[Event night]
Amy stepped out of the bathroom in her gold dress with a side cut that showcased her right leg as she walked. The fabric hugged her curves and caught the light every time she moved. Her earrings sparkled, the necklace drew attention to her collarbone, and the bracelet glimmered whenever she raised her hand. She adjusted the fake wedding ring on her finger, smoothing the dress.
A thought interrupted her focus. 'He will go crazy when he sees me.'
Ray turned from the mirror just as she approached and froze for half a second. The tux fit him perfectly as usual. His own silent thought hit just as fast. 'She looks incredible. Too incredible. Not good. Focus, Ray.'
Amy swallowed when she saw him.
'Of course, he has to look like a walking sin in a tux. Great. Perfect. How is Rosa surviving dating this man? I can barely survive looking at him,' she thought. 'C'mon, Amy. You are thinking of how hot your best friend's boyfriend is? What's wrong with you? Arggg. Focus on the job.'
Ray tried to force his expression back to neutral, but the corner of his mouth twitched before he looked away.
They synced their earpods with practiced ease.
"Coms check," Amy murmured.
"Clear," Ray answered.
Next came weapons.
Then the weapons.
Ray opened the suitcase on the table and prepped up. Two compact handguns in the leg rigs under his suit pants. One more at the small of his back.
Amy lifted her leg onto the table. Her dress slid down, revealing well-toned legs and the strapped thigh holster beneath her dress.
Ray looked away immediately. 'Do not look. Do not look. Rosa would chop you with her axe. She looks amazing. Stop it. Fuck! We should really sit down and talk about this... tension between us. She's trying too hard, so am I... God help me.'
Amy kept adjusting the strap, extra aware of his presence.
'Get it together, Santiago. You are armed, dressed, and professional. But holy hell, he smells good tonight," She thought.
She snapped the Glock into place, checked the safety, and smoothed her dress down.
"All set," she said, voice steady.
"Yeah." Ray swallowed, just once. "Let's go."
Amy stepped beside him. Ray offered his arm. She took it, fingers settling against the crook of his elbow like they'd been doing this for years. Both rings glinted.
Inside Amy's chest, something twisted.
'This feels way too natural. Damn it. If he weren't with Rosa, I'd climb that man like a tree.'
Inside Ray's, another voice answered.
'If Rosa saw this, she'd kill me, Amy, and then herself. And she'd be right.'
But the mission came first.
They walked out of the suite, leaving the quiet behind. Their steps matched perfectly, two professionals who also happened to look like a dangerously attractive couple headed into high society.
...[Roof]...
The elevator opened to the rooftop deck.
The party glowed under soft lighting and subtle music. High-profile guests mingled with glasses of champagne. The majority are couples. The city skyline framed everything like a perfect postcard. Somewhere among these people, their target was waiting.
Ray leaned close as they stepped forward.
"Too many people. Let's get an eye on Travis and Melissa first. Then if they split up, we'll too. I'll take Travis, you go for Melissa," He whispered.
"Alright. Showtime," Amy whispered back.
Ray's eyes went to the corner bar. Travis stood there exactly as the intel they got from spying on him for the past few days, but somehow worse. The man was guzzling whiskey like he was trying to drown an invisible demon. Every twenty seconds, he checked his watch, jittery and sweating through his expensive suit.
Amy spotted Melissa a few steps away, laughing too loudly with a circle of women who were more invested in their own drama than the person speaking. Melissa's smile was tight. Her eyes kept darting toward her husband.
"Look at him," Amy murmured. "He's one drink away from face planting into the ice bucket."
Ray nodded. "And she is pretending she is not married to a man who smells like a distillery in human form."
"Weird way to prep for an illegal deal," Amy said. "How is he even supposed to stay awake long enough to meet the dealer?"
"Desperation. People make dumb choices when they're scared," Ray replied.
They walk toward the dance floor because it gives them the widest view of both targets. They began to dance along with the other couples.
Ray leaned in close, the picture of a loving husband whispering to his wife. His hand rested lightly on the small of Amy's back. Amy's arm looped around his shoulder like it belonged there.
To everyone watching, they looked like any other beautiful power couple enjoying their night.
To each other, they looked like danger.
Amy's eyes stayed locked on Melissa's group even as Ray guided them across the floor. They had a perfect angle. Travis, Melissa, the exit and the bar... All in all, every possible escape route.
Amy's chest brushed his with every subtle sway. His breath brushed her ear when he leaned in to whisper.
"You look tense. Something's wrong?"
Amy forced a soft laugh. "No. Everything's fine." She swallowed the heat in her throat. "Just thinking."
He studied her face for half a beat longer than necessary. Too perceptive. Too practiced at reading microexpressions. The music shifted and he pulled her in a little closer to spin her around the floor. When they turned, the skyline lit behind him like a photograph.
"We need to talk after this mission," he said.
Her pulse jumped so fast she felt it in her throat. She managed a laugh, soft and a little breathy. "God, please. I mean yes. We should really talk."
Her hand tightened on his shoulder.
His fingers tightened on her waist.
Neither of them looked at each other just then. They stayed focused on the targets because looking at each other would feel too honest.
Ray's voice dropped even lower. "Travis is too jumpy. He is going to make a move soon. Maybe even before the exchange."
Amy nodded. "I see it. He keeps checking the stairs."
"He might slip away from Melissa. Or, it's time. The dealer is here somewhere, hiding among the crowd."
They danced right past Travis. He did not even notice them. He was too busy breathing like he was about to have a panic attack.
"Look at his hands," Ray murmured.
Amy did. Travis's fingers trembled around the glass.
"He looks afraid," she said. "Or, too much drink?"
"He was drinking to hide his nerves but his hands are still shaking. Which tells us that whoever this dealer is, he or she is dangerous enough to make someone like Travis sweat and tremble in fear," Ray replied.
They drifted back toward the center of the dance floor.
Ray shifted his attention from the couple they were tracking to the rest of the people around them.
He watched how guests hovered around the bar, who laughed too loudly, who stared too long at exits, who hid their hands in their pockets for reasons that were not related to the cold breeze drifting through the rooftop. Most of the people were ordinary. Wealthy, drunk, bored. They moved with the unbothered ease of people who believed the world would always cushion their falls.
But a handful did not match the tone of the night.
A man by the appetizers table kept shifting his weight, checking the door behind him. A woman in a silver dress had her purse angled too stiffly against her ribcage. Two men near the safety railing stood with their backs too straight, their heads turning in a rhythm that looked rehearsed.
Ray cataloged them in his mind. He recognized three movements that seasoned criminals shared. The stiff shoulder roll. The delayed blink. The micro hesitation before turning their head. They appeared in criminals who had spent enough time in high-risk circles that they learned to hide their tells but never fully erased them.
Amy turned them toward the far end of the dance floor. She kept her eyes focused on Melissa, but she could sense Ray's attention drifting and tightening like a wire. She felt the shift in his body before he even spoke.
He went still.
Then his grip on her waist tightened by a fraction, the kind of subtle shift only someone pressed against him would feel.
"Something wrong?" she murmured quietly, lips barely moving.
Ray did not answer for a moment. His jaw flexed once. He was looking at the mocktail area. His breath left him in a very slow exhale, the kind that came with recognition he did not like.
Amy followed his gaze.
She saw nothing unusual at first. Just more guests, more champagne, more polite laughter.
Then she noticed the height difference.
A man stood there with a mocktail glass in his hand, towering above everyone else. He was six feet five inches at least, broad like someone built out of concrete and stubbornness. His posture was relaxed in the way that seasoned mercenaries sometimes stood in public, as if they were confident nothing in a fifty mile radius could threaten them.
Beside him was a woman no one would have noticed if they were not looking carefully. Dark hair, slim build, about five feet seven inches tall. She looked like someone who could slip through a crowd without leaving a memory behind.
Amy saw Ray's eyes narrow just slightly. Enough to tell her this was not a casual observation.
"You know them," she whispered.
Ray nodded once. His voice was low. "I worked with them on three missions. Off the books. Very dangerous ones."
Amy looked curious. "Friends?"
Ray shook his head very slowly.
"Not friends. Not enemies either. It's complicated." His gaze stayed locked on the pair. "But that brute being here is never a good thing."
"Why?" She asked.
"Because every mission he leads ends up in a massive shootout and explosions, followed by a long car chase. And the last time I heard, he left the special unit. So, he's working alone. Which means he's here for someone bad... Might be this dealer of ours, and he might try to nab him or outright shoot him, depending on the situation. And that girl beside him is also a pro. Don't let her slim build fool you. She's a beast. I once saw her take down four armed men who were much bigger than her in less than twenty seconds with just her fists. Though her real job is a forensic accountant," Ray explained as they walked away from the dance floor.
"Do these friends of yours have a name?" Amy asked.
---
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