Page 61 of Undercover Shadow
Next, I began the transformation, first styling my hair in loose waves. Then I applied heavier makeup than I typically wore. The emerald silk dress Viper had chosen slid over my skin, and the accompanying jewelry glittered at my throat and wrists. I studied myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman I saw.
There was a knock at the door, and when I opened it, Vanguard stood in the corridor, transformed into Richard Sutherland in an impeccably tailored tux.
“Last chance to back out.”
I picked up my clutch and checked that everything I needed was inside. “I’m not backing out. Let’s finish this.”
He offered his arm, and I took it, stepping fully into the Helena Moore persona. I closed my eyes for a moment, sending a silent message to Idris, but instead of my brother, Tag’s face appeared.Forgive me, I said silently.
We walked toward the castle’s entrance, where Dalgleish and his network waited and where I hoped to gather intelligence that would make this deception worth it.
A manin evening wear examined our invitations. “Ms. Moore, Mr. Sutherland,” he said before returning them with a courteous nod. “Welcome. The gala is through the next set of doors.”
The grand hall soared above us with rows of crystal chandeliers that cast warm light over guests whose jewelry was as real as mine was fake. Waiters circulated with champagne, and a string quartet played in the corner.
I scanned the room, picking up on conversations.
“Champagne?” Vanguard settled his hand on my lower back and offered me a glass.
“Thank you, darling,” I said, sounding far more like Helena Moore than myself.
We moved through the crowd, making small talk, laughing at appropriate moments, and playing our roles while searching for our targets.
I spotted Dalgleish near the center of the hall. His silver hair was perfectly coiffed, and he was standing with Ian MacKenzie. Surrounding them were well-dressed men whose faces rarely appeared in photographs.
“There,” I murmured to Vanguard.
“I see them.”
We circulated closer, stopping first to speak with a banker from London, then an American tech investor, followed by a French diplomat’s wife.
Gradually, we worked closer to Dalgleish’s circle.
A woman examining a medieval manuscript gave me the opening I needed.
“The pieces here are remarkable,” I said. “Though I confess I’m more interested in modern acquisitions.”
“Are you a collector?” she asked in a heavy German accent.
“In a modest way. Contemporary European artists, primarily.” I offered my hand. “I’m Helena Moore.”
“You should speak with James—our host. He has excellent connections.”
Exactly what I’d hoped she’d suggest.
When she caught his attention with a subtle gesture, he excused himself and joined us.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, offering his hand.
The woman made introductions, then drifted away.
His eyes sharpened as we fell into a conversation about art that seemed more like a negotiation as he measured myknowledge and whether I was serious. All the while, MacKenzie studied me in a way that rattled me.
“I’m hosting a viewing next week at my gallery in Edinburgh,” Dalgleish said after several minutes. “Selected pieces, eager buyers only. Perhaps you’d be interested?”
“I’d be delighted.”
He gestured to the men beside him. “Allow me to introduce my colleagues. Ian MacKenzie, Vadim Karpov, Hassan Al-Rashid, and Chen Wei.”
