Page 95 of Protect Thy Enemy

“The person who entered her into the system and redacted most of this information was Leo O’Malley. I didn’t even know his clearance was that high.”

Neither did I, but there is clearly a lot I still didn’t know about him. The breath leaves my lungs in a rush, and for a second, I can’t move.

Leo.

The name reverberates through me, colliding with the other fragments of this case that refuse to fit together. I grip the phone tighter, grounding myself against the storm building in my chest.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I say quietly, more to myself than to her. “Why would he do that?”

“None of this does,” Alyssa replies. “I need to make a call. Stay by your phone.”

The line goes dead before I can respond, leaving me alone in the dark with more questions than answers.

Nightwalker.

The name echoes in my mind, pulling at threads I can’t quite grasp. And Leo, what the hell does he have to do with this?

Does Harris know? He has to. I saw his face when I mentioned the code name, saw the flicker of emotion that flashed. He has to know.

I shove the phone back into my pocket, my focus sharpening as I step back into the hallway leading to the ballroom. The hum of voices grows louder, but something feels off.

I scan the crowd, my eyes searching for Arden. For Fallon. For any sign of them on the dance floor where I last left them.

But I don’t see them.

The knot in my chest tightens as I move farther into the room, my gaze sweeping over every corner, every face.

They’re gone.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Holden

The ballroom is alive with murmured conversations and clinking glasses, but none of it registers.

My focus is fractured, searching every corner and face for the person who matters most.

Arden’s gone.

I move through the crowd, careful to keep my expression neutral, but the pounding in my chest tells a different story. This isn’t right. She wouldn’t just vanish, not without a signal, not without a reason.

“Grant,” Tate’s voice cuts through the haze as I spot him near the bar, sipping something amber and far too calm for my liking.

I’m on him in seconds. “Have you seen her?” My voice is low, clipped, but there’s an edge to it that even I can’t hide.

Tate’s brow furrows slightly, his easy demeanor faltering once he realizes who I’m talking about. “I had eyes on her a second ago,” he says, setting his glass down. He scans the room, his sharp gaze narrowing as realization dawns. “Shit. She’s not here, is she?”

“No,” I bite out, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “And the senator?”

Tate shakes his head, looking genuinely rattled now. “I thought she was with him. I figured she could ha—”

“Save it,” I snap, the words colder than I intend. Apologies won’t bring her back, and every second we waste is another second she’s out there alone.

Before I can decide whether to shake Tate or leave him behind, my eyes catch movement near the far end of the ballroom. The redhead. She’s no longer beside the Russian. Instead, she’s gliding across the dance floor, blending in with the glittering crowd like a ghost.

I force myself to breathe, to keep my steps steady as I close the distance between us. Reacting rashly will only make this worse.

When I reach her, I don’t hesitate. “Dance with me,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument.

---