Lacing my fingers with Julian’s was a declaration of war. A current of cold power shot up my arm—the thrill of a perfectly executed move. In my ear, the listening device hissed with a faint spike of static, a ghost of Sterling’s silent, apoplectic rage. I was snapping his leash, not to break free, but to pull him exactly where I needed him to go.
Julian’s smile was triumphant, his thumb tracing a slow, proprietary circle on the back of my hand. "I knew you were smart," he murmured. "Prescott collects beautiful things, Blair." He doesn't know how to value them."
"He values power," I said, my voice a blade sheathed in silk. "And so do I. You mentioned evidence."
"I do," he confirmed. But not here. "We're being watched." His gaze flickered towards a man reading a newspaper on a nearby benc
