Page 2 of Over the Edge

Moreau’s smile was indulgent. “Elisa Deveraux doesn’t strike me as a woman who turns down the finer things in life.”

I wasn’t surprised Moreau already knew my name. Maya had established an initial contact before her death, and I’d greased those wheels a bit more before arriving in Monaco, using one of my other aliases to seed my new cover identity through the right channels. If Moreau hadn’t researched me before I walked in, I’d have been insulted.

“You have me at a disadvantage.” I accepted the champagne, letting my fingertips brush against his as I took the flute. “You know my name, but I don’t believe I know yours.”

“Nico Moreau.” He extended his hand, and when I placed mine in it, he turned my hand over and pressed his lips to my wrist just above my pulse point. The touch lingered an uncomfortable moment too long, his eyes holding mine.

I wondered if he could feel my skin crawling.

“Ah, Monsieur Moreau! So lovely to finally make your acquaintance in person.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mademoiselle Deveraux. I’ve been looking forward to our meeting. But I must say, you’re not what I expected.”

I subtly pulled my hand from his, lifted my glass to my lips, and took a delicate sip of the cool, crisp champagne.

Wow. No wonder this stuff was $2,000 for a bottle. It was exquisite. “Oh? And what exactly were you expecting?”

“Most of the people who take an interest in my auctions are older men with too much money and too little conscience. You’re...” His eyes drifted to my breasts before returning to my face. “Refreshing. You’ve piqued my curiosity. Few women in your position seek military-grade technology. What possessed you to liquidate your family’s art collection and invest in emerging weapons technology?”

I took another sip of champagne. “Business is business, Monsieur Moreau. Art appreciates slowly. Technology—the right technology—yields immediate returns, as you’re very aware of.”

His eyes glinted with approval. “And what returns are you looking for, exactly? You’re already quite wealthy.”

“Security.”

He didn’t respond right away, just studied me with an intensity meant to make me uneasy. But I was ready for it and held his gaze. He’d built an empire by reading people, so I couldn’t flinch, couldn’t let him see anything more than exactly what I wanted him to see.

“Security,” he repeated, tasting the word like it was a sip of the very expensive champagne in my glass. “That’s rarely a problem for someone born with your advantages.”

In my ear, Kate said, “His security chief is running another background check on you right now.”

I smiled. “With the current state of the world, no one is safe, Monsieur Moreau.” I ran a finger along the rim of my glass. “Not even those born with so-called advantages. Money can only protect you so far. What I need is something more... substantial.”

I turned slightly, giving him my profile as I surveyed the casino floor. While he admired the line of my neck, I watched his security. Three men, all with the unmistakable bulge of shoulder holsters beneath their jackets.

Moreau said nothing for several minutes. He just watched me like a cat watches a mouse, and I let him. Finally, he threw back his scotch and stood. “Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere more private.”

“Background check complete,” Kate’s voice came through. “You’re clean. He’s taking the bait.”

I raised an eyebrow. “We’ve only just met, Monsieur.”

“Let’s not play coy. You flew to Monte Carlo specifically to meet me.” His certainty was absolute, his tone leaving no room for denial. “If security’s the issue, my suite is discreet, private, and very well protected. And the view of the harbor is spectacular. We can discuss your... investment opportunities there.”

“You’re very confident.”

“Confidence is the currency of our world, Ms. Deveraux.” He signaled for the check. “That, and knowing which risks are worth taking.”

I allowed a moment of consideration to pass as he signed for our drinks, then nodded once. “I’m intrigued enough to hear what you have to offer.”

Moreau stood, buttoning his jacket before offering his arm. I slipped my hand through it, though I would’ve rather stuck my hand in a blender. Everything about this man repulsed me, and it took every ounce of training to maintain the mask of Elisa Deveraux, intrigued potential buyer, rather than Lyric Renard, undercover operative fighting the urge to snap his arm.

“Be careful,” Kate warned in my ear. “His suite will have countermeasures. We’re blind once you’re inside.”

We walked through the casino to the bank of private elevators. He released my arm to press the button, but as the doors opened, his hand dropped to the small of my back, guiding me inside. I allowed the contact, using it to my advantage. The closer he kept me, the easier it would be to place the tracker.

The elevator ride to the penthouse level was silent. Moreau’s security detail—one man, broad-shouldered with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow—stood at parade rest in the corner, his gaze fixed on the middle distance but missing nothing.

“Do you have the merchandise here?” I asked.

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