Forty-Three
IRUN THE SCENARIO IN MY HEAD WHILE I DANCE WITH JACKSON.
When the safe is reported open, security will move into the house to inventory what was taken. They’ll find Dash’s possessions intact and realize the document with his bank information was stolen. The codes to his accounts will be changed.
We’ll fail.
None of this would have been a problem if Lexi hadn’t derailed The Plan. We’d have sat down to dinner as millionaires, and security would have a suspect list of four hundred guests, none of whom Dash would have wanted to question and thereby reveal his losses to.
“Are you in trouble?” Jackson asks, spinning us so he can follow my eyeline to the cluster of security guards conferring with Mitchum.
I frown, hating having to admit that the fears Jackson had for my heist are all coming true. “I’ll figure it out,” I say stubbornly.
His grip tightens on me just slightly. “How can I help?”
“Jackson…” I chew the corner of my lips.
“No.” He shakes his head. I recognize his earnest, resolute look. No. It’s the Jackson who refused to let his sister walk to her friend’s house after dark, the Jackson who replied encouragingly whenever I said something negative about my grades or my appearance. “No. You do not have time to convince me I shouldn’t.” His expression softens. “Please, Olivia. Just let me do this for you.”
I do not want to let Jackson do anything for me. But he’s right—I don’t have time to debate my ex. He’s had numerous chances to turn me in tonight and wreck our plans. While I can’t trust him with my heart, I think I can trust him with my heist.
Scanning the tent, I find Deonte sitting at an empty table on the edge, waiting for our next cue. I nod in his direction. “Spin me over there,” I direct Jackson.
Jackson nods as the song changes to “September” and everyone who wasn’t already on the dance floor surges to their feet to groove. I resolve to anonymously tip the band for their perfect timing if I get rich tonight. With the hardwood crowded with dancing bodies, it’s easy to slip unnoticed to the other end of the tent. While the chandelier, now projecting rotating lights, masks us in spinning purple and blue, I whirl, beckoning Jackson.
He plays his part easily, a natural dancer. In the tux, I can’t deny he looks particularly good while he moves to the beat, his bow tie slightly askew, his shoes shiny, the line of his waistband visible beneath his open jacket. When our path is blocked by bridesmaids, Jackson places nimble fingers on my hips and cuts a line through the women until Deonte is close enough to see us.
Understanding the urgency in my eyes, Deonte rises and dances his way to join us.
“Mitchum is alerting security,” I inform him, my voice low, my grin fake. If anyone notices us, they’ll think they’re watching only gossipy Olivia with her friends. “The safe,” I continue, “will be searched in minutes.”
“Shit,” Deonte hisses, the exclamation in cutting contrast with his upbeat dance moves. “Well, it…,” he starts, as if he’s searching for hope. “It’ll take them a while to realize what’s missing. Maybe we have enough time before the passwords are changed,” he ventures.
“Here’s a wild idea,” Jackson interjects into our impromptu dance circle. “Why don’t you return what you stole?”
I glance up, ready to remind him I have no intention of giving up now. Olivia Owens doesn’t retreat—
When I realize what an idea he’s just offered us.
“Yes,” I hear myself say. “Yes, exactly. We’ll put the page Lexi stole back before they ever find out it’s missing. We’ll already have the codes. We won’t need the physical piece of paper, and they’ll have no idea we have the information.”
“Codes?” Jackson repeats, alarmed. “What exactly are you stealing?”
I guess he assumed I was after diamonds or crisp stacks of hundreds or perhaps very expensive cigars. If I were capable of amusement right now, I’d find his quaint surprise funny. I yank him closer to me in the guise of dancing, recklessly welcoming the heat wave the proximity rushes over me.
“Enough,” I say, “to cover my mom’s debts.”
His expression softens—momentarily.
“And that’s all?” he presses me.
His narrowed eyes make me… sad. They’re the reemergence of his judgment, of the Jackson who rejected me instead of the guy who, moments ago, only wanted to help.
I remember what I felt when I decided I would share my plans, The Plan, with him. I wasn’t ranting or lashing out. I imagined Jackson might, I don’t know, sympathize. He might want what I want. Jackson is smart, he’s resourceful, he’s never had opportunity handed to him, and his righteous streak runs deep. I assumed he might understand why I needed to do what I needed to, and how. It didn’t have to be a fight or an ending.
It could have been a dance.
Instead, he’s helping only grudgingly, reminding me in pinprick glances how he really—still—sees his ex.
I cover the emotion coyly. “Well,” I reply. “Maybe a little more.”
Jackson’s mouth pinches. I know he wants to lecture me. Instead, he restrains himself, to his credit, only breathing in deeply while he watches the security staff in undisguised concern.
Feeling the music, synchronizing my racing mind with the rhythm, I gaze to the main house, where the footlights under the hedges cast imposing conical shadows up the walls in the night. I wait until—there. Tom and Kevin emerge from the French doors onto the deck.
Kevin flashes me a thumbs-up. Relief races through me.
“Deonte—”
I could have guessed I wouldn’t need to explain to Rook what needs to happen next. Extricating himself from our dance circle, Deonte preempts me hurriedly. “I’ll take the page to the safe now and get Cass the codes.”
I nod. Moving fast, he hits the steps, where he greets Tom and Kevin, then slides something into his jacket. He enters the house, the whole maneuver costing us only minutes.
“September” shifts into the swing of “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” Tom and Kevin join us, our dance circle re-forming, providing the perfect cover for our conversation.
When I notice Tom’s eyes lingering a little long on Jackson’s hands on my hips, recognizing the dark charge of noncommittal jealousy in them, I raise an eyebrow at him. Staring, Knight?
He shrugs in reply. What if I am?
“We should leave, right?” he asks abruptly. The same edge of resentment flashes in his voice. “I mean, even if security doesn’t find anything missing, they’re going to want to figure out who opened the safe in the first place. We have everything we need anyway,” he continues, glancing at me. “Right?
I meet his locked-and-loaded gaze. “We can’t,” I reply. “You’re exactly right. Security will start looking for the perpetrators. Leaving now will make us the obvious suspects.”
Tom’s frown could cut paper.
“Okay…,” Kevin interjects, concentrating. “We’re just hoping Cass can get into the account before the codes are changed?”
I press my lips flat, hating how much I understand Kevin’s skepticism. While the chorus hits, I do the frantic math in my head. How many minutes until security has concluded that what was stolen was information? How many minutes to get Dash, the groom, to lock his accounts?
How long does Cass need to untraceably move the funds?
I remember our earliest conversations when she first signed on. She said she would need five minutes at least. Ideally, she would have more. In my head, I can practically replay her voice on the phone.
It’s… going to be close, I realize. With security closing in, we may not have five minutes. Forget ideally.
McCoy awkwardly shuffles over. When he reaches our dance circle, he drops his efforts. “I can’t,” he says. “There’s no way not to be creepy dancing with students. But I think everyone needs to know Lexi appears to be on her way to confront Dash with the fake evidence. Right now.”
I spin myself on Jackson’s arm to look behind me, where I see Lexi storming across the tent. Dash is bent over the Owens family table, no doubt making small talk with one relative or another. Lexi can’t see him yet, but she’ll find him soon.
“Olivia,” Jackson says, fear fusing with warning in his voice, “what have you gotten yourself into? How many schemes are you juggling?”
“A lot,” I reply, only half paying attention. And they’re all about to come crashing down.
When Lexi confronts Dash, he’ll reveal the email is fake. Even if his denials don’t convince her, she’ll probably blow our cover, which won’t help us keep a low profile when security starts looking for who opened the safe.
Lexi.It’s darkly, dismally ridiculous. The woman couldn’t content herself with ruining my life once. She had to return for more.
In a way, we’re locked in a horrible ring of fate. The person who set me on the course to this heist will now prove its unraveling.
What we need is to stall the search of the office, where Deonte is finishing hiding the evidence of our heist, and stall Lexi. We need a distraction.
“McCoy,” I say, “move the van somewhere safer.” I look around, evaluating my options. There’s the obvious. Pretend to be drunk, crash into a table. Embarrassing but effective. Or I could have someone tip off security that Lexi isn’t supposed to be here, but then Lexi would expose us while she’s escorted off the premises, taking us down with her. I could rush the stage and make a dramatic toast. Or—
My eyes fall on Maureen. In the chandelier light, her neck glitters.
My diamond.
I look to my crew, unnerving calm descending over me. “I know what to do,” I say. “Stick to the plan. No matter what happens to me.”