11. Ava
Chapter 11
Ava
We’ve watched two boats and one helicopter land on the island. According to Seb, one boat caters for the upcoming tourist to the museum, the other is the changeover staff for the island.
We’re only concerned with our boat being seen, and we think our boat is now flagged by the island security. So, we hired a private boat. It’s a smaller but faster motorboat, with enough space inside it for Seb to talk me through the laser lights around the ‘Circle of Life.’
Though, truthfully, I have the route mapped in my mind.
“Did your contact get back to you?” I ask Seb as he tests my watch to make sure my heart rate, my respiratory rate, and my oxygen levels are in sync with what his laptop shows him.
“Not yet.” He looks worried. I’m not.
“Does it matter? We’re still going to get the jewel. The commission is too big to turn down.”
Seb smiles. “I just like to know everything before I send you anywhere. You know that.”
I smile. “You’re too good to me, Seb.”
“Always remember that.”
“I promise.”
He smiles before pressing a tender kiss on my lips. “Your vitals are good,” he says. “You can get ready.”
I knew I was. I feel calmer than he looks.
I pull my wetsuit up my legs, over my hips and push my arms through, and zip it up. Seb checks all around me for any gaps. The wetsuit needs to feel like a second skin. I don’t want any water to seep through and freeze me when I’m mid-escape.
“Do you remember the code?”
“I do.” Taking a breath, I take the snorkel and mask from the table. “I’m ready.”
As I approach the island, the cool water rushes past my face, my heart pounding and I’m sure it’s excitement and not anxiety.
I’ve remained undetected underwater for the entire journey, the low hum of the scuba jet barely audible. I throttle down to an even lower power as I near the island, my eyes scanning for the perfect landing spot.
Seb’s voice crackles in my earpiece, a comforting presence in the silent underwater world. “Your vitals are a little high. Wait at the rocks for a moment and take a breath, then swim to your right. You’ll find the beach you spotted yesterday.”
I nod, though he can’t see me.
After poring over the map last night, we agreed this was the easiest entry and exit point on the island.
The memory of our planning session, heads bent together over the charts, brings a fleeting smile to my face.
Or perhaps it was the intense fuck we had afterward.
When I reach the rocky enclave, I hover in the water, waiting for Seb’s instructions, but only hearing the gentle lapping of waves against the shore.
“The guard is having a cigarette,” Seb murmurs. His voice is tense, reminding me of the stakes. “If you travel to the rocks to the left of the beach, leave the scuba jet hidden there with the spare snorkel. Then wait for my signal when the guard moves.”
The scuba jet glides silently through the water, barely disturbing the surface. I reach the rocks, my fingers grazing their rough, algae-covered surface as I carefully stow the equipment.
“Are you okay?” Seb’s concern is clear in his voice.
My throat feels tight with anticipation, but I give him the okay sign, hoping the camera picks it up.
“The guard is moving.”
Taking a deep breath, I dive back into the water. The coolness envelops me, calming my nerves as I swim back to the rocky enclave.
Our plan unfolds in my mind: climb the rocks to a makeshift path, possibly an old, secret entry.
I won’t escape that way.
For my exit, I’ll take the easier guard’s route. Two different paths, just in case I’m spotted on the way in.
“You good?” Seb whispers as I scale the rocks. My muscles strain with the effort, but adrenaline courses through my veins, pushing my every step.
When I reach the pathway, I give him a quick salute.
“I’m moving the boat to the west of the island, where I’ll start fishing,” Seb informs me. His voice is steady, but I can hear the underlying worry. “Double-click your watch when you’re finished, and I’ll pick you up. Good luck.”
As Seb’s voice fades, I’m left with the sound of my breathing and the distant crash of waves.
I steel myself for what’s ahead.
Normally, excitement keeps me going, sometimes the monetary outcome. This time, it’s knowing I’m about to steal from possibly the most secure museum in the world.
And the most expensive piece of jewelry.
I’ll be undeniably the greatest thief in the world. Though, I’ll remain like Banksy–anonymous.
There’s a flurry of activity on the island as I stealthily make my way to the museum. Sliding my body against the wall, I twist into the open door.
The tourists to the island must stay for lunch as part of the package as white tablecloths and silverware already adorn the many tables.
I rush to where I know the diamond is.
When at the door to the museum, I place my hand inside my wetsuit and pull out a contraption, sticking it on the wall and smiling when the laser beam lines glimmer ahead.
“It’s surprisingly quiet,” I whisper, then remember that’s why we’re doing this today. The guards on the island are too busy with the flurry of activity on the island to worry about me.
I step inside, before the first red line of light and gasp as I glance around, staring at the sheer amount of tiaras on display.
The art work on the walls.
And the diamonds, clear and pink.
I hesitate for a moment and look away. My eyes land on an enormous blue diamond which is stunning as it glistens in its protective case.
There’s no time, Ava.
I clench my hands together, stopping the temptation to steal it.
Then my eyes lock onto my target ahead: the Circle of Life, the most expensive red diamond in the world.
Although, I’ve practiced the laser beam path since Silas emailed the plans. I hoped it hadn’t been changed.
As I stare at the lights, going over the route in my mind, I’m happy to say it looks exactly as I practiced.
I slide onto the floor and under the first beam, over the top of the second, and haul my right leg in the air, until my toes point to the ceiling, and twist on one foot to face the blue diamond that caught my eye earlier.
I’m so tempted to steal it, but don’t want to risk the job we’re here for.
The Circle of Life.
Under and over, I navigate the red lines, my body contorting in a graceful dance until I reach the display.
I don’t hesitate.
I input the code, hearing a gentle click, and the whoosh of blood that rushes through my ears.
Time is running out.
I press both hands on the bulletproof glass covering the jewel, lifting the lid clean away and placing it gently on the floor between two laser beams. Because I know the table has weight sensors.
With clammy hands, I grasp the necklace in my hand. It feels heavier than I assumed, but I slowly and methodically lift it from the stand.
My heart is racing with excitement but strangely with something else, too.
Like this is too fucking easy.
Or the Dupont’s aren’t as clever as they seem.
I unzip my wetsuit once more and place the jewel inside a pouch, and turn to maneuver the laser path, and escape.
I feel like I held my breath and as I remove my laser beam highlighter I let out a whoosh of air, and shift out of the room, past the labyrinth of tables.
I freeze by the food table when I hear a man talking outside. Then I quickly rush behind it, listening to the sounds outside. My stomach grumbles when I smell the delicious pastries on the table.
“Where do I put the champagne?” the man asks.
My stomach grumbles again and I should ignore it and move, but the cakes are fresh and I could do with a little sustenance before I leave.
Under a transparent cover, a gorgeous-looking pastry sits on a plate beside a glass of liquid.
A handwritten note near it reads:
The perfect dessert.
Outside I hear. “You need to take it to the building over there. There’s a large refrigerator for anything that needs to stay cold.”
“I was told to put some of the display cakes in the event room,” the man says, confusion in his tone.
“Put the champagne in the fridge. No food. The only things that should be out today are the napkins and place settings.”
“Oh.”
I hear footsteps moving away.
I only need a little bite.
I lift the cover and reach for the note.
Opening it, I read:
The perfect dessert is a cherry and almond pastry accompanied with the perfect drink. A spicy rum with a dash of lime.
Cherry and almond.
Panic floods me as my eyes flash to the corner of the room.
“Ava. You have exactly ten minutes to get back to this fucking boat. Move it,” Seb growls in my ear.
“It’s not your scent,” echoes in my memory, a conversation about the tart in the coffee shop with the man whose watch I stole.
“Your scent is surprisingly not sweet.” A voice comes from the speaker in the corner. But it’s not his .
It’s not the man I met in Monaco and then Majorca.
This man is American.
Confusion washes over me.
I’m a scentless omega. I don’t have a scent.
Suddenly, a puff of something hits my face.
“Ugh!” I splutter as liquid spurts from the stand. A spicy yet zesty scent envelops me, and an ethereal sensation, like ghostly fingers, plays between my thighs.
I swallow hard, eyes flicking to the camera. “Welcome, Avaline Darling.”
It doesn’t sound like him—but somehow I know it’s the man from Monaco.
He set me up.
Alarms blare, getting louder and closer.
“Get out!” Seb screams in my ear.
I stand, rushing from the room, as metal gates crash all around me.