“Are you window shopping?” Hunter surely hoped so. He didn’t like that I-want-her-back look hanging on his brother’s face.

“Not really. Nothing new on the market.” Todd hooked a hand around his neck and rubbed. “How long you in town for?”

As short a trip as possible. “Don’t know. Got a little business to do.”

“You get a free night, let me know. We’ll grab dinner.”

Guilt peeked into Hunter’s mind over how long it had been since he’d shared dinner with Todd, the only member of his family who called from time to time just to see that Hunter was still alive. None of them knew how many times that status had almost changed. “Sounds like a plan. Catch you later.”

“See you.” Todd took the scotch a waiter delivered and chugged half the drink.

Three steps away, Hunter slowed to turn around and tell his brother he’d definitely meet him for dinner, but he had no idea if he’d be in Chicago tomorrow night or halfway around the world.

He was still considering the possibility when the profile of a man standing in the atrium with the curved double stairway just beyond this ballroom caused Hunter’s pulse to vibrate. He’d seen that face with the scar running along the right cheek and jaw once before, on the night he and Eliot breached Brugmann’s compound.

During the debrief a day later, Joe and Retter had considered it unlikely that the scar-faced mystery guy could have gotten in position in time to shoot Eliot’s rope.

But the guy had been on-site the night Eliot was murdered.

Framed by the high archway opening between the rooms, the mystery man now lingered near the left base of the stairway, partially blocked by the tiered fountain in the center of the atrium.

Hunter continued moving very slowly. Standing still drew attention.

Could that guy have been the sniper or had he been only the buyer for the stolen list of names?

Either way, he’d escaped a massacre, so he had to know something about what went down after Hunter and Eliot exited Brugmann’s property.

Hunter scouted the room with vigilance, listening for the damned signal. What was Linette waiting on?

He worked casually through the cluster of attendees, letting his eyes drift back and forth as though he were interested in who was here.

When he drew within fifty feet of the mystery guy, security stepped into view on each side of the arched opening, barring anyone from entering the atrium, where the mystery guy remained.

Was he waiting for someone?

Could Hunter be staring at the man who killed Eliot?

None of the security protecting this particular area included BAD agents. He couldn’t move closer without attracting interest from them, but he was the only agent in position to observe without detection right now.

Years of training and a brutal determination to find the assassin was the only way he hid the shaking need to rush that scar-faced guy and grab him by the throat.

Hunter’s mental gears snapped into motion. He took stock of his position. Remaining in close proximity without talking to another guest would alert security, if they were on their toes.

For what the Wentworths probably paid, they should be.

Hunter did a fast assessment of everyone surrounding him, searching for one person who wouldn’t be so intent on talking they’d interfere with his surveillance.

His gaze skidded to a halt when he found Abbie again.

She stood off by herself, leaning back against a wall, studying the room almost as closely as he had.

She sure as hell wouldn’t talk to him.

He had an idea. Hunter walked over and approached from a blind side, then whispered near Abbie’s ear. “I know why you’re here.”

She froze, her hand in midair, lifting another full glass of champagne to her lips.

Damned if that reaction didn’t send his guilt meter into the red zone. He hadn’t meant to terrify her, just raise her curiosity.

“What do you want?” she said in a barely civil tone, but he heard more. Surprise, disbelief… then alarm. As though she faced dire consequences for being found out.

He had an idea why she sounded guilty. “Ten minutes.”

She licked her lips, thinking, then carefully placed the untouched champagne glass on the corner of a table and lifted away from the wall on unsteady feet.

Taking her elbow in a polite hold, he guided her to the best vantage spot for observing the mystery man, who had moved almost out of view around the corner. He turned Abbie to face him, leaving her back to the scene he watched unfold as Gwen Wentworth stepped up to the mystery guy.

Definitely a scene Hunter needed to observe, if Abbie would just play along.

She stared at the second button on his chest when she wasn’t casting a surreptitious look from side to side. “My purpose for coming has nothing to do with you, so why are you bothering me?”

“Bothering you? Just want to talk for a few minutes, and think I can help you out.” He cut his eyes up every couple seconds, keeping track of Gwen’s position. Three men descended the left side of the stairway to join her.

“I don’t need any help, but I am curious to know what you’re offering.” Abbie raised eyes full of challenge.

His ten minutes were going to disappear if he didn’t find something to get her talking. He had an idea that she wanted to meet someone since Abbie had been asking when the guest of honor would arrive. Hunter had heard that the mayor and her new husband, who’d just sold movie options on his book, were attending. They weren’t the most important celebrities in attendance, but Gwen had used a fund-raiser more than once to celebrate a political ally’s good news. Abbie had said she was a writer. Didn’t take a big leap to figure out she might want to meet the mayor’s husband.

Or possibly someone else Abbie considered notable.

Obviously not a Thornton-Payne, but anonymity with even one person was a welcome break at these events.

She’d most likely gotten into the party through a friend or a corporate invitation. If she’d stand with him for ten minutes so he could observe the meeting going on in the atrium, he’d introduce Abbie to anyone here.

Except, of course, Gwen, since that would interfere with tonight’s mission.

Hunter turned on his you’re-so-interesting tone, which brought out the best in most women. “You said you don’t know many people here and I’m familiar with a majority of this crowd. I could introduce you around.”

He kept Gwen in his peripheral vision. She made introductions between mystery guy and the three men, but if Hunter correctly read the unenthusiastic look in her eyes, the way she didn’t shake hands and the way her lips remained flat, he’d have to guess she was not a happy hostess.

“Why?” Abbie finally asked.

He hated that question. “Do I have to have a reason to help you?”

“Yes.”

Unbelievable.

“Fine. I’ve got an ulterior motive.” Hunter tilted his chin down to the top of Abbie’s head, which served two purposes. He appeared intent on whatever she was saying and leaning this close allowed him to watch Gwen’s group without Abbie realizing something else held his focus.

Her piled hair played into his view, distracting him. He’d like to see those curls sprung loose.

She crossed her arms. “What’s your ulterior motive?”

Give me a minute to think of one. Hunter was trying to get a clear look at all three men who came down the stairs to determine which one might be the American known as Vestavia. “Make you a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with men I don’t know.”

“It’s not that big a deal.” Especially since he hadn’t thought of something else to offer her. Hunter got a better visual of the dark-haired man from the trio. Could he be the one BAD knew as Brady, the former DEA agent who disappeared, then surfaced later as Fra Vestavia? His face didn’t match the image BAD had on file, but that was from almost a year ago, which allowed enough time for plastic surgery. The tallest guy with pale brown hair and stern lips could have been British. Next to him stood a rigid example of Russian features with a stern jaw line, wide forehead, and thick gray hair.