Chapter 28
Paige
My heart hammers against my ribs as I crouch behind the planter in the dark. Anyone passing by can probably spot me squatting like a creep across the street from one of the few office buildings in the small city halfway between Chicago and St. Augustine.
Yesterday, we met with Emil at a safe house, where he gave us a handy little flash drive and step-by-step instructions to gain the information we need.
Earlier today, Vanya and I walked through the front door of this high-rise like we belonged.
Vanya struck up a conversation with a guy in a polo shirt. Talking some shit about client meetings and market volatility. The conversation was so generic, so bland, I thought for sure we were screwed.
But the guy laughed and held the door. Vanya continued chatting as the employee swiped his badge to allow us past the security checkpoint.
Just like that, we found ourselves inside. From there, we waltzed past reception, climbed into an elevator, and Vanya charmed every person we encountered all the way to the IT department on the fourth floor.
As we strode through, I watched an IT tech sign in to his computer. His office was open, and I stood in the doorway. Only for a moment, but that’s all I needed.
With that done, we strolled right back out, and no one batted an eye.
Vanya crouches beside me, one hand steady on my shoulder. He reminds me of a mountain lion ready to pounce.
We’re dressed in all the different shades of black, but on him, the shade looks natural.
On me, it feels like I’m playing dress-up. That sensation isn’t helped by the fact that it’s all secondhand clothing and entirely too big. Hoodie, baggy pants, even new shoes. As a fair-skinned blond, black generally washes me out.
“Ready?” Vanya’s voice is warm against my ear.
Ha! Hell no.
I’d much rather run away now, please and thank you.
Instead, I nod, because what else can I do?
Go back to my apartment and pretend I’m still the woman who color-coded her sock drawer and ate the same yogurt for breakfast every morning for six years?
We cross the empty business plaza with a swift pace, careful not to draw any attention. We stick close to the building’s edge, where shadows pool deepest. I keep pace with Vanya, trying to mimic his motions.
The emergency exit, the one we picked after going through the building’s schematics, waits around the corner.
Vanya pulls a slim case from his jacket and selects two picks. His hands work with the same confidence they demonstrated when he was inside me and knew exactly where to touch and how much pressure to apply. I tug at my collar, willing the chilly night air to cool my suddenly overheated self.
Vanya could win the Most Erotic Lockpicker award, hands down.
The lock clicks open in under thirty seconds.
This is real.
We’re doing this. Breaking and entering. Corporate espionage.
Crimes with actual prison sentences attached.
Vanya’s hand encircles my wrist. “Breathe.”
Did I transmit some “about to flee” signal? Because doing so crossed my mind.
I obediently inhale and throw him the quickest of smiles.
The warmth of his hand filters through my glove. Black cotton from the thrift store, just like the rest of our clothes. This way, if we shed any trace evidence, it will lead to a bunch of different places rather than straight to us.
Thinking about that and all the other precautions he took helps me restabilize my headspace. I suck in another breath that tastes like abandoned alleys and decaying waste.
Like a true gentleman, he opens the door for me.
After slipping through, I march toward the security pad on the wall. We have twenty seconds to punch in the override code Vanya’s man Emil obtained for us. Bracing myself, I type the eight numbers.
The lights on the console stop flashing and swap back to armed. Any security guards lurking in the halls won’t notice a thing.
Vanya grins and bows before waving his arm out to let me proceed.
He’s directing me to take the lead now.
Shit.
Though I suppose it makes sense for me to do so since I’m the one who has the building’s layout memorized.
I turn right down a hallway floored with that weird carpet tile that offices use. With the lights out, only the red exit signs glow in the dark, reflecting off the white half-walls that form cubicles.
Why is it that public buildings like this always echo and tend to feel so much bigger when they’re dark and empty?
Any moment, I expect a serial killer, depraved clown, or security guard to jump out and seize me.
Thankfully, no such thing happens. While Vanya could probably take down any security guards, he was told to cause as little waves as possible. Sensible considering a detective’s already on their trail.
After we pass the first cubicle area, we turn right again and open the door to the stairwell.
Despite our attempts at silence, our footsteps reverberate on concrete stairs.
Every sound amplifies, bouncing off walls and ceilings until I can’t tell what’s real and what’s suspicion.
After an eternity of striving to stay quiet so nothing echoes, we reach the fourth floor.
My anxiety and paranoia have reached an all-time high. As a result, I merely stare at the doorknob.
Vanya cracks the door open, peers through, then gestures for me to come forward.
Gathering all my courage, I trail behind him.
A hallway with more industrial gray carpet stretches ahead, leading to cubicles and rows of offices with identical doors. Once again, the only illumination comes from the red emergency lighting.
Vanya pivots to face me, his golden eyes glimmering demonically in the crimson lights. “Which way?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “The guy I saw had his office along that wall.” In this empty space, even my whisper seems too loud.
“Left. Then the second right. There’s a camera at the intersection, but it’s a fixed model and doesn’t pan.
If we stay against the right wall, we’ll be in the blind spot. ”
“I’m really loving that brain of yours. It’s even sexier than your tits.”
The praise hits between my legs, coupled with an irritated burn in my chest. I hate how much I adore hearing Vanya say things like that.
I shove him forward. “Focus.”
A voice, muffled but growing nearer, freezes us both. Because of the echo, I can’t pinpoint the location.
Indecision locks my feet to the carpet.
Vanya snakes his hand around my bicep and yanks me sideways, pulling me into a darkened conference room and then down into a crouch.
He holds a finger up to his lips, warning me to remain quiet.
No shit, Vanya.
We wait, breathless, as the voices get louder. Two men, most likely security guards, chat about a baseball game as they make their rounds.
And they’re drawing closer.
Staying low, Vanya drags me along behind him. I’m basically duckwalking as we skirt around the table and chairs in the center of the room. Then he stops me again.
The two men pass within ten feet of our hiding spot—just on the other side of this table and a glass wall—as we creep along while using the furniture as a barrier between us and them.
My heart tries to punch through my rib cage. I focus on my breathing, doing my best to maintain a slow and steady pace despite my racing pulse.
The voices and footsteps fade down the hallway. We hover on the far side of the table until a door opens and closes.
Then we wait even longer.
Vanya presses his lips to my ear. “You okay?”
“I’m pretty sure I need some clean underwear, but I’m okay.” I have no clue what possessed me to say that. I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.
“That’s why I chose not to wear any tonight.” Vanya grins at me, mischief dancing in his eyes as he waggles his eyebrows.
I’m not even sure what to call the noise that squeezes out around my compressed lips. A giggle? A squeal? A squeaggle?
Oh yeah, adrenaline has hysteria setting in.
His grip loosens. “This is the perfect time. Right after they’ve made their sweep. Let’s get moving.”
The rest of the short walk proceeds without incident. The office door isn’t even locked.
Slipping inside, I remember what Vanya told me about not kneeling so as not to leave trace evidence behind. That’s why I ignore the chair and only touch the keyboard the IT tech used today.
I type in the login credentials I saw.
The system accepts them without complication.
“How long?” Vanya stage-whispers from his post at the cracked door as he watches the hallway.
“Emil said five minutes for the program to run. Maybe less.” I pull out a flash drive loaded with the Trojan horse virus that’ll grant Emil remote access to their security feeds, erase any digital evidence of our presence, and download all files that contain the keywords we brainstormed.
Petrov. The Snow Maiden and Other Lost Tales. Snegurochka and Snow Maiden, of course. Greedy tsar. St. Augustine Rare Books and Manuscripts Library, and each individual word.
After I plug in the drive, a little icon blips to life on the screen.
I just need to follow the directions Emil laid out.
All pretty simple stuff…opening the right drive, clicking the correct names, and waiting.
In the desktop settings, I lower the monitor’s brightness so the light doesn’t give our position away.
“You’re better at this than most people I know.” Vanya’s gaze flicks to the monitor, then to the hall again.
Despite the cold room, heat floods my face. “I’m just following directions.”
“No.” He tilts his head to look at me, his eyes catching the blue glow from the monitor and shining green. “You’re adapting and learning. That’s rare, Paige. Not everyone can do what you do.”
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t respond. A weird little flutter curls in my chest, spreading through every inch of me.
While the program starts working, I can barely track the progress bar that creeps across the screen on the darkened monitor.
Two percent. Five percent.
This really shouldn’t feel as good as it does.
Ten percent. Twenty.
The electric charge giving life to my limbs sizzles as the numbers grow.
Which begs the question…who am I becoming?
Because these aren’t the fun little things I had on my bucket list. I threw that thing away, anyway.
But it’s not a violent crime either. I’m not hurting anyone. Just hunting for clues.
Eighty percent.
I watch the progress bar like my entire future hinges on these stolen files revealing who donated that damn book.
How has my boring career, chosen for its safety, led to my involvement with the Bratva and mafia?
Ninety percent. Ninety-five.
A flicker on the screen snags my attention. My reflection in the dark.
For one tiny moment, I think we’ve been caught because I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me.
Wide eyes. Flushed cheeks.
This woman looks alive. Dangerously, electrically, vibrantly alive. Like she’d steal a car or break into a building or fuck a man against a shooting range table without hesitation.
This woman terrifies me…because I like her.
Download complete.
I eject the flash drive and close out the windows I opened, setting everything back to exactly where it was when we got here.
Vanya pushes through the doorway. “Clear. Let’s move.”
We retrace our steps through the building to the stairwell. It’s much faster going down, so why does every corridor seem longer than before? Every shadow could hide a guard. Thankfully, none do. The coast remains clear.
Finding our way back to the ground floor without further snags, we burst out the nonemergency exit into cold night air that tastes like freedom.