Chapter Four Cole
Screwing Addison Mills should be the last thing on my mind right now.
Yet here I am, shoulder propped against the wall, lusting after her as she makes her way around the room, hips swaying provocatively.
That black dress she’s wearing dips so low in the back it’s almost obscene, and I can’t look away.
When she suggested attending the benefit in order to scope out the other thieves on my list, I agreed.
My official pretext is to keep the attendees safe.
But it’s mostly because I want to see her in action.
And her crew, I remind myself. This isn’t just the Addie show.
She’s put together a smooth-operating machine that seems to work flawlessly.
It’s why they’re so successful and not behind bars.
At the edge of the party, wedged between a couple of large palms, I have a perfect view of the ballroom.
At least a couple hundred of Denver’s wealthiest, most upstanding, and most likely to donate, citizens mingle amongst each other and munch on hor d’oeuvres while discussing their latest acquisition—whether it be a business or vacation home.
Not my kind of crowd. Give me a stool at the corner of a dark bar that plays sad country songs or eighties rock instead. I also prefer a beer over champagne any day.
“You’re not blending in very well, Detective,” a feminine voice chastises.
Caught off guard, I jolt upright and see Addie slide up next to me. The seductive smell of orange blossoms instantly envelops me, and my hand tightens around the glass stem of the champagne I’ve been nursing.
“Not my scene,” I murmur, self-consciously smoothing my opposite hand down the front of my jacket.
Because, yeah, I ironed the fuck out of my suit before coming.
Even did the pleats in my pants. Of course, I had to clean it first because the damn iron had a layer of dust on it and probably hadn’t been used since the turn of the millennium.
I don’t want to think too hard about why I did it.
Guess I just didn’t want to look like a slob in a sea of polished people.
Yeah, I’ll go with that reasoning. Because it has nothing to do with the gorgeous blonde whose cobalt blue eyes are skimming down my body. Er…suit.
I clear my throat and freeze when she reaches out and adjusts my tie.
“Much better.” She gives it a little pat, and I remind myself to breathe again. Then she turns and faces the party, people-watching.
She makes me want a cigarette. Badly. Sliding a hand inside my jacket, I pull out a stick of gum instead. Unwrap it, pop it into my mouth and crumble up the wrapper. No one is looking, so I toss it into the palm’s huge pot.
“Why, Detective,” she exclaims in mock horror. “Did you just throw your trash out in that planter? I’m appalled.”
“Are you really?” I’m on the verge of digging it out.
“No.” Tilting her face up, her blue eyes meet mine, and my heart thumps harder.
She possesses a kind of wild beauty and elegance that makes me lose my mind a little.
My words, too, apparently. Because I’m speechless, lost in her cerulean depths.
“I think, deep down, there’s a bad boy in you just waiting to come out and play. ”
Oh, she has no idea. The dirty fantasies I’ve had about her? More obscene than that black dress that practically puts her ass crack on display. Clenching my molars, craving nicotine so hard right now, I consider breaking my one-year abstinence from cigarettes.
“Loosen up, Vaughn,” she murmurs. “You look like you have the world’s largest pole up your—”
“Shouldn’t you be out there keeping tabs on your competition?” I interrupt. Great. She thinks I’m a boring stiff. Not exactly what I want to hear, but I’m hardly surprised. Glad I give off such a vanilla impression.
She lets out a delicate snort. “I’d hardly call Nyx, Diamond or Warrant my competition.”
“What about Laurent?”
She shrugs a shoulder but doesn’t comment further on him. “I normally don’t worry about my competition. As my mom used to say, ‘The only person you should try to be better than is who you were yesterday.’”
“She sounds like a wise woman.”
“She was.”
I hear the soft, sad catch in her voice, and I know it’s lingering grief from losing her. She used to be extremely close to her mother. Alma “Angel” Mills was a renowned thief, never caught, who taught Addie everything she knew… until she died nine years ago.
I get it. My mom still lives in New York, but we’re very close.
I send her money, pay her rent and make sure she has what she needs.
We speak almost every day, and I’ve tried getting her to move out here, but she refuses to leave the old neighborhood.
She says The Bronx is in her soul. I say she’s too damn stubborn.
One day, though. I’m determined to get her on a plane and in the apartment complex down the street from my place. Ever since we lost dad so long ago, it hasn’t been the same. And I hate knowing she’s in that big, dangerous city all by herself.
“Oh, look,” she says softly. “Our good friend Billy Warrant just arrived.”
She nods to the tall man wearing a tuxedo, currently adjusting his cuffs as he nonchalantly surveys the room.
Dark hair, darker eyes, and slippery as an eel.
Warrant has been on my list for a while now, but he’s incredibly smooth and tends to disappear before anyone realizes a theft has even taken place. Hell, they’re all suave like that.
It’s what makes them so dangerous, I remind myself, studying Addie’s pretty, deceitful profile. And she’s the worst of the lot because…
Because I want her like I’ve never wanted a woman before. Thoughts of fucking Addie have consumed me for months. It’s unhealthy. Maybe if I had an outlet, someone else to roll around in between the sheets with, I wouldn’t be strung so tight right now. Like a damn bowstring ready to snap.
“I think I’ll go say hello,” she adds. “Make yourself scarce, Vaughn, or you’ll scare off the players.”
As Addie saunters away, my attention slides down her bare back and over the curve of her tempting ass. The image of her bent over, dress hiked up and ass on full display, makes my dick swell, and I nearly swallow my gum. Dammit.
With a long-suffering sigh, I move back further into the cover of the palms and watch Addie approach Warrant. I’m not sure what to expect, but when he grins and leans down to kiss both her cheeks, my eye twitches and my fingernails bite into my palms.
I’m taking that asshole down first, I vow.
The gum in my mouth tastes more flavorless than sawdust, and I tuck the tasteless wad in my cheek and swallow down some champagne, never taking my eyes off them. I don’t trust him—hell, either of them—and I didn’t realize how cozy they were.
They start talking and I wish I would’ve mic’d her. What the hell are they saying? When he lays a hand against her bare back, I’m fucking done.
Not caring who sees me, I step out of my hiding spot and march toward Addie and Warrant. Halfway across the marble floor, an arm links through mine, turning me in the opposite direction.
“Tsk-tsk, Detective Vaughn. You aren’t supposed to be making your presence known.”
I glance down to see Brighton Leroux, the petite, raven-haired beauty on Addie’s team. She purses her bright red lips at me, steering me toward a doorway.
“I suggest you go up and watch from the balcony. If the others see you, they’ll disappear. And tonight is about observing how they work, so please don’t send them running.”
She pats my arm and gives me a push toward the stairs, but I don’t budge.
“She’s fine,” Brighton assures me. “But Warrant is a serial flirter, so prepare yourself.”
I growl, eyes glued to Addie and Warrant. The prick’s hand slides another couple of inches down, and I swallow a curse. And my fucking gum.
“Green is not your color,” Brighton states, then shoves me harder. “Up!”
Get your head in the game, I scold myself and hustle up the steps. No one is up here, and I stride over to the edge and peer down into the throng of people below. I have a perfect bird’s-eye view from here, and I look for Addie and Warrant, but they aren’t in the same spot.
Leaning my elbows on the railing, I search the crowd.
There’s a sea of tuxedos, evening gowns, and glittering gems everywhere.
It’s truly a jewelry thief’s paradise. Pluck a couple of diamond bracelets, a sparkling emerald brooch and a few rings weighting down guests’ fingers, and you just scored a damn good payday.
Addie was right—the thieves on my list weren’t going to miss this event.
And now I need to step back and let her team do the job they came to do. I have no business being possessive over her. She isn’t mine, and she won’t ever belong to me. We come from two completely different worlds. We thrive on opposite sides of the law.
Even so, I can’t deny the attraction brewing between us. It’s potent and intoxicating. And so damn dangerous.
Maybe if I wield it just right, play the game like a pro, I’ll be able to capture every thief on my list, including the elusive and lovely Miss Mills. Because I never promised her immunity. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done—even if it means romancing her straight into a prison cell.
Because putting the bad guys away is what I do. What I’ve always done. I owe it to my parents—especially to my dad—and every other poor victim out there who’s been swindled by the likes of these smooth-talking villains. I fucking hate thieves.
Raking a hand through my hair, trying not to get bogged down by the bad memories, I search the crowd below. It takes me a few minutes to pinpoint each member of Addie’s crew, but once I do, I watch them work the room like the pros they are.
Knox Beckett, wearing a bespoke tuxedo, is surrounded by a group of women, all dripping in jewels and salivating over him. His charm has them mesmerized and giggling like schoolgirls. I get it, but that’s definitely not me.
I’ve always been more gruff than charismatic.
I’m too blunt to ever be considered charming, and I don’t believe in bullshitting people.
And to be a charmer, it’s also necessary to be a consummate bullshitter.
I also don’t look like a movie star and would never be cast in the next big romantic comedy.
However, I’d be perfect to play the gritty detective in a film noir. I’m pretty sure I’d rock a fedora.
Like me, Lincoln Decker doesn’t possess typical leading man looks.
Unless you’re talking about the Rock or Vin Diesel.
He’s currently surveying the room, and the huge man cuts an imposing figure, his suit pulling tightly on his muscled frame.
He’s definitely the biggest, most intimidating wallflower I’ve ever seen.
His eagle eyes don’t miss a thing, including me, because he smirks and sends me a two-fingered salute.
I’m familiar with his past as a former MMA fighter, and I know he’s their safecracker.
His uncle used to work at a bank and Decker grew up around safes, so there aren’t many, if any, he can’t crack. The man is brawn and brains.
On the other side of the room, I spot the tiny Brighton speaking with two men who can’t drag their eyes off her.
Definitely star actress material, but more old Hollywood glamour like Hedy Lamar.
With ebony hair and bright green eyes, the exotic beauty is beyond alluring.
Totally sex on a stick, although not my type.
No, I much prefer the statuesque blonde with wavy hair and legs for days. The beauty who manages to get under my skin and piss me off, while at the same time, makes my dick so hard it aches for someone it can never have.
Where is she?
As I scan the room, my gaze lands on Ryder McKay.
He sports a mop of brown waves, styled to perfection, and wears an expensive designer suit and shiny, polished dress shoes with ease.
His parents, Arthur and Judith McKay, own diamond mines in Africa and like to spend their days jet-setting around the world as their billions make millions every single day on interest alone.
I can’t imagine what it would be like to have that much money.
Lazing around on a yacht in the French Riviera one day and flying off in your private jet to Africa for a safari the next.
Makes me wonder why McKay is involved with a ring of thieves when his family has billions.
Maybe he likes the adrenaline rush. Or maybe it’s his way of giving Arthur and Judith the finger.
Setting the McKay family dynamics aside for the moment, I finally see my girl.
Damn. She has an elegance about her that would stop you in your tracks.
Even though I know I can’t trust her, I need her.
Help, I correct myself. I need her help.
The last thing I want is for the Feds to take over because they think I can’t get the job done.
It would be fucking humiliating, and I’ve worked too long and hard to not be the one to take her down.
She moves with such ease, such grace, working the entire room. I can’t pull my eyes off her, and I find myself memorizing the curves of her body. Leaning farther out over the railing, I want to know what those lovely curves feel like.
Goddammit. My desire for her annoys me to no end.
Forcing myself to lock it down, I watch her practically float through the crowd, making note of everyone.
While stealing is inherently negative, Addie possesses all the “good” qualities a thief needs.
She’s sharp, adaptable and can blend in with her surroundings.
The way she moves with ease and agility makes me think she’s light on her feet, stealthy and can make a quick getaway.
I know she’s smart as hell, which means she’s a quick thinker with keen observational skills.
She calculates the risks and determines if they’re worth taking.
Then she executes her plan efficiently, getting the goods and getting out before anyone is the wiser.
All these things are exactly why I need to tread carefully.
Addie and her team each have a job, and they do it flawlessly.
The whole thing is like a well-orchestrated dance.
And if I don’t watch my back, they’re going to leave me high and dry.
Fuck me six ways to Sunday and leave me standing there in front of the Feds with my pants around my ankles and my dick in my hand.
I can’t let my lust get in the way of my job. Addison and her crew are going down, and I don’t care what I have to do to make it happen.
All the names on my list are heading straight into early retirement. Because all the thieves in my city are on the chopping block. I’ll make sure of it.
End of fucking story.