As Natasha stepped out of the taxi, a cool gust off the river twirled the hem of her dress. Her heels clacked against the marble as she ascended the Galleria Szobor's main steps. Workers hustled beside her, rolling a burgundy carpet down the center of the stairs and setting up velvet ropes to guide the gala's prestigious guests and benefactors up through the door. Natasha looked up at the huge banners hanging between the Galleria's looming columns. She had been seeing these advertisements for the gala since she had first tailed István Szabo when they had arrived in Budapest, back when she and Clint were barely speaking. So much had changed since then.

That same river breeze licked at the sides of the banners making them rustle. Somewhere one of the workers flipped a switch, and the overhead lights turned of with a tell-tale thunk. With another dull thud, the massive spotlights sitting at the bottom of the steps lurched to life. Two beams of light reached out to the clouds hanging over a rapidly dimming sky.

Natasha removed her employee ID from her sparkling clutch purse and flashed it to the guard. His eyes lingered on her alluring smile just long enough for Natasha to toss her knife up over the metal detector and slip it easily back beneath the slip in her dress.

Continuing into the Galleria's splendid entrance hall, she spotted István standing with Adrienn and some of her other coworkers, tablet computer in hand.

"And the catering company? I want an update," István was saying.

"They were able to find another refrigerated truck. They'll be back on schedule in twenty minutes."

"Make it fifteen," he replied, dragging his finger over the tablet screen. Szabo stopped as his eyes caught a flicker of red. "My my, Miss Welch, I must say, you look absolutely stunning." He took Natasha's hand and kissed it.

"Why thank you, Sir," Natasha replied, forcing her cheeks to blush. "I should say the same to you."

István straightened the black silk jacket of his tuxedo. "If only that were true," he smiled. Under his slicked-back hair and cocky grin, he very clearly thought it was. "Well now, back to work. Less than two hours to go!"

István dismissed them and the little circle scattered to the click of ladies' heels and the thunk of gentlemen's dress shoes.

"The event planners can handle the last-minute set-up," said Adrienn, "but István wants us to personally inspect every piece in the new collection. What he thinks has happened since yesterday is beyond me, but he seems on edge tonight. Then again, who wouldn't be with half the city scheduled to attend your party? Anyway, do you want to take the sculptures or the paintings?"

"I'll take the wall," said Natasha, eyeing the canvases and gilded frames suspended over the towering granite walls in the next room. She turned to in the opposite direction. "Just give me one second, I want to grab something from my office."

"I wouldn't if I were you."

"Why?"

"You missed it, but István asked us all to stay on the gallery floor. Something about it being easier for the security team if no one is running around in the back halls. Apparently they're really low on security guys tonight," Adrienn explained.

"Is that so?" said Natasha as she followed Adrienn through the open archway and into the main atrium of the Galleria. István really had outdone himself. The atrium glittered magnificently. It looked less like an art gallery than a ballroom. Ribbed columns sunk part way into the walls stretch up the full four stories of the building, ending in a cluster of skylights on the ceiling. The pieces normally on display here had been moved to various other rooms, leaving space for István's new collection. Canvases sat high on the granite walls. Even more hung from steel cables that vanished in the bath of light illuminating all the paintings and the sculptures strewn on pedestals around the floor. Even the freshly polished parquet glimmered in anticipation of the party.

Since the day before, István had added the final touches to his gala - a stage with a sleek glass podium for the speech Natasha had already heard six times through, a small army of round tables draped in white cloths and set with crystal and china, and a bar István had had custom built along the back wall, its shelves filled with full glass liquor bottles.

Natasha started on one side of the semi-circular room and began inspecting the paintings she had helped collect. After a few, she stepped beside on of the decorative potted ferns and scanned around her, returning her eyes quickly to the wall of art. Natasha placed a hand beside her mouth, to shield the view of her lips. "Sebastian, did you hear that?"

"Only bits and pieces," Clint's voice crackled back after a moment. "Hang on let me get farther away from the guys. . . Okay, what's up?"

"Everywhere but the atrium and entrance hall are off-limits to everyone tonight, including me."

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"I can't grab the gun I've got stashed in my office, but other than that, I'm not worried about it. I'm more interested in why."

"So whatever's happening tonight, it involves one or more placed inside the gallery. . . but that doesn't exactly help us narrow it down," said Clint.

"Adrienn also mentioned that the security detail was short-staffed tonight."

"That's not true. András has his entire crew here tonight."

"But you might be one of the only ones actually working gala security."

Three hours later, and the gala was in full swing. The limousines had come and gone from the Galleria's circular drive, and now Budapest's most important citizens gathered inside. Men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns perused the gallery floor, pausing to admire this work or that, praising István's exquisite collection. Drinks flowed from the bar, and waiters drifted through the chattering crowd peddling finger food and glasses of champagne. With dinner now over, a fleet of busboys packed up the tables and slid them out of sight. Guests filtered into the empty space, converting the bare parquet into a dance floor and swinging their hips to the big band music blaring out of trumpets and saxophones in the corner.

"Sounds like I'm missing quite a party," said Clint as he patrolled the perimeter of the huge rectangular building.

"I must say, István did a nice job putting this together."

"All the better to distract everyone."

"But distract them from what?" Natasha replied. She worked her way around the floor, always keeping an eye on István. "Any indication of what exactly is going down tonight?"

"Not yet."

Natasha crossed paths with Adrienn and several of her other colleagues and stopped to talk to them. Eventually she found herself standing in the crowd gathered around the edge of the dance floor. Her hips swayed ever so slightly to the music.

"I wish you were here to dance with me," she said, hiding her lips behind a full champaign flute.

"I know. I'm sorry. It looks like fun. What is this one, a foxtrot?"

Natasha glanced quickly around the cavernous room. "Where the hell are you? The band's pretty loud, but there's no way you can hear them from outside."

"I can't hear anything," Clint said. "Look up."

Natasha obeyed and saw the skylights above. The bright gallery lights reflected against the dark sky, rendering everything beyond the panes of glass invisible. "Seriously? You're up there? Don't you have a job to do?"

"I convinced my boss that someone needed to check the roof. I can see the whole room from here. I'll even tell you how many fingers you're holding up."

Natasha held up one particular finger and shot a glance at the apparently empty ceiling.

"Tasha, that's not nice," Clint chided. He scanned the domed atrium roof and looked down again at the tiny figures milling around below. "I really do wish I was down there. Right. Left. Right-Left. Quarter turn . . ." Clint said, humming a little to a made-up rhythm. Natasha laughed into the microphone. "What did I do?"

"That's a quickstep, not a foxtrot," she chuckled, "And you're dancing the girl part."

"You'll just need to come up here and lead me then."

"If only I could," said Natasha. "How does the city look tonight?"

"I've seen better. If we can't dance, how about a toast?"

"András lets you drink on the job? No wonder he needed extra security personal."

"You've already got the glass in your hand, what's the harm?"

Natasha shrugged and shook her head. "Alright fine. What do you want to toast so badly?"

"Fate."

"I don't believe in fate, and neither do you."

"No, but I believe that if one of a million things had been the slightest bit different, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Natasha didn't get a chance to respond. A hand gently touched her shoulder. "May I have this dance?" said István.

"It would be my pleasure," Natasha replied. She took Szabo's outstretched hand and followed him onto the dance floor. He led Natasha in a slow waltz.

"I'd say pretend that was me," Clint said through the earpiece, "but on second thought, please, please don't."

"The gala is going well don't you think?" said Szabo as they glided around the floor.

"It's perfect. You did an excellent job."

"The credit belongs, in part, to you. I was incredibly fortunate to stumble across you when I did."

"Lucky indeed. The universe has a funny way of working things out."

"You believe in fate, do you Miss Welch?"

"Before I arrived here I didn't, but now . . ."

The song ended and applause rose up for the band.

"Thank you for the dance," said István, giving a slight bow. "Now I'll return you to your fiancé."

"Actually he's not here tonight. He got called into work at the last minute."

"In that case let me buy you a drink. I insist."

Natasha followed István to the bar, and accepted a martini glass. István turned and tapped the shoulder of the man leaning on the bar beside him.

"Ah," he said, "speaking of fate." István switched over to English. "Charles, it's a pleasure to see you. I'm so pleased you could come."

The other man pushed his spectacles up on his rounded nose. "A wonderful gala, simply splendid."

"Do forgive me, Miss Welch. This is Charles Deniaud, head of Davenport Gates & Monroe Auction House."

Natasha froze. She could barely keep the panic from flashing across her face.

"But then of course you two should already be acquainted. You left your job at Davenport Gates & Monroe to come work for me, didn't you Charlotte?"

"My goodness, my mistake," said Charles, "I know all of my employees personally, and I must be getting older if I can't remember a face as pretty as yours."

István placed an arm around Natasha's shoulder, gripping her much tighter than he appeared. Mr. Deniaud bid them goodbye and disappeared into the crowd. István leaned close into Natasha's ear, his teeth coming so close to her skin that she could feel his hot breath on her neck.

"But he's not mistaken is he, my dear? You never did work for Davenport Gates & Monroe."

A soft click echoed over the music, and Natasha felt the cold metal barrel of a gun press into her spine.