The receptionist hesitates only a moment before stepping out. I let out a quiet sigh of relief as I hear the door close, effectively hiding me from anyone in the hall.

Travis also reacts to the sound, looking up from his desk for the first time. His eyes immediately focus on me, and he lets them wander over my figure.

He’s wearing the expression I used to fantasize Lander would have right before I stabbed him with a corkscrew.

“Dave, I gotta go. But I expect you to handle this thing quickly. Understood?” He hangs up the phone before the person on the other end could possibly have had a chance to answer. “You’re looking good, Bell,” he says. “You’ll represent me well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gable.”

I wait for him to offer me a seat.

He doesn’t.

“I have something that needs to be hand delivered to Brooklyn.”

He reaches under his desk and pulls out a rather distinctive crocodile skin briefcase. From it he takes out a small but fat manila envelope that drops onto the desk. I hesitate for just a moment before picking it up.

“Open it,” he instructs.

I do, carefully peeking inside . . .

It’s filled with money. All in twenties and hundreds.

“Count it.”

I flip through the bills: $40, $60, $80, $100, $200, $300 . . .

“There’s twenty-five hundred dollars in here,” I say when I’m done.

Travis smiles, puts the briefcase away, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Discretion will be necessary.”

The comment makes me look up sharply from the envelope. I study his face, but it’s completely unreadable.

Twenty-five hundred dollars. It’s not a lot of money for Travis—basically enough to buy his wife, Jessica, half a handbag. But it’s still a lot to carry around in cash.

“Where exactly shall I deliver this?” I ask, trying to keep my voice matter-of-fact.

He pulls out a piece of notepaper and writes down an address before sliding it over to me. “It’s an apartment building. There will be a man who answers to the nickname L.J. You’ll give him the money and he’ll give you a package to bring back here. Do not under any circumstances open the package.”

My heart is pounding against my chest so hard I’m sure Travis can hear it. It can’t be this easy, can it? Can he really be on the verge of revealing some felonious secret that I can use against him?

I so want to believe that . . . but . . . why would he give a veritable stranger that kind of power? It doesn’t make any sense. So if he isn’t giving me the tools to take him down, then it’s possible I’m being tested.

Or maybe it’s worse than that.

I know her identity.