Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

town to his home. Or as close to his home as he wanted them.
My father was methodical about his routine, and his pride
wouldn’t have allowed him to miss this or cancel it.
“Let’s go,” I said.
We filtered into the tavern, which wasn’t really a tavern
anymore. It was a revolutionary-era meeting house with
fireplaces, original wood floors in some rooms, and three
levels of dining, drinking, and private poker rooms.
The clientele was fancier than outside, which still sat in a
mountain of smoke.
Men wore suits and tuxes, while the women wore cocktail
dresses and eye masks.
“Spread out,” I told them, every single one of us keeping
our masks on, as well, blending into the crowd.
We veered, some to the left and some to the right, drifting
around the outside of the party. The space was so small, people
were packed in here, but we slid in between tables, trying to
make out all the guests in the dim candlelight.
I knew he was here. He had to be in the back or on another
floor.
But then I spotted him. Dead center of the floor, a spiral
staircase winding behind him as he stood with another man
and sipped his drink.
He wore his usual black suit but with a white shirt this
time and no tie.
Will came over, and I clutched Winter’s hand.
“There’s too many fucking people,” he said.
I nodded. “I thought he’d be in a private dining room.”
We couldn’t do this in public.
“How do we get him alone?” he asked.
I didn’t know. I needed to think. I scanned the room,
spotting his guards—three standing around the perimeter, and
there were probably a couple more outside somewhere.