Last Man Standing. Julie Miller

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      Victoria Westin had just slipped something inside the lining of her jacket. Cole moved closer to watch. She smoothed lipstick over her lips and smacked them together, studying her appearance in the mirror. The luscious shape of her mouth interested him almost as much as what she did next. Instead of replacing the cap, she unscrewed something from the bottom of the tube and tucked that into her jacket as well.

      “What are you up to?” he whispered to the image on his screen.

      Cole buttoned his jacket as she opened her door and peered into the hallway. He typed in a command and switched the view to the one from the upstairs hallway camera, and caught her slinking along the railing toward the landing’s sitting area.

      “That’s beyond curious, lady. Who are you?”

      Instincts borne of too many years on the job transformed his suspicion into a defensive awareness that radiated through his skeleton and sharpened every sense. He looked past her to the bigger picture on the screen.

      Where was Aaron? Polakis was supposed to be watching her until dinner.

      A nosy guest. A missing guard.

      Too many unanswered questions.

      When Ms. Westin peeked over the top of the banister before tiptoeing down the stairs, a plan took shape in Cole’s mind.

      It was crazy. It was desperate.

      But it was a plan.

      WITH RIMSKY-KORSAKOV filling the room and the ear of whomever might be listening on the other end, Tori slipped out her door and made her way to the grand staircase.