Chapter 96:
While the guests remained absorbed in the auction, Rylie rose to her feet. Johnny looked over and called out, “Miss Owen, the Buckley collections are coming up. Don’t you want to see them?”
She answered simply, “Restroom break.” Without hurry, she made her way toward the spiral staircase. Once she passed the last row of tables, her pace quickened. She lifted the edge of her skirt just enough to move freely, her heels clacking sharply across the floor.
The second level was hushed. Not a single voice drifted from the boxes. Rylie kept close to the wall until she caught a faint metallic sound just ahead. She stopped. Turning the handle, she pushed the door open without hesitation.
Inside, Brad reclined on a sofa, casually twirling a cup between his fingers. He glanced up at the sudden entry. “Over already? I thought that show would last longer,” he said.
Rylie slammed the door shut behind her and strode across the room. One hand grabbed his tie, yanking him downward. “There’s an assassin.”
Rylie’s and Brad’s faces drew so close that their cheeks brushed, breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. When their eyes met, she noticed an unshakable steadiness in his gaze — a cool assurance that revealed he’d already guessed about the assassins. Not a flicker of surprise touched his face.
Letting her hand drop, Rylie spoke. “You already knew.”
Brad, still slightly hunched from her tug, kept his voice level. “That’s just a soldier’s instinct. But you, Dr. Owen, I’d say you’re just as sharp. Did the Kirk brothers drill this into you, or is it all you?”
Rylie’s tension melted as she realized that he truly had everything under control. “My family never taught me a thing. All of this is simply my own nature — sharp-eyed since birth.”
Brad’s mouth curved into a half-smile as he looked down at her. “No one’s ever doubted your brilliance. And I noticed your concern for me. That’s why you rushed in despite the risk.”
Her eyebrow arched as Rylie studied his strikingly handsome features. On a whim, she reached out and pinched his chin.
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Had there been any witnesses in the room, they would have been startled by her audacity.
Rylie was testing the limits between them.
Though Brad stayed still, the subtle tension in his frame betrayed a side rarely seen beneath his composed exterior.
He asked softly, “Did I guess wrong?”
With her thumb idly tracing the line of his jaw, Rylie answered in a cool, quiet voice, “Given your health and position, you really have no business at these tiresome, low-rent charity galas. Why would the famous admiral suddenly take an interest in jewelry for debutantes?”
She stopped, her eyes lifting to meet his. “Brad, you’re here for me, aren’t you?” All traces of distant formality had vanished from her voice — what remained was a playful, grown-up boldness.
Before he could answer, the door swung open.
Brock entered, hauling a corpse, and said, “Mr. Morgan, it’s done…”
Brock’s words died in his throat, his eyes going round with shock. He had been busy clearing the grounds of assassins—only to return and find Rylie pinching Brad’s chin, lost in a charged moment together.
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