Page 9 of Unlocked

Outside on the sidewalk, Jason offered his hand. "Thank you, Archer. I know you'll do what you can. I really appreciate it."

Archer considered cautioning him and then decided it was pointless. Jason had heard what he wanted to hear.

He nodded, and Jason strode off down the street.

Archer watched him go and realized two things.

First, he had made several mistakes that evening, letting show what he actually felt about the situation. That was unlike him. Sloppy. He didn't do sloppy.

Second, he was losing his taste for lying to people. For manipulating them. For being around them at all.

Maybe it was time to leave the Society. Of course, he couldn't leave it in Austin Davis's hands. That was unthinkable.

And to leave, he was supposed to die. No one retired from running the Lock and Key Society.

Also unthinkable.

But maybe, just maybe, there was a third avenue available to him.

Archer turned and walked the other way, taking in the sights and sounds of Montmartre as he turned it over in his mind. Did he really want to leave? Maybe. Or maybe he was just having a bad day, week, month, or possibly year. It didn't hurt to work out a plan regardless.

Planning, after all, was the key to everything.

CHAPTER FIVE

Tatum Wellington smiled at the man droning on in front of her. She'd stopped listening five minutes ago but kept offering him the occasional smile of encouragement. Wilfred Lancaster was a blowhard who loved to pontificate on any topic, being informed on everything and equally certain that his opinion was the most valuable in the room. At a little over six feet with brown eyes and the jowls of a basset hound, he was, in fact, the biggest bore in the room.

However, he was the best cover possible. He would chat away for hours without expecting her to respond with anything other than a nod and a smile. Indeed, if she did bother to say anything, he would cut her off and dismiss her thoughts as erroneous unless they were in full agreement with his own.

Tatum offered another nod accompanied by a small smile when Lancaster paused, and he was off again, talking about foreign trade and car parts.

Anyone else would assume she was dying to leave the conversation, but Tatum was hiding in plain sight. Hours spent working on the Ponzi scheme case had been punishing, and she simply didn't have it in her to actually talk to anyone this evening. But her mother had insisted she come, and it was, in fact, easier to put on a dress and attend the gala than have a knock-down, drag-out fight with her. And what did that say about her?

It said she was exhausted, and her mother was a colossal pain in the ass. It said it was time for Tatum to get a life somewhere far away from the family law firm. Tatum Wellington needed to grab a spine and grow a set when it came to her parents. She stifled a sigh.

"Don't you think?" Lancaster said, staring at her.

Tatum stared back. She'd lost the thread of the conversation a good while ago. She offered him a wan smile. "I'm sorry, Wilfred, I need to have a word with my mother before I leave for the evening. It was lovely to see you." She gestured across the ballroom to a statuesque woman clad in a deep blue gown by the latest in-demand designer.

"Oh, of course," Lancaster said immediately. "Do send her my best wishes." He gave a small bow and quickly moved off in the opposite direction. Everyone feared her mother, including Lancaster. He'd been on the receiving end of her bitter tongue on more than one occasion and was no doubt not anxious to experience it again.

Tatum didn't blame him one bit.

She headed across the ballroom toward her mother, who was holding court near the center of the floor.

Margaret Stanhope Wellington of the Connecticut Stanhopes. Bunny to her friends, but only her old friends. The people who'd known her before marriages, mergers, and reputations became currency. To everyone else, she was Margaret. To Tatum's father, Stuart Wellington, she was Maggie.

"I haven't seen you all evening," Bunny said, leaning in to air-kiss Tatum's cheek. The words were light. The meaning wasn't.

"Hello, Mother. You look ravishing this evening."

And she did. Bunny Stanhope didn't age; she curated. Her crystal-blue eyes still sparkled, sharp and observant, missing nothing. The same eyes Tatum saw every morning in the mirror. Mother’s hair was pulled back and dyed a perfect white-blonde. Expensive. Immaculate. Intentional.

"I was just saying to Joshua and Robert"—Bunny gestured to the men beside her without breaking eye contact with Tatum— “how you've been working so hard and are taking a short vacation."

To anyone else, it would have sounded like praise. Tatum heard the accusation underneath it. Absent. Distracted. Not where you're supposed to be.

"It's not a vacation, Mother. It's pro bono work to help the victims of the Granite Industries Ponzi scheme, and it's a lot of work. I just got back from Japan. I was trying to trace some of the money."