Chapter 2 - The Tactical PivotThe atmosphere inside the grand ballroom of the Alden House Hotel remained blissfully oblivious to the bloody coup unfolding in the shadows.
High-society patrons continued to sip vintage champagne, while the string quartet transitioned smoothly into a classical waltz.
I guided Clara toward the private alcove near the West wing elevators, keeping my broad frame positioned as an iron shield between her body and Mason’s operators.
"Stay behind the pillar, Clara," I ordered softly, reaching inside my tuxedo jacket to unholster my matte-black sidearm, keeping it concealed beneath my coat.
"I'm not staying behind a pillar, Adrian," Clara replied flatly, her hazel eyes holding a fierce, unyielding courage that made my heart take a wild, unexpected leap against my ribs. "Mason’s secondary courier is standing at the bar with the primary encryption drive for your Delaware accounts. If he wipes that drive, Sloan gets the offshore funds even if you kill Mason."
I looked at her—taking in her emerald dress, her generous curves, her soft lips, and the sheer, magnificent intelligence radiating from her face.
For three years, I had viewed Clara Whitmore as a brilliant corporate asset—a quiet, plus-size genius who could untangle complex financial laundering schemes in her sleep. I had never realized that beneath her calm, professional exterior lived a woman made of pure, forged steel.
"Which courier?" I asked cleanly.
"The man in the blue velvet tuxedo near the champagne tower," Clara indicated with a subtle nod. "His name is Vance. He thinks he's leaving through the service elevator in two minutes."
I reached out, my broad, calloused hand coming up to gently, reverently cup her cheek, my thumb stroking her skin.
"Call me husband one more time, Clara," I whispered, a dark, dangerous smile touching my lips.
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Clara raised her chin, her hazel eyes locking onto mine without a single trace of fear.
"Lead the way, husband," she whispered back.
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