CHAPTER 23
Chapter Title: Masquerade of Motives
Kathy
I took a slow sip of sweet tea, the icy bite a fleeting reprieve against the back of my throat. The sun had slipped below the horizon, cloaking the house in twilight’s half-light, with porch lamps casting lazy pools of gold across the cracked walkway. Forty-five minutes. That was my window before Ace arrived—enough time to stitch myself into someone who belonged somewhere that mattered.
I set the glass down with a soft clink and eyed the paper bag on the counter, its contents practically smirking with their utilitarian charm: a sleek cosmetic kit, a slim pack of razors, a bottle of clean-linen lotion, a travel-size deodorant, nude nail polish, and a bottle of Katy Perry’s Mad Love, glinting like a whispered vow. Someone had curated this for a woman on the run—or the woman they expected to dazzle at dinner.
I moved with purpose. The shower was a brisk ritual—scalding water, quick lather, razor slicing clean lines across my legs. Steam softened the bathroom’s edges, wrapping the world in a hushed, private haze. I smoothed lotion over my calves and arms, its crisp scent blending with a single spritz of perfume at my collarbone and wrists, where I hoped his fingers would linger. Deodorant followed, a practical afterthought. The bottles clinked faintly as I tucked them away, their work done.
While the quick-dry nail polish set on my toes, I painted my nails in one steady coat—no time for perfection—and eyed the white dress from Emma’s shop, hanging like a patient promise on the closet door. Its clean lines and fitted waist made it striking in its simplicity.
But as I reached for it, I remembered the note. There are dresses in the closet.
Curiosity tugged, laced with a flicker of hope that I’d find something to catch the spark in Ace’s eyes. I swung the doors open, and Kimberly’s wardrobe unfurled like a masquerade—rows of silk, chiffon, and satin swaying like dancers waiting for music. A light blue halter-neck silk maxi dress caught my eye, its fitted waist and flowing fabric whispering seduction. I pulled it from the rack, hesitating as I ran my fingers over the silk, imagining how it might feel under his gaze. Slipping it on, the fabric caressed my skin like a lover’s touch, clinging in all the right places. I swept my hair into a sleek, high ponytail, letting a few strands fall loose to frame my face. In the mirror, I saw someone radiant, almost untouchable—a version of me I wanted Ace to want.
My phone buzzed, snapping me back. A text from Davis: surveillance team confirmed, cable-company cover, 0800. Fingerprint expert on board, metadata pushed by Chen. Small wins, but they did little to dull the prickle at the base of my skull. Someone was scattering breadcrumbs, leading me somewhere. I just didn’t know where.
But there was no time to overthink.
I shaped my eyebrows, swept on eyeshadow and mascara, dusted blush across my cheeks, and dabbed gloss onto lips that felt fuller, softer than I liked to admit. The polish dried fast; earrings clicked into place, a necklace brushed against my collarbone. The scarf that came with the dress draped loosely around my shoulders, a whisper of elegance. White sandals courtesy of Kimberly completed the look.
One last sip of sweet tea steadied the butterflies. I pinched my cheeks into a smile, slipped my checkbook into my clutch, and headed for the door. Before leaving, I wedged a thin slip of paper in the frame—a trick older than my badge. If anyone entered while I was gone, I’d know.
Ace arrived on time. Of course he did.
He leaned against a black Lexus, black jacket open, no tie, exuding the neat-dangerous air of someone born in a tailor’s shop but hardened by something more. His eyes caught me—first polite, then lingering—before a smile curved his lips, slow and unguarded, as if he’d been waiting to see this version of me.
“You’re a vision, Hastings,” he said, his voice low, laced with a warmth that felt like it was just for me.
“Thanks,” I replied, my tone teasing to mask the heat rising in my cheeks. "You always this subtle or am I just lucky?"
He stepped closer, his half-smirk sending my pulse racing. “You’re more than lucky. You’re… something else entirely.”
The words could’ve been playful, but the way his gaze held mine—steady, unguarded—made them feel like a confession. Ace had a way of balancing charm and intensity, like a flame you wanted to touch despite the burn. He opened the passenger door with a small, gallant flourish, his hand brushing mine as I slid in, the contact sending a jolt through me.
The drive toward the water was short, the silence between us charged. Streetlights flickered across his profile as he drove with quiet confidence—hands at ten and two, jaw set, eyes scanning the road but stealing glances at me. I tried to keep it light.
“Is this a date or a job-related social?” I asked, trying for cool.
He glanced over, his half-grin wicked and warm. “Why choose? I’m greedy—I want both.” His voice dropped, teasing. “And you’re making it hard to focus on the road.”
My laugh was softer than I meant, my hand brushing his arm, deliberate this time, the contact lingering like a shared secret. His cologne—amber and tobacco, rich and intoxicating—wove through the air, pulling me closer. Our fingers grazed again, and I didn’t pull away, letting the warmth of his skin anchor me.
We turned off the main road, oaks arching overhead like a cathedral, muting the town’s hum to a whisper of wind and waves. The drive opened to a building from a dream—a place where names carried weight and glances held promises. White clapboard, stately columns, a brass plaque glinting: Crisfield Crown Yacht Club. A world where entry demanded a key I didn’t have—but Ace did.
I glanced at him. “This is… not what I expected.” Though the grocery fairy’s bag had hinted at it.
He smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Good. Tonight’s a fundraiser. Divine Williamson donated that burned warehouse land for low-income housing.”
My eyes narrowed. Bring my checkbook, indeed. A flicker of fury sparked, but the thought of seeing Divine—and staying close to Ace—kept it at bay.
Ace parked under the portico. The valet’s glance lingered on him, then me, like cataloguing a new pair of players at the table. Ace circled to my side, and when he offered his arm, I let mine slip into the crook of his. Old-fashioned, grounding, almost romantic—though I hated how much I needed that steadiness.
“Ready?” he asked.
“For what?” My voice tilted lighter than I meant it.
“For the night to unfold,” he murmured, low, meant for me alone. “Fair warning—my boss is… uptight.”
“Your boss?”
“Divine Williamson,” he said, and my stomach dropped. "I'm her head of security."
The revelation stung.
Not everyone bows down to the Williamson name... I fell for it! I'm such an idiot!
Betrayal coiled tight in my chest, but I forced a smile.
“And now the plot thickens,” I said, my voice sharp with barely veiled anger.
“Don’t be like that, Special Agent Hastings,” he murmured, unfazed. My eyes widened in surprise. “Don’t look so shocked. Emma spilled when I swung back for the scarf.” His smile was disarming. “You’ve been turning over every stone in town chasing your sister's shadow. I know you’d eventually storm the Williamson estate, badge blazing, and knowing Divine, she would have your career in a chokehold. This way, you get to read her, profile her with that FBI brain of yours, and stay out of trouble."
“So you cooked this up at lunch?” I pressed, probing. “Because I saw Emma after. Maybe you didn’t get the tip from her. Maybe it came from Chief Morgan.” His jaw twitched, a tell.
“Truth?” His voice softened, and he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek—a touch that sent a shiver through me. “I wanted you here as my date. Divine’s invite came later.”
His words—my date—hung between us, a promise I wanted to believe, even as doubt gnawed at me. I gasped. “Divine invited me?”
“Now you’re thrilled,” he teased, laughing softly.
I forced a smile, brittle on my lips. “Thrilled isn’t the word.”
“Come on,” he said, hand pressing gently at the small of my back as he guided me forward. “Thanks to you, I’m eating free tonight.”
The touch was feather-light, but it burned. My skin, my pulse, my carefully built walls. Burned because part of me wanted to lean into it.
Inside, the lobby smelled of polished wood, lemon oil, and the faint allure of expensive perfume. Chandeliers cast golden pools, waiters glided like shadows, and a pianist wove a delicate melody.
Ace led me to a corner alcove by a balcony overlooking the marina, where yachts stood like silent guardians, their reflections dancing in the water. The room hummed with the quiet power of exclusive circles, but Ace’s nearness made it fade.
At a small table sat Hank and Divine Williamson—built like royalty carved into flesh. Hank Williamson exuded quiet authority, his suit a second skin, blond hair framing easy confidence. It was easy to see why Kimberly fell for him.
And then there was Divine.
She wore emerald silk that caught the light like envy itself, her hair swept back to showcase sharp cheekbones and a neck that demanded attention. Her smile welcomed but measured, her eyes flicking over me with a hint of judgment—impressed, yet certain I was out of place.
Ace introduced me with a warmth that felt personal. “Hank, Divine—this is Katherine Hastings.”
Hank’s handshake was firm, steadying. Divine’s voice was silk over steel. “Special Agent Katherine Hastings, we’re so glad you could join us.” Ace’s earlier reveal softened her barb. I didn’t flinch, my smile cool and practiced.
Their greetings were polished, precise. But the only thing I felt was the warm, steady brush of Ace standing just half a step behind me, relaxed yet protective.
And against all better judgment, I was glad he was there.
Despite Divine’s disdain and my own naivety, I wanted what this night might reveal—about the Williamsons, about my sister, and maybe about myself.