Chapter 1 - The Heel
The blonde woman's heel missed Mara Keene's throat by an inch.
A hundred wealthy guests watched the red silk slice through the air. Mara dropped her weight, bent both knees, and felt the kick whistle over her tightly pinned hair. One pearl earring brushed her collar. Her heart gave a single hard beat. Her face didn't change.
"You don't belong here!" Celeste Varrick snapped.
Mara had walked into the Saint Oran Palace ballroom ten minutes earlier wearing a charcoal-gray suit and carrying an envelope. She had expected security guards, possibly a lawyer. She had not expected the developer's daughter to try to take off her head in front of a crystal chandelier the size of a small car.
Celeste spun on the marble, the slit of her crimson gown opening around a second kick aimed straight at Mara's stomach. This time Mara shifted her hips, caught the extended calf with both arms, and drew the leg against her side. No twist. No theatrical throw. Just a firm hold that left Celeste balancing on one heel.
The room went quiet except for the clink of a dropped champagne flute.
"Let go," Celeste hissed. The rubies at her neck trembled as she fought for balance.
"Stop trying to hurt me," Mara replied. Her voice was low enough that the people nearest them leaned forward.
Celeste tugged once, then again. Mara didn't tighten her grip. She didn't need to. Celeste's own momentum had put her there.
"Mara?" a man called.
Adrian Bellamy stood at the edge of the crowd in a black tuxedo, his dark hair disordered as though he'd dragged his hands through it. He stared at Celeste's trapped leg, then at the gray jacket, then at Mara's face. He knew her name. He wasn't supposed to.
He took a step forward.
Without looking away from Celeste, Mara lifted her free hand, palm open. "Don't."
Adrian stopped. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
Mara released the leg only when Celeste had steadied herself against a chair. Then she took the envelope from inside her jacket and held it where both families could see it.
"I came to ask one question," she said. "Who signed the order to lock the stairwell doors at Mercer House?"
The chandelier light glittered over diamonds and polished shoes. Nobody answered.
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At the back of the room, Hugh Bellamy, Adrian's father, made a small movement toward the head of security. The man touched his earpiece. Mara heard bolts snap into place at the ballroom exits.
Then every chandelier went dark.
