“Down the hallway, on the right-hand side,” Rafe said.

Of course, Nick had already known that. He excused himself and left the room. He walked past the bathrooms and kept going toward the staircase. If anyone spotted him, he was simply a guest who had gotten lost in the cavernous lower level after having a couple of drinks.

He paused on the other side of the staircase, at the edge of the hallway that led to Xander’s office. Satisfied that no one was around, he moved on. The first door on his left was a storage room; the next door, on the right, was a massive utility room that housed the building’s heating and cooling systems. When he reached the door at the end of the hallway, he grabbed the handle and turned.

Locked.

Obviously, he’d expected this, but it had been worth checking nevertheless. Nick reached underneath his jacket and shirt to the small pouch he had strapped to his hip. He pulled out a lock-pick set. One of the benefits of playing a criminal for six months was that he’d refined certain illicit skills, and he doubted that Eckhart’s simple deadbolt lock would give him much trouble. Being careful not to leave any sign of tampering behind, he twisted a flat, skinny torque tool into the lock while applying pressure. Then he used a pick to push up the lock pins one at a time. When the last pin was in place, he turned the torque tool like a key.

Voilà.

Nick stepped inside the office. He shut the door behind him and locked it. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and put a tiny receiver into his right ear. “Jack. I’m in.”

Pallas’s voice came through without any interference. “Sounds like you and Eckhart are getting along swimmingly.”

At least he knew that the microphone strapped to his chest, which had been active since he and Jordan had arrived at the party, was working. “Eckhart is lucky I’m being such a gentleman tonight. Otherwise, I’d be tempted to throw my coat over his head, toss him in the back of the van, and show him what happens to people who get mouthy with FBI agents.”

“And people say I have a dark side,” Jack said. “At least you’re learning a thing or two about wine. Good to hear you’re making such an effort to improve yourself.”

“Does the U.S. attorney know how much you like spending your Saturday nights eavesdropping on private conversations?” Nick asked.

“The U.S. attorney knows exactly how I like spending my Saturday nights.”

Nick grinned at that. Then he surveyed the room, getting down to business. Eckhart’s office was just as Jordan had described it: an oversized mahogany desk, two walls of built-in bookshelves, a file cabinet in the southwest corner of the room (which he checked – locked), and two leather armchairs centered by a coffee table. Five recording devices should cover the space easily.

His eyes moved to two electric sockets, low on the walls, that were immediately visible, and the glass light fixture on the ceiling in the center of the room. All great places to start. Another bug underneath the coffee table, and a fifth one attached to the bottom of Xander’s desk, and they should be good to go.

Nick pulled a small screwdriver out of his lock-pick set. “Are you guys ready?”

“Ready,” Jack said in his ear. “As soon as you get the first bug in place, we’ll do a sound check.”

Two nights ago after Bordeaux had closed, Reed and Jansen, the tech guys in the van with Jack, had attached a small receiver with an antenna to one of the air-conditioning units outside the building. The receiver would transmit the signal from the recording devices inside Eckhart’s office over a several-block radius, which allowed them to park the van with the monitoring equipment farther away from the restaurant to reduce visibility.

Nick took the first recording device out of his suit pocket, ready to rock and roll. “Is Agent Simms hooked in?”

“I’m here,” whispered Agent Simms, the “bartender” working in the VIP room. “I’ve got a visual on Eckhart and Rhodes. They just came up the stairs.”

“Why am I not linked in to Jordan’s mic, Jack?” Nick asked impatiently. He wanted to be sure he could hear her conversation with Xander. Both for the security of the assignment and just … because.

“We’re working on it,” Jack said. “We’re dealing with eight different frequencies between the microphones on you three and the bugs. All right, Reed says you should be able to hear Jordan and Eckhart now.”


“SO HOW DID you find out about the auction?” Xander asked as they cut through the VIP room. “I haven’t heard anything about a case of 2000 Pétrus coming up for sale.”

“I have my ways,” Jordan said with a hint of mystery. Actually, it wasn’t so mysterious; a friend of hers from Northwestern worked in the wine department of Sotheby’s and often gave her advance notice of big-ticket wines before they were entered into their catalog.

She and Xander stopped at the bar for their drinks.

“How can I help you, Mr. Eckhart?” asked the redhead bartender. Her eyes momentarily held on Jordan.

Xander gestured for Jordan to go first. “What’ll it be?”

“Tough choice. You know I have a fondness for both the Vineyard 29 and the Quintessa.”

“Close your eyes. I’ll surprise you,” he said.

Jordan wondered how she would handle this situation were she not involved in a covert sting operation with the FBI. Here she was at the party with another man, yet Xander was obviously flirting with her. Ultimately, she realized, she didn’t have the luxury of handling the situation as she might have normally. Keeping Xander preoccupied was her focus right then. So she obligingly closed her eyes.

She heard Xander whisper something to the bartender.

“This is going to be a trick, isn’t it? You’re going to pour me a glass of a ten-dollar wine to see if I can tell the difference,” Jordan said.

“Like I would ever serve a ten-dollar wine,” Xander scoffed. “Okay. You can open your eyes now.”

She did, and saw Xander holding two glasses of red wine.

“Shall we?” he asked, with a nod in the direction of the terrace.

Several guests watched them curiously as they made their way out of the VIP room and through the main lounge. As soon as they stepped onto the terrace, Jordan felt the rush of cooler air as it swept over her bare shoulders.

“Over here,” Xander said, leading her to a heat lamp perched near the balcony that overlooked the Chicago River.

All the other guests were inside, and Jordan suddenly wondered if anyone could see them. She took some comfort in the fact that Nick could at least hear her.

Xander handed her one of the glasses. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He clinked his glass to hers.

“Thank you.” Jordan took a sip of the wine, tasting the dark red fruit, rose petals, chocolate, and chili powder. “It’s the Vineyard 29.”

“You’re good,” Xander said.

“It’s one of my favorites. I should recognize it by now.”

“How many people know enough about wine to appreciate how fantastic this one is?” Xander stood against the railing, stretching one arm in her direction. “I guess a better question is, how many people can even afford this wine to know how good it is? You and I are similar in so many ways, Jordan.”

Hmm … not so much. First, she generally didn’t associate with infamous criminals. Twin brother excepted. Second, she usually tried to avoid being a snob, a character trait Xander seemed to have fewer qualms with.

Changing the subject, she looked out at the water and the backdrop of the Chicago skyline at night. “The view is great out here.”

Xander moved closer to her, his eyes holding on her face. “Yes, it is.” He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Uh-oh.

Jordan debated how to finesse her way through this predicament. She hoped that Nick was moving his ass as fast as humanly possible down there in Xander’s office, because the situation up here on the terrace was starting to get awfully damn sticky. Normally she’d be giving Xander the polite version of her “Back off, buddy” speech, having no desire to fan the embers of affection of a man who was in cahoots with notorious gangsters. But given the parameters of the evening, she needed to stick it out a bit longer.

Kyle, dear brother of mine, if you so much as get a parking ticket after this, I’ll call you Sawyer for the rest of your life. Oh – and I’ll also tell Dad about the time you broke Mom’s rocking chair playing WrestleMania with Danny Zeller and blamed it on the dog.

“You flatter me, Xander,” Jordan said, subtly putting a few inches of space between them. “But I’ve seen pictures of that model you’re dating. She’s beautiful.”

“Come on, Jordan. You know you’re gorgeous,” he said. “And if your date hasn’t told you that ten times tonight, he’s an idiot.”

“My date probably wouldn’t be too pleased if he knew we were having this conversation right now.”

“Yet still, you asked me out here.”

“To talk about the Pétrus.”

Xander dismissed this. “You could’ve sent me an e-mail about the Pétrus. You wanted to talk to me alone tonight. And I think I know why.” He moved his finger to the side of her face and stroked her cheek.

“Xander,” she said in a calm tone. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood my reasons for asking you to come out here. But I’m with Nick tonight.” She reached up and removed his hand from her face.

Convicted felon of a brother or not, this money-laundering asshole was not touching her again.

At her rebuff, Xander’s expression took on a harder edge.