After all that had happened to Lila recently, it wasn’t unlikely that an Italian would want to kill her.
But Roman mercs and Bullstow militiamen would still have to scale the walls of the Randolph compound and sneak into her family’s garage. They’d still have to dodge Randolph patrols and avoid all the cameras.
On the other hand, Sergeant Davies was a rather small man.
Put a red wig on him…
Lila saved the data to a star drive and shoved her laptop into her satchel, ready to get rid of it at her first opportunity.
She had work to do.
Chapter 15
Lila woke at six o’clock the next morning, belly still tender from the surgery, muscles stiff and sore from the accident, hip bruised where she’d struck the pavement and rolled. Banned or not, she wasn’t in any shape to tackle the obstacle course, much less a few laps at the track. She couldn’t even muster up the energy for a quick walk around the compound, leaving her body weak and her mind groggy from the lack of exercise.
Lack of sleep hadn’t helped, either. She hadn’t avoided her bed because of more dreams of the oracles or nightmares about the warehouse. She’d been too busy, spending most of the night poring over the Liberté data, not able to tear herself away after seeing how many highborn the Baron had bribed.
Senators, too.
Especially senators.
She’d given up the hunt after several hours, too tired to hack cleanly, her fingers too sore to continue.
She’d have another long day of it ahead of her, a day cut short by the damn Closing Ball.
Reluctantly Lila forced herself out from under her warm blankets. She trotted through the drafty room, easing herself into a hot bath. Steam rose as she slid in, and she scented the water with apple, scrubbing her hair in slow strokes. She could have stayed in the bath quite happily all morning, all afternoon, and all night, lingering until her skin shriveled into pink prunes, the water passing from hot to warm to tepid to cold. She could have skipped the Closing Ball altogether if only everyone would leave her alone.
But no one left anyone alone in the great house.
Certainly not her mother.
Certainly not when that someone was prime.
Lila stepped out of tub with a great deal of effort and admonished herself for lingering. At least something good would come out of the Closing Ball. She hadn’t danced at one in ages, since an unmatched and childless heir caused too much of a stir.
Dancing was the only thing she actually enjoyed at balls, so long as her partner closed his mouth and stopped talking about children, either the ones he already had or the ones he inevitably promised to help her create.
How many senators controlled by the Baron would be at the ball tonight?
How many reasons did she have for not wanting to go? Not wanting to be prime, not wanting to dance with compromised souls, not wanting to waste an evening better spent researching the Baron…
Not wanting to drift further away from Tristan.
She hunched over the countertop, trying not to smack her head against the mirror. “I don’t want to go tonight,” she moaned, feeling like a teenager and knowing she was acting like one.
She promised herself another five minutes, and only five minutes, of sulking.
Ten minutes later, she finally pushed herself out of the bathroom and padded to her closet. She dressed in casual highborn clothing and sat for a quick breakfast in the morning room, consisting of tea, buttered toast, and an orange.
Thankfully, the rest of her family had not woken up yet.
Most wouldn’t, not for a while. The day of the Closing Ball was a holiday throughout the Allied Lands. She donned a thick woolen coat and sent a message to Sutton, then slipped from the great house doors.
Gray clouds threatened overhead. Mist pooled around her. Little golden leaves dropped onto her hair, damp with fog.
She strolled down Villanueva Lane toward the south gate, recognizing Sergeant Nolan and his rookie inside the gatehouse. The rookie peered over the instrument panel as his superior pointed out different buttons.
Lila approved. Today was an excellent time for a lesson, for no traffic waited to be waved inside the compound. In fact, most business owners around the estate had shuttered their doors for the holiday. Only the most stubborn ran a skeleton crew on the day of the ball.