The express elevator slows and comes to a stop. I take Julie’s hand as the doors open to a sea of orange. “Happy” blares through the speakers as the crowd gyrates toward the exit.
I can’t help but shake my head.
Mitzy Magic, indeed.
The brilliance of her plan astounds me. In addition to our mission, she’s also running a rescue operation with the rest of Alpha team. How the hell did she do this?
One thing I’ll say, as far as operations go, this is easily the most fun I’ve ever had.
We merge with the crowd, keeping pace with those around us. We’re jostled about and struggle not to be separated as we walk and dance our way outside. The woman with the sapphire eyes gets tossed against me again.
“Sorry.” One look into her eyes, and I struggle to breathe. I steady her on her feet, then turn my attention back to my charge as we near the exit.
Soon, we’re outside the Belvedere. That stupid song blares over loudspeakers parked outside, and the crowd grows and grows, spilling out, up, and down the street in all directions, and not only from the Belvedere. It appears to be a mass event.
Everyone’s dressed in orange. Most wear the white masks. All dance the exact same steps.
“Cross the street. Head left. You’ll see a van.” Mitzy gives us final directions.
Wolfe heads toward the van while I scan the crowd for threats.
My gaze finds the woman with the sapphire eyes some distance back. I was able to push through the crowd while she got stuck in the flow.
Behind her, emerging from the Belvedere, half a dozen security guards force their way through the crowd, making a beeline straight toward us.
Fuck.
9
MARIA
The two couples hurry the captive women out of my hotel, herding them like animals. The group is hard to follow, considering the entire street basically exploded into one massive flash mob.
My best friend was kidnapped and held with those women. They’re my only chance to find out what happened to Sybil.
And I’m not losing them.
All around me that damn “Happy” song blares overhead. Hundreds of people in bright-orange shirts, with the same dorky white smiley face on the front, kick up their heels, oblivious of the abduction occurring right under their noses.
As if that’s not bad enough, there are the masks. A thing in New Orleans, the whole dang mob wears nearly identical white masks, making my rescue nearly futile.
But I’m tenacious and determined.
I chase after the kidnappers. It’s just me and my Colt .45.
The two men stand head and shoulders above the crowd. That’s the only reason I follow the kidnappers at all. The two women who are with them, the men’s dates—and I use the term loosely—are impossible to follow. That goes for the three kidnapped women as well. They all wear those same loose-fitting orange shirts along with the masks, making them virtually indistinguishable from the crowd.
The kidnappers push the women through the excited flash mob, arrowing directly toward a nondescript van parked a street away. As they near the vehicle, the side door slides open. A man leans out and waves vigorously for them to hurry up.
The woman wearing combat boots jumps in. She’s followed by a second woman, also wearing shoes. Those are the ones working with the men. The second woman helps one of the kidnap victims into the van. The second follows, practically leaping inside, almost as if she’s willing?
My brows scrunch, confused by that. The third victim is right behind the second, jumping in and disappearing inside.
I’m going to lose them.
I yank out my Colt .45 and sprint with everything I’ve got.
Just a little bit further…
The first man climbs inside. The second turns his back to me.
A burst of adrenaline rushes through me, fueling the muscles of my legs. I close the distance.
“Don’t move.” I press the muzzle of my gun against his back. It connects with solid muscle. My voice isn’t nearly as firm as I’d like, but he gets the message.
Holy hell, I did it.
Hands up, he slowly turns around. Despite the orange shirt and mask, he’s a shock to my senses, and not one bit concerned about my gun. My brows climb up my forehead as he slowly removes the mask.
Holy hotness and Hollywood gorgeous, like, shoot-me-dead-and-stick-a-fork-in-me-I’m-done-kind-of-H-O-T, he decimates my ability to think. My gun waivers when the tall, freakishly handsome, Hollywood heartthrob takes me in from head to toe.
The deadly combination of surfer blond hair, mischievous eyes, and a body ripped right off a blockbuster movie poster, are a triple threat weakening my knees.
The Colt .45 wobbles.
Beneath the obnoxious orange shirt, a dark suit clads his hard physique. Not only tall, he’s well built. The fabric of his suit molds around his toned and sculpted body, barely containing the flexing and bunching of his muscles.
Focus!
I’m trying to be a fucking badass.
Instead, I drool like a star-struck idiot.
Midnight-blue eyes. Strong jaw. Taller than tall. Broad chest. Trim waist. His body is chiseled perfection. Seriously, this guy can’t be real.
“Where’s Sybil?” My voice comes out steady, which is a surprise. I’m way outside my comfort zone, but, for Sybil, I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back.
As for the Hollywood heartthrob staring at me, there’s no fear in his gaze. Instead, his eyes round with surprise. Like how dare I draw a weapon on him?
I have an answer for that.
He took my bestie, and I want her back.
I tighten my grip and remind myself I’m here to rescue my best friend. My sister from another mother, Sybil, was taken, and these sad sacks are involved.
I know it, and I’m going to make them give her back.
Despite his holy hotness factor, I press the muzzle of my gun, pushing hard against the man’s chest.
“Where is she?” My voice comes out a low growl.
“Whoa, hold up and calm down.” The guy looks at his chest, totally chill.
Hello? I’m pointing a gun at you.
“I am calm.”
“Maria Rossi?” The woman with the combat boots leans forward. Her brows pinch together then her attention snaps over my head to the crazy flash mob behind me.
“How do you know my name?”
The woman holds up her hands. Once again, her focus shifts to the crowd behind me.
“Maria, you need to pay attention.” She once again looks over my head. “We don’t have much time. Sybil isn’t here. She’s not one of the three we rescued, but we know where she is.”
“Where?” I’m moments from shooting Hollywood heartthrob.
“We can explain, but we have to move.” The other man speaks up. He wears the same silly shirt as everyone else, an obnoxious orange with a white smiley face on it.
The entire flash mob behind me gyrates to the music in the same damn shirt. Only instead of trying to escape in a van like these assholes, the crowd kicks up their feet.
“No one is going anywhere.” I glance over my shoulder and groan.
My security detail are tenacious assholes. My uncle charged them with one thing: keeping me safe, and they don’t want to piss off my uncle.
Fuckers follow me everywhere.
Honestly, they’re a pain in the ass. They hound my every move, but instead of keeping me safe, they’re there to keep me from looking too deeply into what my uncle is doing right under my nose.