"But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?
And if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like you've been here before?
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?"

- Bastille, "Pompeii"

Chapter Three

The modern townhouse was half hidden behind winding vines and looming palms. The street was quiet as the summer evening meandered down and took in the sights.

Then I honked the car horn.

That was all it took to disrupt the serenity and get Ken to poke her head out the door with a grin.

The door opened more, revealing her figure draped in a thrilling red dress. Hell, she was rocking it. My friend knew how to complement her build and highlight her best features. Kennedy was small, a stark contrast to Oliver's linebacker physique, but the red gown accentuated her curves and seemed to elongate her legs. I was too busy admiring her to feel jealous.

She waved, but she didn't get further than the step before Oliver's hand shot out to pull her back. He pressed a deep kiss to her bold red lips; a picture-perfect moment framed by greenery and the last drops of a setting sun. I glanced away to grant them privacy in their heartfelt farewell. With them, there'd never been a 'honeymoon phase' to eventually wear off. It was just them. But I honked again, hating to rush them, but hating to be late even more.

Kennedy blushed as scarlet as her dress, batting her fiancé away with a look I probably shouldn't have witnessed, and hurrying to my car.

Must be nice.

Oliver's eyes hugged her figure as she departed, but he tore his gaze away long enough to give me a quick nod farewell. I faked an exaggerated gag, pulling a laugh from Oliver. Then he waved and disappeared back into the house.

Kennedy breathlessly slid into the passenger seat. Her cheeks were still rosy. If she added any more red tones to the look, she'd be more cherry than woman.

"You know, if I'd known you'd look like that tonight, I never would've invited you. You can't show me up on my last day," I teased, putting the car in drive.

Kennedy loudly scoffed, gesturing at my own dress. "Don't make me laugh! You say that as if you're not eating it up right now. Green looks hot as hell on you."

I'd gone for a reserved emerald gown and black strappy shoes, but I'd opted for a smaller heel. I was already on the tall side; I didn't need to exaggerate my height any more than it was. Besides, I was hoping to impress at this party. I didn't need to tower over politicians, I needed to pander to their pride. They needed to feel powerful — and I needed connections. I needed approval and allies. I hoped to balance the fine line between 'sexy and mysterious' and 'bold and powerful' that could offer so many opportunities when done correctly.

My plan was to break ground on new foundations for lasting bridges.

Kennedy radiated graceful seduction with her red lips and draped gown. I only hoped I at least radiated elegance. I prayed I looked like a cresting wave, unknown in its power until too late to turn back.

Kennedy leaned down to tighten the straps on her golden heels as we slid onto the highway. I glanced down. "How the hell are you going to walk in those things all night?"

The June sun was starting to dip beneath the horizon, and the road was becoming increasingly draped with reaching shadows.

"I like heels. I don't have much of a problem with them."

"Well, I have a pair of sneakers in the trunk if you need them at any point. Just let me know."

Kennedy laughed. "I'm pretty sure you'll end up wearing them, not me. You hate heels."

I nodded, agreeing with her statement. I hated being taller than other people. I wasn't even that tall, just a little taller than average, but it often made me feel awkward and large. I definitely wasn't used to wearing heels, let alone staying in them all night. I could already feel the ache in my arch and heel.

"Is this an open bar?"

My answer was slow, wary. "Yes."

"Perfect."

Crap.

"Just remember you're representing me."

I loved her, and I wasn't judging her, but Kennedy could get snippy when she was tipsy. I didn't need her insulting anyone — not tonight. I could confidently say I was just as wild when drinking, and couldn't throw stones, but tonight was not the night.

We could party until our cheeks were as red as our lips some other day. But not tonight.

"Don't look so worried, I'm not planning on anything crazy. I'm just hoping you'll let loose a little tonight. I know, I know, you're making 'connections' and all that. But you should relax. You deserve it. You got the job, your boss loves you, and it's one of your last nights in California."

Her grey eyes looked at me beseechingly, pinning me with a hard stare. I shrugged noncommittally. She knew me far too well for me to dodge her pinpoint accuracy or bluff my way through.

"I'm not getting crazy tonight. Not that I even could. It's a political party, it's not going to be that exciting."

"I've seen the movies, you know."

"Wrong movies. Trust me, the only exciting thing you'll find in the bathroom is mini French soaps."

But as we turned into the driveway, I realized I'd lied. I'd greatly underestimated the guest list for the night. Valets rushed around the front of the building, pulling expensive cars around as immaculately dressed couples headed into the foyer. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't the scene before us.

A part of me wondered why I was so surprised. This was the upper levels of the political elite, along with everyone else who tangled among the highest branches. Of course it was lavish. Maybe not quite as wild as Kennedy had assumed, but expensive, nonetheless.

"I can't believe this party is so fancy. Are all retirement parties like this?" Kennedy whispered, peering up at Cruz's modern columned home.

No, they're definitely not.

While attorney general's didn't make an exorbitant amount of money, Cruz came from a powerful family, and so did his wife. His family was political through and through; the Cruz family had held offices across generations. Old money had created paved paths as well built as ancient Roman roads.

"Amanda Cruz doesn't do small." I gave a half smile as the car slowed to a stop. A young valet hurried to open my car door as another older valet opened Kennedy's.

"Ma'am."

The valet dipped his head as I slid out and handed him the key. I slipped the ticket into my clutch and joined Kennedy on the steps; her eyes were still taking in the spacious home. Perfectly manicured lawns surrounded the beautiful mansion, and in the distance, a slight glimmer of dark blue was barely visible in the draining light. The ocean wasn't far.

It wasn't my first time at the Cruz home, but it was certainly my first time with waiters sweeping through the open foyer. They carried trays supporting flutes of champagne and canapes as powerful politicians lounged and chatted quietly.

The decisions that could be made in this room.

Retirement parties were definitely not usually like this, but Amanda was using this as an opportunity to gracefully bow out of the California social scene beside her husband. With Cruz looking to split his time between New York and Los Angeles due to business, Amanda had excitedly informed me she was planning on living full time in her home city of New York. Hence, this was not only Cruz's goodbye party but Amanda's, too.

She'd been an influential figure in the small, powerful circles of California. A power vacuum would soon be formed with her departure.

As we stepped into the foyer, Kennedy stopped a waiter and grabbed two flutes of champagne. The waiter nodded graciously before sweeping away to the next group. I turned to her, bemused.

"I hope at least one of those is for me."

"Only if you insist," she said. Kennedy begrudgingly handed one over, but I read her layered humor, and we shared a giggle before turning back to the room.

I sipped the bubbly drink, enjoying the taste of alcohol out of my price range as I craned my head around the room and debated where to start. I could see Dave from the office next to me across the way, chatting to a lawyer I recognized from a few floors down. He raised his glass in acknowledgement before turning back to his conversation.

I should say goodbye before I leave.

"Miss Woodsen."

The warm voice made me turn. A smiling face met me as I found the speaker.

"Judge Adams," I greeted, relieved.

Judge Adams was a striking woman. Her dark skin and sharp cheekbones showed a poised beauty, and she radiated power. It'd been no small feat to get where she was or achieve the position she held, especially as a woman of color. Still, she was the type of woman you never doubted for a moment and a woman you never dared cross. She made decisions – she didn't bend to them. She was an inspiration for little girls everywhere.

Her gaze was stern. "Cruz informed me this was your last week with the attorney general's office. I hope to hear you're moving forward in your career, and not that you've let the fools win."

I smiled. I'd worked closely with Judge Adams over the years, and she'd mentored me through some pretty sticky situations.

Just another person I'll miss.

"I begin in D.C. next week as a part of Ambassador Baros's team," I stated proudly. Judge Adams looked pleased, and it fed the warmth trilling in my chest.

"Well, I never doubted you for a moment! I knew you were due for bigger, brighter things. I only hope those same fools in your office are able to get on without you. Especially with Cruz leaving as well," she stated. Amusement flickered across her strong features.

"I am sure they'll be able to handle it," I assured her.

Or at least I really, really hope so.

Judge Adams and I shared a knowing smile before she extended her hand. "I wish you all the best. You have a friend here if you need it, and an ally I doubt you'll need. Good luck, Ms. Woodsen, D.C. doesn't know what's coming."

I shook her hand firmly, thanking her and hoping she knew how much she'd helped me.

As I turned back around, I noticed Kennedy had wandered off. She was a social butterfly; she'd come back eventually. I began to slowly sweep around the room, shaking hands and exchanging polite words with more politicians, socialites, and rich businessowners than one could keep track of. Luckily, I had a knack for names and faces. It was an important tool of the trade.

Before I knew it, I'd found the hosts of the evening. Amanda Cruz had her arm looped through her husband's; both of their smiles dazzled while their free hands delicately held flutes of champagne. A small group of guests casually chatted with the two. Rounds of laughter occasionally bubbled up over the crowd's heads.

I'd miss the Cruz family. Amanda was a wonderful woman. She'd insisted I call her by her first name rather than "Mrs. Cruz" the first time we'd met, as she often did with people. She wielded enough power on her own; she felt no need to use her marriage for leverage. I felt comfortable with her after so many years working for her husband, and 'Amanda' fit her well. Her husband was a kind man, and powerful. He only let his kindness impact his power, never the other way around. I'd learned a lot from them.

In all honesty, my job had me dealing with people powerful enough to change my life.

Or make it hell.

Cruz noticed as I drew closer. "Ah! Avery!"

Amanda turned and brightened as she saw me, her eyes sweeping down my figure with a subtle nod in approval.

"Gorgeous, my dear."

She beamed as she offered the compliment and broke away from her husband's arm to grasp my hand. She pulled me forward, making sure my drink was full. Where Judge Adams had been my mentor, and Christina was like a motherly figure, Amanda was more like a wild wine aunt. Fun, wild, and enjoyable unpredictable.

"This is Miss Avery Woodsen, a cherished part of my team," Cruz announced as I stepped into the group, turned to his associates to introduce me. A proud look unfurled across his face and the pride transferred into warmth for my heart again.

"D.C. is stealing her away from us," Amanda added.

She squeezed my hand before rejoining her husband. Cruz beamed at his wife, leaning in to give her a chaste kiss. Their marriage had never seemed fake, bitter, or for political reasons. It'd always felt genuine.

I am surrounded by happy couples. Couples in the type of love people write songs about.

"All the good ones seem to eventually be stolen by someone in D.C.," a gray-haired man chortled and complained. Cruz agreed with a shake of his head.

I shook hands with the group, memorizing the name, face, and business attached to every firm grip and returning my own. An oil tycoon, a powerhouse criminal attorney, a socialite, a woman from the House of Representatives. An unimaginable combined net worth from this small group alone.

Imagine the change any one of them could make with a single phone call.

Cruz turned to me when I finished, putting his hand on my shoulder in a fatherly show of affection. "Ambassador Baros will be lucky to have you, Avery. Remember you'll always have a position with me." 

"Thank you, sir, but I belong in D.C.," I admitted. Cruz nodded in defeat, but he didn't lose his gratitude or pride.

"Well, I can't say I don't understand. I know that look in your eye — I had the same look. I want you to know you've been a tremendously helpful asset over the past four years. There's no question you have one hell of a career in front of you."

"Thank you, sir."

My job with Cruz had offered so many opportunities. I had him and his team to thank for taking a chance on me, and bringing me one step closer to my dream. There weren't enough words.

Cruz's eyes focused on someone behind me. "Quentin!"

I turned my head to see Quentin Romano, the head of Greystone security and an old friend of Cruz, walking towards us with long steps. A tall, handsome man strode briskly beside him. I was great with faces, and I was certain I'd never met him before.

I'd remember if I had.

He wore a dark suit like Quentin and a matching earpiece. The suit clung to his lean, muscular build; he seemed to tower above the group, but his back never faltered or lost its strong height. Dark brown hair draped his forehead, curled ever so slightly on the ends. His demeanor announced an intense focus. He couldn't be any older than late twenties, but he radiated control; his easy strides were perfectly measured.

Damn, he's pretty hot.

I forced myself to focus as they neared. Quentin and the stranger shook hands with the hosts and smoothly settled into the group like they belonged there.

I noticed Quentin started with a stern stance, but he seemed to eased as he stood next to Cruz. The stranger did not. He remained solemn as he stood beside me. His presence seemed to fill the room, and he commanded my attention without asking for it. In a room like that, it was an ability admirable in its own right. His eyes were green, I noticed. They continuously swept the room, briefly locking with mine as I tried and failed to glance over with subtlety. The connection didn't last. He looked away, resuming his sweep of the area and sizing of the guests. Something about him screamed security and protection. He didn't seem cold or uncaring, but guarded and disciplined as his job demanded.

One of those people you feel safe around. Or really, really intimidated by.

I wasn't sure what I felt more. Safe from any threat, but also fully aware I didn't want those angry eyes or stern demeanor to be turned on me over any perceived wrongdoing. Being near him was the feeling of suddenly getting nervous around police dogs; you're fully aware you have no drugs and no need to worry, but you still battle the irrational fear they'll find a hidden bag of something on you that you didn't know you had. 

I wasn't sure what I was guilty of, but hell if I didn't feel guilty of something.

"Avery, have you had the chance to meet Sterling?" Cruz turned to me, lifting his drink to gesture to the man next to me.

I shook my head.

"No, I haven't had the pleasure. Mr. Sterling, is it?" I turned to the stranger, lifting my chin to meet his eyes and holding my hand out. Hopefully I was showing the offhand politeness I strived for.

Mr. Sterling's eyes snapped to mine. His body shifted slightly before he reached out to firmly grip my hand; I returned with my own firm handshake I'd perfected over the years. His eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. It was so slight I would've missed it if I hadn't been looking directly at him.

Not the soft, flirty handshake you were expecting, huh? You're not shaking hands with a princess, buddy. You're shaking hands with a shark.

"Reed Sterling, ma'am."

His voice was smooth and deep, sliding its way into my ears and snaking into my brain.

"Avery Woodsen."

Our hands dropped. My eyes quickly reverted back to my former boss. I felt Sterling's eyes hover on me for the slightest of split seconds before returning to Cruz as well.

I'm not a threat. At least, not in that way.

"Avery is one of the leads from Mr. Cruz's team, and one of the ones who aided us this week," Quentin mentioned to his employee. "Pity her last day was Wednesday. She was a great resource for us."

"Your help is appreciated, ma'am." Sterling nodded at me.

I pinched my lips and nodded back, already kicking myself.

"Sterling is Quentin's right-hand man. The best Greystone Security has to offer. Isn't that right, Sterling?" Amanda winked at the man next to me, furtively looking towards me with misleading intentions.

Cruz clapped his hand on Quentin's shoulder before joking, "I should hope so, with how much I'm paying him."

"I assure you, Mr. Cruz, you're in good hands," Sterling said. "Greystone's trained me well."

"You requested the best, Derek. You won't be disappointed," Quentin informed, stiffening slightly. It was obvious that despite Cruz and Quentin's friendship, or maybe because of it, this was not a job Quentin was taking lightly. He resumed looked as stoic and alert as his right-hand man.

"I don't doubt it, old friend."

Cruz lifted his glass to Quentin, and the group began to babble and chatter again.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Cruz, but I really should get back to my friend," I said, catching Amanda's eye. She glared at me for not using her first name, and I smiled apologetically back, once more shaking hands with Cruz's associates.

I turned away just as Sterling stepped forward, further into the group. As I walked away, I heard his quiet words to Quentin.

"I'll check in with the perimeter team."

Out of earshot now, I swiveled my head in search of Kennedy. I finally spotted her across the room, chatting animatedly with a group of attractive women. She held her own without batting a lash.

Ken brightened as she saw me approaching. She waved goodbye to the group and made her way to me, hooking onto my arm.

I leaned into her and felt as she leaned into me as well. "Having fun, are we?"

"Just chatting. They're all from a modeling agency, although I'm pretty sure one said she was from Playboy. What kind of party is this, again?" she mused quietly in my ear; her smile wide.

"One where you behave," I laughed.

"Hate to leave you again, but I really need to go to the bathroom."

She softly pushed away from me, glancing around to see where the bathroom was.

"It's through there." I pointed. "Do you want me to go with you?"

She shook her head. "No, get back to your mingling. But when I get back, we're having fun."

Her own finger pointed at me, daring me to disagree as she walked backwards in the direction I'd showed.

"Ken," I sighed.

"I'm serious," she called out, turning and disappearing back into the crowd.

I turned back to the full room. More people had arrived; I couldn't go far without rubbing elbows with someone much higher on the totem pole than myself. My eyes hovered around the crowd, trying to decide who I should introduce myself to next.

Something's off.

The thought flashed in my mind. It caused me to freeze; it was unexpected and unwelcome. A heavy gut feeling settled with a chill, ice on solid ground, but there was no clear reason why — only instinct. Fight or flight fought to kick in as my heartbeat started to kick up.

Breathe. It's anxiety. Everyone else is fine. No one else is freaking out.

I took a shaky breath and forced air into my lungs as deep as I could, looking at the laughing faces around me. I tried to reassure myself it was nothing more than the alcohol. Nothing but the fallout of the night's high emotions. No one else was freaked out. No one else was even the slightest bit alarmed.

But something in my subconscious screamed, yelling at me to notice the hint of danger I had apparently missed.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Instinct kicked in.

Run.

My body lurched forward as flight won, but before I could move a boom rang out through the room. A split second later, ringing reverberated in my ears as a force slammed into me from behind — another body taking me down.

We rolled in a whirl of dress and hands, the body jostling against my own until we slammed down to a stop. Screams filled the room, chaos and shouts suffocating me like a blanket.

Holy shit. Holy shit. HOLY SHIT.

The wind was completely knocked out of me, and my chest heaved desperately for air as the ringing in my ears got louder and louder. Blurry figures rushed frantically in the edges of my vision. Pain was rough on the edges of my body that'd connected with the ground.

I'd landed on something. No, I'd landed on someone. The person who'd tackled me.

Choking on a lack of air, my vision was swimming when a deep groan sounded from beneath me. My hazy eyes took in the sharp jawline, the floppy brown hair, and the eyelids slowly opening to reveal a piercing green.

It'd only been seconds since we'd hit the ground.

The room was spinning again as the person underneath me sat up and sprung to his feet, pulling me with him. I swayed even as his hand grasped my elbow to pull me behind him. He moved so fluidly no one could've guessed he'd just cushioned my fall to the marble floor.

Sterling's head swung on a swivel, taking in the fleeing figures in the room before briefly glancing back at me. His green eyes were alert and his body was coiled and tense like a spring waiting to explode. I was pressed firmly against his back; his arm held me tightly in place.

I wasn't going anywhere, anyway — my legs weren't quite working the way they were supposed to.

"Are you okay?" he roughly asked. I could barely hear him over the chaos and screams.

"What the fu—" I coughed but was cut off when he briskly started walking. He was slightly crouched as he dragged me with him.

"We have to move."

He turned to me, tugging me down with him to hunch over at the waist and bend at the knees as we moved across the room. My ears were still ringing; my brain was still lagging. We pushed through the fleeing mass of panicked bodies, still bent low to the ground and running on adrenaline.

A gunshot. That was a gunshot.

My brain snapped that realization into place. My steps faltered. Panic surged through me. I glanced back to where I'd just stood.

A hole in the marble floor glared back at me.

That was supposed to be me.