Page 75 of Jack
No gun—but she did carry a Taser, just in case.
She stopped for just a second to check her attire. Blond wig, although not the one that Nim had suggested. This one was short and utilitarian, and yes, she wore glasses, and green contacts over her gray-green eyes.
Black long-sleeve shirt, black cargo pants, boots.
Slipping out of the bedroom, she stepped into the dark hallway. It led down to the balcony, then opened to the stairwell to the upstairs office.
“Don’t get caught, okay?”
She took a deep breath, then walked down the hall. No need to creep, she was security. Doing rounds.
She paused at the opening to the balcony.
A few men had ventured to the main floor, their conversation lifting. The scent of hickory smoking nearly caused her stomach to give her away.
Don’t look. Keep walking.
She headed across the balcony, eyes on the office door.
It sat recessed in the stair’s landing alcove. She’d already slid on the latex thumb and now pressed it against the lock.
The door unlocked, and she rolled the thumb off and headed upstairs.
Her surveillance yesterday had netted a few pictures of the office from a distance, but now it felt bigger, more open, the night pressing into the windows.
Now this was an office. A seating area looked out to the lake. A massive custom walnut desk wrapped around the other end of the office, with monitors—now dark—that rose from the desk. Sleek, contained, Stone’s weekend retreat.
Probably he didn’t plotallof his terrorist activities here. Just the really important ones, like developing an army of cybersoldiers.
Who could be programmed by the highest nefarious bidder.
She didn’t turn on the light, of course. Instead, she pulled out a night-vision monocular and held it to her eye. Scanned the desk.
Found the charging pad.
No phone.
Breathe.
She should have known something like this would happen. Why hadn’t she just lifted it at the party? She was better than this.
Giving the room one last scan, she found nothing. Turned to go.
Footsteps on the stairs.
She stilled, then pocketed the monocular, and searched . . .There. Behind the stair railing, a small bookshelf, maybe waist high.
Hustling over, she knelt behind it. Tucked herself in.
Please let it not be Stone?—
The light didn’t flick on, didn’t suddenly expose her, which meant—maybe she wasn’t the only one sneaking around.
This could work for her.
In the moonlight, she caught a glimpse of the intruder—the,ahem,otherintruder. Big guy, built, he wore a dress shirt, pants. One of the guests.
Which meant—“Stop where you are.” She’d stood up and grabbed her Taser, held it out.