Chapter 6: The Masked Ball

Preston held a masked ball in my memory ten days after the funeral.

The invitation called it "A Night for Imogen" and promised the auction of the Lifeline tiara to benefit a fund in her name.

The tracker from the lilies sat in a shielded bag on Jasper's desk, still silent and still ours.

Someone in Preston's circle had stood in that cemetery lot, and he knew his signal had stopped moving.

He was hunting a living woman, and he had just thrown a party in a dead one's name.

"He wants the press to forget the loupe," Jasper said. "And he wants every mourner with money in one room, so he can look at their faces."

"Then I give him a face," I said. "Just not mine."

"He also wants three million dollars from people who feel sorry for him," I said.

"Then we send him someone with three million dollars."

Nathan's office had created Iris Dale in two days.

She was an investor with a clean history, a company on paper and a seat at the best table.

I wore a midnight blue gown cut high at the neck and long gloves that covered my scar.

My hair was pinned up under a black lace mask, and a wig the color of dark honey fell past my shoulders.

Jasper wore a black tuxedo and a plain black mask over his eyes.

He offered me his arm at the door.

"Rule one," he said. "If I say leave, we leave."

"Rule one. I remember."

"Say it back."

"If you say leave, we leave."

"Good." His eyes went over my face once, slowly, behind the mask. "You look like someone I've never met."

"That's the idea."

"It works too well."

I did not ask what he meant.

The ballroom was the same room as the gala.

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