Jordan moved up a step to stand next to him. “A 2000 Château Pétrus.”

Xander’s eyes brightened with interest. “Tell me more.”

“One case, going to auction through Sotheby’s.”

“Where and when?”

Hong Kong in April, but she didn’t tell him that yet. She was about to act coy, which was something she really didn’t want to do, but it seemed like the easiest way to make sure Xander stayed out of Nick’s way. She took a deep breath and dove in. “Join me for a drink on the terrace, and I’ll tell you everything.”

She screwed it up.

Her voice came out sounding too high, her words too quick. Still, she kept outwardly calm and waited as Xander considered her offer for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, he tipped his glass to hers. “What are we waiting for?”

He gestured for her to lead the way. When her back was to Xander, Jordan finally began to breathe again, wondering how anyone survived undercover work. Thirty minutes into her first—and last—assignment and she’d nearly broken out in hives. She needed to be smoother, especially once she and Xander got onto the terrace.

For better or worse, she was on her own now.

NICK WAITED FIVE minutes after Jordan left the room. He listened politely to the guests around him, drawing as little attention to himself as possible as they discussed tannins and nuances and structure and all sorts of other mumbo jumbo that didn’t hold his attention half as much as when Jordan talked about wine. When he finished his glass of Chateau Some-Fancy-French-Crap, he asked Rafe where the bathrooms were located.

“Down the hallway, on the right-hand side,” Rafe said.

Of course, Nick had already known that. He excused himself and left the room. He walked past the bathrooms and kept going toward the staircase. If anyone spotted him, he was simply a guest who had gotten lost in the cavernous lower level after having a couple of drinks.

He paused on the other side of the staircase, at the edge of the hallway that led to Xander’s office. Satisfied that no one was around, he moved on. The first door on his left was a storage room; the next door, on the right, was a massive utility room that housed the building’s heating and cooling systems. When he reached the door at the end of the hallway, he grabbed the handle and turned.

Locked.

Obviously, he’d expected this, but it had been worth checking nevertheless. Nick reached underneath his jacket and shirt to the small pouch he had strapped to his hip. He pulled out a lock-pick set. One of the benefits of playing a criminal for six months was that he’d refined certain illicit skills, and he doubted that Eckhart’s simple deadbolt lock would give him much trouble. Being careful not to leave any sign of tampering behind, he twisted a flat, skinny torque tool into the lock while applying pressure. Then he used a pick to push up the lock pins one at a time. When the last pin was in place, he turned the torque tool like a key.

Voilà.

Nick stepped inside the office. He shut the door behind him and locked it. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and put a tiny receiver into his right ear. “Jack. I’m in.”

Pallas’s voice came through without any interference. “Sounds like you and Eckhart are getting along swimmingly.”

At least he knew that the microphone strapped to his chest, which had been active since he and Jordan had arrived at the party, was working. “Eckhart is lucky I’m being such a gentleman tonight. Otherwise, I’d be tempted to throw my coat over his head, toss him in the back of the van, and show him what happens to people who get mouthy with FBI agents.”

“And people say I have a dark side,” Jack said. “At least you’re learning a thing or two about wine. Good to hear you’re making such an effort to improve yourself.”

“Does the U.S. attorney know how much you like spending your Saturday nights eavesdropping on private conversations?” Nick asked.

“The U.S. attorney knows exactly how I like spending my Saturday nights.”

Nick grinned at that. Then he surveyed the room, getting down to business. Eckhart’s office was just as Jordan had described it: an oversized mahogany desk, two walls of built-in bookshelves, a file cabinet in the southwest corner of the room (which he checked—locked), and two leather armchairs centered by a coffee table. Five recording devices should cover the space easily.

His eyes moved to two electric sockets, low on the walls, that were immediately visible, and the glass light fixture on the ceiling in the center of the room. All great places to start. Another bug underneath the coffee table, and a fifth one attached to the bottom of Xander’s desk, and they should be good to go.

Nick pulled a small screwdriver out of his lock-pick set. “Are you guys ready?”

“Ready,” Jack said in his ear. “As soon as you get the first bug in place, we’ll do a sound check.”

Two nights ago after Bordeaux had closed, Reed and Jansen, the tech guys in the van with Jack, had attached a small receiver with an antenna to one of the air-conditioning units outside the building. The receiver would transmit the signal from the recording devices inside Eckhart’s office over a several-block radius, which allowed them to park the van with the monitoring equipment farther away from the restaurant to reduce visibility.

Nick took the first recording device out of his suit pocket, ready to rock and roll. “Is Agent Simms hooked in?”

“I’m here,” whispered Agent Simms, the “bartender” working in the VIP room. “I’ve got a visual on Eckhart and Rhodes. They just came up the stairs.”