Chapter Eleven Addie
“You want to break in?” Vaughn asks. “I’m getting a warrant—”
“When?” I interrupt. “In an hour, two hours, tomorrow? And with what information? By the time you jump through your requisite hoops, dotting your i’s and crossing your t’s, I guarantee he’ll have been tipped off and will be long gone.”
“You’re talking about an unlawful search, Addie,” he grits out.
“You can make something up to create probable cause later,” I say. “Do you want this guy or not?”
“I want him,” he snarls.
“Then stop playing by Denver PD’s rules and let’s get him.” He hisses out a curse, and I send him a dazzling smile. “Take a walk on the wild side with me, Vaughn.”
He growls in response.
“Be careful, though. You might like it,” I warn and bite my lower lip.
Well, that sure catches his attention, and I can’t help but smirk. The upright detective is so predictable it’s almost pathetic. He’s putting up a good fight, but this is a battle I intend to win.
After thoroughly going over the building layout together—generously provided by The Man—we walk back to the parking garage and take Vaughn’s Challenger over to the address, which Billy Warrant actually uses when he’s in town.
I know Vaughn is dying to know all my secrets, but my lips are sealed on this.
Denver is homebase to a small group of thieves, and I make it my business to know as much about my competition as possible. And if I had to guess, Nyx, Warrant and Diamond do the same.
Warrant’s apartment is in an older section of downtown, and I direct Vaughn to the rear alley. He parks alongside the brick building, and I unbuckle my seatbelt and peer through the windshield. I spot the basement window easily enough and don’t expect any problems getting in through it.
Well, let me clarify that. Entry itself should be a piece of cake. The only problem is the man sitting next to me. The police detective who has the ability to arrest me for what I’m about to do.
Only one way to make sure that doesn’t happen: He’s not coming with me.
“I won’t be long,” I tell him and open the car door, sliding out before he can protest.
“Wait!” He jumps out and circles around the car, following me fast. “You’re not going in alone.”
“I don’t need you tagging along,” I say, tone brisk, flipping my hair and crossbody bag behind me. “This is a one-person job. No offense, but you’re a liability. And I don’t need the dead weight.”
“Dead weight?” he echoes, looking offended. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m the one with the gun whose job is to protect you.” He crosses his arms. “I’m a trained officer, not dead fucking weight.”
I think I hit a nerve, but I refuse to let him call the shots or boss me around. That’s my job. I’m The Boss.
“Exactly. So the less you know, the better.” I lift my chin, meeting his gaze. “Consider it plausible deniability. We don’t need you getting bucked off your moral high horse, Detective. Wouldn’t want you to get your hands dirty.”
Done with the conversation, I’m turning on my heel when I feel something cool snap around my wrist as I’m hauled backward and shoved against the brick wall. It all happens so fast it takes me a moment to realize Vaughn has me pinned between the building and his very large, very hard body.
I suck in a sharp breath, beyond surprised, then feel anger seep in as I realize he cuffed me.
The bastard cuffed me. Again. Un-freaking-believable!
The first time was in Arcadia at Linc and Merritt’s reception. Needless to say, I am not happy, and my temper is about to blow with more firepower than Mt. fucking Vesuvius.
I quickly realize he’s far too strong. The man doesn’t budge, and I’m pushing against him with my full weight, and a shit ton of anger and frustration.
“Dammit, Vaughn!” I cry. “Let me go!”
“We go together or not at all,” he hisses. His warm, peppermint-scented breath fans my face, and we’re both breathing hard. I try to twist away, squirming against him, but it’s impossible. His hold is like iron.
Lifting my foot, I attempt to stomp down on his insole, but he’s too fast, and moves his foot out of the way. So I go for his shin, but we’re so close, bodies pressed together, and the angle doesn’t allow me to get a good hit in. “Ughhh!” I shout, beyond frustrated.
All at once, I’m completely aware of how I fit against him, and I don’t exactly hate the feel of his firm body molding against mine.
Quite the opposite in fact. I chalk it up to the fact that it’s been far too long since I’ve been with a man, so it’s not really my fault if he’s turning me on.
I’m a normal, healthy woman with needs. Nothing wrong or strange about my intense reaction to him.
It has nothing to do with him personally and everything to do with the fact my sex life is like a barren desert. Or so I try to convince myself as I push my hips against his, unable to miss his erection.
“You’re insufferable,” I grumble.
“And you can’t be trusted,” he growls back.
We’re so close, his nose skims mine. The sexual tension between us skyrockets, and our breaths are coming hard and fast. For a moment, I’m positive he’s going to kiss me. There’s no escaping the fact we’re both riled up, and I need to regain my composure.
No. More. Kissing. I can’t lose control again like I did at the party. One of us needs to be a damn professional here.
I take a second to gather my wits and put my mask back in place.
“Calm down, Detective,” I murmur with a sly grin, pushing against his hard cock. “You’re giving a girl mixed messages.”
With a low curse, he pulls back. Thinking I’m in the clear, I try to move away, but the cuff yanks me back to him.
“Take these off,” I demand, tugging.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I think it’s pretty clear what I mean, Addison. Wherever you go, I go,” he states stubbornly.
“You are driving me crazy!” I make an annoyed sound and bite my tongue, swallowing all the bad names I want to call him. “Fine,” I grit out. “But how are we supposed to climb through that window attached at the wrist?”
“We’ll go through the front door.”
“No! Do I really have to spell this out for you? In case you don’t understand, the whole point of sneaking in is so no one sees us.”
“Fine. We’ll do it your way.” He stalks over to the window, dragging me with him, and I jog to keep up. “How’re you getting that open?”
He nods down to the ground-level window and I roll my eyes at him. “Easily,” I answer. “But I’m going to need both hands to do it.”
“Fair warning,” he murmurs, voice low and full of dark promise, “if you bolt, I will catch you. And you won’t like the consequences.”
“Are you going to spank me, Detective?” I bat my lashes at him.
A muscle flexes in his cheek and the gold in his hazel eyes catches fire. “Why? You want my hand on your ass?” he rasps, heated gaze searching mine.
“I’d rather put my foot up yours,” I respond tartly, my acidic words quickly dousing his fiery look.
He huffs out a breath, lifting his opposite hand which holds a small key. “You’re really something else, you know that?” he grumbles, shoving it into the hole and turning. The cuff opens and I pull my hand away.
“Put those cuffs on me again and I’ll punch you in the face,” I warn him, rubbing my wrist. Then I drop down on my knees and get to work opening the basement window.
It isn’t hard to jimmy it open with the small tool I carry in my crossbody bag. Pushing the grimy glass, the window swings inward, leaving an opening barely large enough for both of us to fit through.
“Try to keep up.” I send him a challenging look then swing my legs inside and shimmy through, dropping to the ground in a crouch. Unfortunately, he follows. Turning on my flashlight, I sweep the musty-smelling basement, searching for the dumbwaiter.
“Over there.” Vaughn stalks around storage boxes and heads straight over to the panel in the wall.
Upon closer inspection, it looks ancient, and I just hope it still works. I was also hoping it would be too small for him to fit inside, but after opening it, it’s more roomy than I expected. That still doesn’t mean I’m getting in with him.
“I’ll go first,” I say, and his eyes narrow. “Don’t worry, once I reach Warrant’s floor, I’ll send it back down for you.”
“Maybe I should go first.”
“Maybe you should wait your turn,” I say and crawl inside.
It’s dirty and smaller than it initially seemed, but I’m very flexible.
I’m able to sit cross-legged with my shoulders hunched and head down.
My nose tingles from the dust and I rub it.
“Besides, I need you to hit the outside button for floor six.”
Someone needs to be outside the dumbwaiter in order to operate it.
He leans down, looking into the dark box. “Be careful.”
I smirk. “I’m always careful.” Shifting my small bag, I lift my flashlight and purposely shine it right into his eyes.
He makes a face, blinking hard, and lifts a hand to shield them.
“It might be sealed up, so give me a few minutes. Don’t freak out, I’ll send it back down once I’m in and it’s safe. ”
“What if he’s home?”
“Then this is going to be a very short trip.” I roll the gate down and, once it’s shut, I hear Vaughn hit the button.
I sure hope this works, I think. A moment later, the cab creaks to life and begins to lift.
It’s rickety and rumbly, a lot like Cole Vaughn, and I pray a cable doesn’t snap on my way up.
Luck is on my side, and the dumbwaiter stops at the sixth floor.
Lifting my phone, I pull up an app created and perfected by Ryder.
It’s genius and has come in handy on quite a few occasions.
The gist of it? It’s a vibration sensor that detects motion within a certain radius.
If someone is moving around in the apartment, we’ll have time to abort this mission before we’re confronted by someone inside.
Holding my phone steady, I activate the sensor and let it do its thing.
Some of the tech devices Ryder has developed amaze me.
He could sell any of them and make a small fortune.
Hell, his family already has a fortune, but he doesn’t have a close relationship with Mr. and Mrs. McKay.
I overheard him fighting with them on a call once, and he basically told them he didn’t care about the diamond mines and they could, and I quote, “Shove them up their asses.”
Personally, I wouldn’t mind owning a diamond mine or two.
The scanner doesn’t pick up anything, so I tuck my phone back into my crossbody and use the small wedge tool to pry the door open. It’s quite possible it’s been sealed shut since the dumbwaiter is no longer in use, but once again, luck is on my side.
After getting the door open, I look out and see it’s a studio apartment and I’m in a kitchen alcove. For a long moment, I merely listen, making sure I’m absolutely alone. The fridge starts running and a faint siren reaches my ears from an adjacent neighborhood but, other than that, it’s quiet.
Sliding out of the cab, my feet hit the cracked, yellowed linoleum floor and I stand up, arching back in a little stretch.
A quick glance around and I understand why Warrant stays here—it’s off the radar.
No one would guess a man with access to a lot of money, albeit stolen, would choose to live in such a tiny dump.
Even though I’m ready to start searching on my own, I shut the door and send the dumbwaiter back down to the basement.
Otherwise, I have a feeling Vaughn will have a conniption fit and come storming in through the front door like a bull in a china shop, announcing our presence.
After giving him enough time to get inside, I hit the button to bring it back up.
The place is very small, and I do a fast walk-through while the dumbwaiter travels back up. When it reaches me, I open the door and stifle a laugh when I see how Vaughn is crammed in there.
“You look like a sardine,” I comment, my lips twitching.
With a grunt, his long legs drop out and, after a couple of maneuvers, he’s standing next to me. “Well, that sucked,” he says.
“C’mon, we need to search fast.” We split up and begin looking on opposite sides, but I don’t see a duffel bag. Not under the bed or in any closets. “Anything?”
He steps out of the miniscule bathroom. “No.”
Hands on my hips, I slowly scan the room.
What am I missing? Stealing a bag of one-hundred-dollar bills carries a significant risk.
The cash is marked with serial numbers, and any thief worth their salt knows those unique numbers can be traced and linked to a crime.
A single bill might prove to be untraceable, but a large number of stolen bills can create a clear trail for investigators.
That means Warrant would have to wash the money and alter the serial numbers.
And that takes specialized equipment and chemicals.
“It’s not here,” I announce, moving over to the window and glancing down. My heart skips a beat when I see Billy Warrant crossing the street and heading toward his building. “But Warrant is! Let’s go!”