Page 127 of X Marks the Stalker
He moves past the living room, ducking below windows with their sweeping views of Boston’s skyline. The corridor to the master bedroom stretches ahead of him on monitor four. I hold my breath as he advances, watching for any sign of movement.
I study the control panel near the panic room’s entrance. It’s sleek, minimal—a keypad and a fingerprint scanner.
“We’ve got a problem,” I say. “There’s biometric security here.”
“As expected,” Thorne’s voice cuts in. “Check your right pocket.”
I pat down the pocket of my black tactical pants and pull out what looks like a thin film.
“What am I looking at?” I ask.
“Synthetic fingerprint. Lazlo created it from a champagne flute Blackwell used at the charity auction.”
My eyes widen. “You guys are terrifying.”
“Thank you,” four voices respond simultaneously.
On the monitor, I watch Xander reach the office.
I wrap it around my finger and press the synthetic fingerprint against the scanner. A green light flashes.
“We’re in,” I announce, pressing the release button.
The metal door slides open.
Xander stands in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. His eyes lock with mine through his mask, and despite the darkness of the moment—what we’re here to do—I feel a surge of something electric pass between us.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he says, stepping inside.
Xander crosses to me in two long strides, and before I can think, his hands frame my face. His eyes search mine for a heartbeat, intense beneath the edge of his black beanie.
His fingers find the edge of my mask, tugging it up, then his own.
His lips find mine, crashing against me with an urgency that steals my breath.
I melt into him, my body responding before my brain can catch up. My gloved hands grip the front of his tactical vest, pulling him closer with a desperation that should frighten me. His arms wrap around my waist, lifting me as he presses me against the wall.
“Jesus Christ, this is gross. We can still hear you guys, you know.” Lazlo’s voice cuts through our moment, crackling in our earpieces.
I pull away from Xander, breathless and disoriented. His eyes stay locked on mine, pupils blown wide, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth before we tug our masks back into place.
“Sorry,” I whisper, touching my fingers to my swollen lips.
“Don’t be,” Xander murmurs, only for me.
“Seriously,” Lazlo continues in our ears. “I can hear you breathing. Like, every little gross wet noise. It’s like being trapped inside someone else’s porn session. At least put us on mute.”
Xander’s lips quirk up at one corner as he scans the panic room. “How long before Blackwell returns?”
“An hour, give or take,” Calloway says.
Xander pulls off his backpack and unzips it. “Time to prepare our welcome party.”
Chapter 30
Oakley
“Hide,” Xander whispers, pulling me behind the sleek metal console just as the exterior security feed shows a black Bentley pulling into the private garage beneath the building.
