one venture or another. They hugged her. They patted her hands. They kissed her cheeks. Ten times over, she told the same story.

“Larkin.” Cornish Gleeson offered his hand and gave a heavy shake that threatened to jerk her off her heels.

“Cornish, I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” she lied. If he choked on a shrimp canapé, she wouldn’t use her earpiece to get him an ambulance. She lied to herself too. So it was okay.

“Something was off about that boy. I knew it the first time he scanned me into your building. I knew it.” The balls of his cheeks scrunched into even tighter circles. The broken blood vessels shined purple against the high red of his general complexion.

Larkin gritted her teeth. Cornish wasn’t the first to say as much.

Lucas Backstrom had been a grown-ass man. A man who had problems, and if any one of them had known how deeply they ran, he’d have gotten the help he needed. If she had known, she would have tried to get him help.

“Have you tried the canapés?” Larkin waved in a server. “Enjoy.” She smiled, snagged one of her own, and headed for the back of the room in need of distance from such stupidity.

More people than she’d expected had turned out for what was supposed to be an intimate event. In fact, she had yet to get close to Bronson, the entire reason they were having this party.

She shoved the hors d’oeuvre toward her mouth but didn’t bite. “Beckett?”

“I’m here.”

“When you get the evidence, please tell me if Cornish Gleeson is in on it.”

“You think he’s in on it?”

“I have no idea. Is it bad that I want him to be?”

His laughter filtered into her ear.

“He’s such an asshole.” Larkin shrugged as though Beckett were there, right by her side.

“Larkin!” Another group of NYC businesswomen sauntered toward her for another round of much the same. When they left, Lucas’s ghost stayed behind. He prodded the sore spots on her head and tormented her resolve.

She stood, staring at the floor and wondering if she could have done anything to help Lucas. If she’d committed to him, like she longed to commit to Beckett, would things have turned out differently? Differently, better or worse?

“You holding up?” Libby’s knowing smile and pale-pink dress pulled her from beneath the depth of her what-ifs.

“Glad to see a face I trust.” Larkin whispered the last. “I didn’t expect so many people to turn out.”

“People love a good tragedy as long as it doesn’t touch them.” Libby rolled her eyes, plucked a flute of champagne from a server’s tray, and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She drank deeply.

“Larkin, my goodness.” Bronson’s voice curled around her spine and constricted, winding fast and hard.

Bubbles fizzed up the back of her throat. She coughed up the ones that breezed their way into her lungs.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Bronson grabbed either side of her shoulders and squeezed. He pulled her in close and wrapped his arms around her body. His fingers grazed the bare skin of her back.

“Are you okay?” Beckett demanded in her ear.

She centered her thoughts, shoved away the panic, and honed in on the goal. Slowly, breath filled her lungs, expanding her chest. Bronson’s high-dollar cologne burned her nostrils, and the nausea threatened to take her down. Again, she aimed everything at the goal.

“I’m fine.” Larkin patted Bronson’s back and shoved out of his hold. “How are you?”

“Ready to strangle that man if he doesn’t get his hands off you,” Beckett bit out.

The network of cameras Douglas rigged for the event worked too well apparently.

“I still can’t believe everything that went down.” Bronson popped the cuffs of his suit.

“It’s only been two and a half weeks.” Larkin shrugged. “It’s a lot to take in. You think you know someone and bam.” She smacked her hands between their faces. “All the things you thought you knew are a lie.”

“Champagne?” Libby held two flutes. One she offered Bronson. He took the beverage, and Libby held hers up in the center of their small circle. “To true colors and true friends. May we know them when we see them.”

“Cheers.” Larkin finished her drink with a short gulp.

“Here. Here.” Bronson tipped his glass and drained it dry in a few gulps.

The smartest one among them drank only a sip.

“We need a picture,” Libby cheered. She reached for a clutch that she’d purposely left upstairs. “Oh, I don’t have my purse, which means I don’t have a phone.”

Larkin huffed. “I left mine upstairs since everyone who might call me is here.” She turned to Bronson. “Take our picture?”

“Yeees!” Libby fist pumped the air. “Your arms are longer anyway.”

Bronson fished his phone out of his inner jacket pocket. “What does that matter?”

“Men,” Libby scoffed. “You have no idea about the angle.”

“The angle?” Bronson’s brows furrowed.

“Here.” Libby swooped in to Bronson’s side.

Larkin scooted in on his other side.

“You want to shoot from above. It eliminates double chins and nose hairs.” Libby grabbed his arm and maneuvered the phone to the optimum height and distance. “Like that. Ready? Three. Two. One.”

Bronson pressed the button. The flash burned bright.

“The flash?” Libby whined. She grabbed the phone from his hand and looked at him as though he’d committed a crime.

He had. And it had nothing to do with a camera flash.

“How do girls know about this stuff?” Bronson laughed.

“Women,” Larkin corrected. “Not all of us do. Libby has a knack for it.”

“Here we go.” Libby huddled them together again. “Say champagne.”

“Champagne,” Bronson cheered not because he wanted to say it but because he wanted to be liked. They’d use that fault to their advantage.

Libby snapped the picture, then jumped to it on the screen. “Look.” She maneuvered the phone toward Bronson. “That’s yours.”

“It’s not bad,” he defended.

“It’s not good either.” Libby switched the image. “Now this one.”

“I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong.” His hand shot up in Scout’s honor.

“See.” Lib offered Larkin the phone.

“Look at us, looking good.” She pretended to look at the image, and then looked at Libby and Bronson exchanging hip bumps. “I need a pic with Mar and Gen. Do you mind? I’ll be right back.”

Larkin smiled wide, waved, and took off with the phone before Bronson could protest. Not that he would have. His face was close to Libby’s, looking for the subtle differences between her good and bad sides. Like she had a bad side. Like she knew anything about taking pictures beyond point and click.

The farther she got away from Bronson the louder her heart beat in her chest. She’d swear the small sea of people she maneuvered through heard the reverberations.

“You have time.” Beckett’s calm voice soothed. “You have nothing to hide.”

She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Larkin?”

A woman she went to college with waved to her from across the room. Larkin waved and continued on as though all the woman had wanted was a friendly hello from afar. She approached the hallway. The girls weren’t there. Sweat breached the pores above her lip.

“I don’t see the girls,” Larkin panted. She set the flute on a shelf. Her gaze shot left and right, seeking the girls.

“They’re trying to get away from an old lady wearing a peacock.” Beckett laughed.

“Don’t laugh. I’m about to be sick.”

“No, you’re not. You handled Lucas. This is nothing.”

“Ha.”

“Lar.” Marlis rounded the corner. She walked as though the ground were shaking beneath her heels.

“Marlis, are you drunk?” Larkin growled.

“No.” Her friend waved off the accusation and nearly fell on her ass.

“Jesus. Where’s Gen?”

“Trying to get away from Old Lady Gilbert, but she’s determined to get free legal advice about a neighbor stealing her parking spot. She sent me to do …” Mar grabbed her head with both hands. “What were we supposed to do?”

“Christ Almighty.” Larkin ran to Mar and held her friend around her waist. “Smile and try not to look too plastered.”

Marlis flashed a peace sign and squealed. Larkin snapped a couple of pics.

“I’m not cut out for this spy stuff.”

“No shit.” She turned Mar around and propped her against the wall. “Go find Gen. Tell her phase two.”

“Phase two?” Marlis looked back as though Larkin had lost her mind.

“Yes.” Larkin’s knees quaked, but she drew a deep breath and bolted down the stairs to the kitchen. Douglas sat at the table in front of a laptop, sipping tea like this were any old night.

“Take a breath.” Her dad smiled boldly, brightly. “You look amazing.”

“So do you.” She couldn’t help but reflect his wide grin. He wore a suit. The first since the incident.

“I forgot how nice if felt to dress for an occasion.”

“I’m sorry it’s not a real one.” Larkin stopped next to his chair and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

He patted hers. “Of course, it is. We’re catching a bad guy.”

Cue the jackhammer in her chest.

“It’s fine. Hand it here.”

Larkin handed over the phone.

“Now, get back to your party.” He waved her off.

“How long until it’s ready?”

“Twenty minutes max.”

She’d known the answer, but hoped it had changed since she, Beckett, and Douglas had last discussed the details. “Good luck.”

“I have skill.” Her dad winked.

Beckett laughed in her ear.

“How are you both so calm?” Larkin snapped. “Never mind.” This was their life. Covert operations. Sensitive missions. They flirted with death on a daily basis. She hated the thought of Beckett in harm’s way, but it was what he did. He was one of the best at his job, and he helped make the world a better place.

“Bronson is on the move.” Beckett’s voice was tight. “He’s clearing the room fast, looking for you.”

Her stomach hit her heels. Douglas blew her a kiss. She hurried for the stairs. The party poured into the foyer. A man and a woman stood on the landing. Their hands intertwined. Their faces inches away from tongues twining. She grabbed the railing, added a little oomph to her steps and hoped they’d hear her approach.

“Excuse me.” Bronson pushed through the middle of the couple and descended two steps before his gaze collided with Larkin’s. “There you are.”