Chapter 1 - The Ankle in My Hands

Vanessa Sterling's heel was six inches from my face when I caught her ankle.

The entire rooftop went silent.

One second earlier, there had been jazz, laughter, crystal glasses, and rich people pretending not to watch each other. Then Vanessa crossed the marble terrace in an ivory cocktail dress, lifted one leg, and tried to kick me in front of nearly two hundred guests.

I moved before I had time to think.

Both hands closed around her ankle.

Her blue eyes went wide.

"Let go of me!"

I held her just high enough to keep her from falling. "Stop moving. You're going to hurt yourself."

That made her even angrier.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes."

That answer bothered her more than fear would have.

Around us, people backed away from the cocktail tables. A wineglass tipped over and rolled in a slow circle near my black shoe. Warm string lights hung above us, glowing against the dark Manhattan skyline.

Vanessa twisted hard. "Release me!"

I lowered her foot and stepped back.

"Vanessa!"

Adrian Cole pushed through the crowd in a black suit, his face tight with disbelief. He was the event host's attorney and, judging by the way Vanessa looked at him, the last person she wanted to see.

"Stop," he said.

For half a second, I thought it was over.

Then Vanessa slapped at me.

I blocked her wrist before her palm reached my face.

No twist. No takedown. Just one clean stop.

Her hand froze between us.

"Don't," I said quietly.

Something changed in the crowd.

Not fear.

Recognition.

Vanessa's rage disappeared so fast it was almost frightening.

She looked past my shoulder.

Her mouth opened.

I turned.

An older woman stood near the elevator doors in a midnight-blue gown, silver hair pinned neatly behind her ears. She held a cane she clearly did not need and stared at Vanessa with a face carved from stone.

Eleanor Sterling.

Founder of Sterling Foundation. Chairwoman of Sterling Hospitality. Vanessa's grandmother.

The woman whose signature was printed on the invitation in my apron pocket.

Eleanor looked at me first.

Then at Vanessa.

"Tell me," she said, her voice carrying through the silent rooftop, "why you just attacked the woman I hired to investigate you."

Vanessa went pale.

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So did Adrian.

And that was when I realized someone had lied to me about who knew I was here.