Chapter 5 First Blood

The Velvet Room was exactly the kind of place Nora had expected: dark wood paneling, low lighting from crystal chandeliers, leather booths that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Jazz music played softly in the background, barely audible over the murmur of expensive conversations.

Nora sat at the bar in a black cocktail dress that hugged her body in ways that made her uncomfortable. Her hair was styled in loose waves, her makeup flawless thanks to Beverley’s surprisingly skilled hands. Diamond earrings that were probably fake sparkled at her ears.

She looked like money. Like someone who belonged here but she felt like a fraud.

“Remember,” Noah’s voice crackled in her ear through the tiny earpiece hidden beneath her hair. “He sits in the third booth from the back. Always orders a scotch, neat. He’s usually alone until someone catches his interest.”

Nora took a sip of her martini, trying to calm her nerves. Her hands were trembling slightly.

“Relax,” Sam’s voice joined in. “You look perfect. Just be confident. Men like Holloway can smell desperation.”

“Easy for you to say,” Nora whispered, turning slightly away from the other patrons. “You’re not the one who has to seduce a stranger.”

“You don’t have to seduce him,” Noah corrected. “Just intrigue him. Make him want to know more about you.”

“He just walked in,” Beverley’s voice cut through, cold and professional. She was positioned outside in a car with Sam, monitoring through security cameras they had hacked. “Northeast entrance. Gray suit, burgundy tie. Right on schedule.”

Nora’s heart rate spiked. She glanced toward the entrance and saw him.

Julian Holloway was exactly as Noah had described: fifty-two, tall, silver hair styled immaculately, the kind of face that came from good genes and expensive skincare. He moved through the bar with the confidence of someone who had never been told no in his life.

He headed straight for his usual booth.

“Wait sixty seconds,” Noah instructed. “Let him get settled. Order his drink. Then you make your move.”

Nora counted in her head, each second feeling like an hour. She watched Holloway in the mirror behind the bar as a waitress approached him. He ordered without looking at the menu. The waitress smiled at him in a way that suggested this wasn’t his first time here.

“Now,” Noah said. “Walk past his booth. Drop something near it. Your lipstick, anything. Give him a reason to notice you.”

Nora slid off her barstool, grabbed her clutch, and started walking. Her heels clicked on the marble floor. As she passed Holloway’s booth, she let her lipstick slip from her fingers. It clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop near his table.

“Oh, damn it,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

She bent to pick it up, very aware of how the dress hugged her figure as she did.

“Allow me.”

Holloway’s voice was smooth, cultured. He had already left his booth and was picking up her lipstick before she could reach it. He held it out to her, his eyes making a quick but appreciative sweep of her body.

“Thank you,” Nora said, meeting his gaze. She smiled, warm but not too eager. “Clumsy of me.”

“Not at all.” He didn’t move away. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.”

“First time,” Nora said. “A friend recommended it. Said it was the best place in Manhattan for people who appreciate the finer things.”

“Your friend has excellent taste.” Holloway’s smile widened. “Julian Holloway.”

“Vanessa,” Nora said, using the fake name Noah had given her. “Vanessa Reed.”

“It’s a pleasure, Vanessa. Can I buy you a drink? It seems a shame for someone as beautiful as you to be drinking alone.”

“Perfect,” Noah whispered in her ear. “Accept. Be charming.”

“I’d like that,” Nora said.

Twenty minutes later, they were deep in conversation. Holloway was easier to talk to than she had expected. He was charming, funny even, telling stories about his travels, his work as a hedge fund manager, his passion for art collecting. Nora played her part perfectly: the mysterious woman new to the city, cultured, interested in investments, looking to make connections.

She laughed at his jokes. Touched his arm lightly when making a point. Let him order another round of drinks.

“You’re doing great,” Noah’s voice encouraged. “He’s hooked. Now start steering toward his place.”

“So,” Nora said, leaning in slightly. “Tell me about your art collection. You mentioned a Rothko?”

Holloway’s eyes lit up. “Yes. I have a small but impressive collection at my apartment. Contemporary pieces, mostly. The Rothko is my pride and joy.”

“I’d love to see it sometime,” Nora said, her voice carefully casual. “I studied art history in college. There’s something about seeing a piece in person that photos can never capture.”

Holloway’s smile turned predatory in a way that made Nora’s skin crawl. “Well, I’m not doing anything else tonight. Would you like to see it now?”

“Hook, line, and sinker,” Sam’s voice crackled. “Nice work, Nora.”

“I’d love to,” Nora said, smiling.

-----

Holloway’s apartment was a penthouse in Tribeca. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, lights glittering like stars below. The art on the walls probably cost more than most houses. Everything was white and chrome and glass, sterile in its perfection.

“Impressive,” Nora said, and she meant it.

“Thank you.” Holloway poured them both wine from a bottle that probably cost a thousand dollars. “The Rothko is in the study. I’ll show you in a moment.”

“You’re in,” Noah said in her ear. “Now you need to get to his computer. The study. Plant the device and get him away from it for fifteen minutes.”

Nora accepted the wine, took a sip. In her clutch was a small USB drive, no bigger than her thumbnail. Sam had explained it would clone Holloway’s hard drive remotely once plugged in.

All she had to do was get to his computer.

“So, Vanessa,” Holloway said, his voice dropping lower. “What brings a woman like you to New York?”

“New opportunities,” Nora said, crossing her legs. “Fresh start.”

“Running from something?” His fingers brushed her shoulder.

“Toward something,” she corrected, meeting his eyes. “Actually, do you mind if I use your restroom?”

“Of course. Down the hall, second door on the left.”

Nora stood, grabbing her clutch. As she walked down the hallway, Noah’s voice guided her.

“Third door on the right. That’s his study.”

Nora glanced back. Holloway was pouring himself more wine, his back to her. She slipped into the study.

The room was smaller, lined with bookshelves. A massive desk sat in the center with a sleek laptop closed on top. Nora’s hands shook as she opened it. The screen lit up, password protected.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam said in her ear. “Just plug in the device. Any USB port.”

Nora pulled the tiny drive from her clutch and inserted it into the side of the laptop. A small light on it blinked red, then green.

“Got it,” Sam said. “I’m in. Accessing his files now. Get out of there and keep him distracted for fifteen minutes.”

Holloway leaned closer. His hand moved from the couch to her shoulder, fingers trailing down her arm. “You’re fascinating. Mysterious. I like that.”

Nora forced herself to smile even as her stomach turned. “You barely know me.”

“I’d like to know you better.”

His hand moved to her knee. Nora’s heart raced, but not from attraction. From revulsion. From the need to get this over with.

“The Rothko?” she reminded him, her voice light. “You promised to show me.”

“In a minute,” Holloway murmured, leaning in to kiss her.

Nora turned her head slightly, so his lips caught her cheek instead. “I’d really love to see it.”

“Ten more minutes,” Sam said urgently. “I need ten more minutes.”

Holloway pulled back slightly, his expression cooling. “You’re not playing hard to get, are you?”

“I’m just interested in the art,” Nora said, keeping her tone playful. “Is that so terrible?”

“Most women who come home with me aren’t interested in art.”

The implication hung heavy in the air. Nora felt trapped, the couch suddenly feeling too small, Holloway too close.

“Maybe I’m not most women,” she said.

Holloway’s expression shifted. The charm vanished, replaced by something harder. “What exactly are you here for, Vanessa?”

“I told you—”

“Five more minutes,” Sam’s voice said. “Stall him.”

“Because you’re starting to seem less like an art enthusiast and more like…” Holloway’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly do you do for a living?”

“I work in finance,” Nora said quickly. “Investments. I told you that.”

“Which firm?”

Nora’s mind raced. Noah had given her a cover story, but suddenly she couldn’t remember the name of the company. Her hands felt cold. “Uh, Neon and Associates.”

“Neon and Associates.” Holloway repeated slowly. He pulled out his phone. “Let me look that up.”

“Nora, he’s suspicious,” Noah’s voice was tight. “Sam, how much longer?”

“Two minutes. Maybe less.”

Holloway was typing on his phone. Any second now, he would realize Neon and Associates didn’t exist, was just a name Noah had made up.

Nora stood abruptly. “You know what? This was a mistake. I should go.”

Holloway stood too, blocking her path to the door. “Not yet. I want to know who you really are. Who sent you?”

“No one sent me. You’re being paranoid.”

“Am I?” His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. Hard. “Because I’ve had people try to con me before. Corporate spies, thieves. Are you working for Sanderson? Did he send you?”

“Let go of me,” Nora said, trying to pull away.

“Extraction now,” Noah’s voice commanded. “Sam, status?”

“Still downloading. I need three more minutes. Maybe two if—”

“Not until you tell me the truth.” Holloway’s grip tightened, painful now. His other hand reached into his pocket.

Nora didn’t wait to see what he was reaching for. She drove her knee up hard between his legs.

Holloway gasped, his grip loosening. Nora wrenched free, grabbed her clutch, and ran for the door. Behind her, she heard Holloway shouting, heard him stumbling after her.

She burst into the hallway, her heels clicking frantically on marble. The elevator was too far. She hit the stairwell door, yanking it open, and started running down.

“Nora, talk to me,” Noah’s voice in her ear. “Where are you?”

“Stairwell,” she gasped, taking the stairs two at a time. “He grabbed me. He knew something was wrong.”

“Damn it. Sam, did she pull the device?”

A pause. “No. It’s still in his laptop.”

“Shit.” Noah’s voice was tight with anger. “If he finds that USB, he’ll have proof someone hacked him. Nora, you need to go back and—”

“I can’t!” Nora’s voice cracked. “He’s chasing me!”

“Keep moving. We’re pulling the car around. Exit through the parking garage, level two.”

Nora’s lungs burned. Her feet screamed in the heels. Behind her, the stairwell door crashed open. Holloway was coming.

She hit the parking garage level, burst through the door, and saw the black sedan screeching toward her. The back door flew open.

“Get in!” Beverley shouted.

Nora dove into the car. Sam hit the gas before she even got the door closed, tires squealing as they shot out of the garage. Through the back window, Nora saw Holloway emerge from the stairwell, his phone pressed to his ear, his face twisted with rage.

The car careened onto the street, weaving through traffic.

For several minutes, no one spoke. Nora’s chest heaved, her whole body shaking from adrenaline.

“Did you get it?” she finally gasped. “Did we get what we needed?”

Silence.

“Sam?” Nora’s voice rose. “Did you get the files?”

“No.” Sam’s voice was flat. “I got disconnected before the download finished. Partial data, useless without the encryption keys. The job failed.”

Nora’s blood turned to ice. “But… but you were in his system. You had access.”

“Which means nothing without the complete files,” Beverley snapped from the passenger seat. “Congratulations. You didn’t just get made. You failed to deliver.”

“The job’s not done,” Noah said quietly, his face grim as he turned to look at her.

“Then it’s not fine,” Nora said, her voice shaking. “The job’s not done, right?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Noah turned in the passenger seat to look at her, his face grim.

“You were made, Nora. He knows your face. He now knows you’re a con. We didn’t get what we needed. And worse…” Noah’s jaw clenched. “He’ll report this. If he has the right connections, if he talks to the right people…”

“What?” Nora asked, though she already knew.

“He might be able to trace this back to us,” Beverley finished coldly. “Which means you didn’t just fail your first job. You compromised the entire operation and got us nothing.”

The car went silent except for the sound of tires on pavement and Nora’s ragged breathing.

Through the rearview mirror, Sam’s eyes met hers.

“The Mafia King is going to kill you,” he said quietly.

And Nora knew he wasn’t exaggerating.