10. Walker
Chapter 10
Walker
C lara’s legs, warm against my thighs, should make me feel better. She’s so full of affection, wanting to touch and be touched, to be cradled, cherished like she always should have been.
Only, as soon as Jansen pulled her into his lap, shifting so she could see the brief on his phone, my heart stopped.
Because I hadn’t sent it to her.
Did I mean to exclude her? No. At least, not exactly.
Would I rather she wasn’t a part of this? For sure.
Do I believe she could be an asset to the team? Yeah. She can do anything.
But it makes my gut ache with every step she takes farther from good, legal, and right. Watching as she dives into the fucked-up haze of gray and black we all play in, it’s like dumping a vat of paint over a pristine portrait, covering what made it unique and beautiful with a blank, boring blob .
She’s a light. I don’t want to lose her in my fog.
I turn my attention back to the brief, details jumping out at me, but I can’t stop watching Clara, noting how right she looks tucked up against Jansen. RJ’s staring at them both too, a soft smile on his face.
He’s been so open, so chill about this whole thing, even though Clara’s the first girl he’s ever even been able to talk to. The way he’s looking at the two of them? It’s obvious he’s game for this merry-go-round of casual fucks Clara’s looking for. And as hot as that idea is—because it is hot as shit—when the ride stops, well, then there’s one winner and the rest of us had better hop off.
He’s a better man than me. They all are.
RJ goes back to his tablet, and I force my concentration back onto the problem at hand. An audition heist. It’s laughable.
“Fuck. I don’t like this.” Trips tosses his phone on the coffee table, rubbing his eyes.
RJ nods without looking up. “This is not a venue for a battle royale. What is she thinking?”
None of us know how to answer that. Even Clara, with her freakish powers of observation, couldn’t guess why Jasmine made the competition so stupidly difficult. A private property in Chicago, over Thanksgiving weekend, with a battle royale and a strict time window? It’s awful.
I clear my throat. “There is one plus in this whole mess.”
“What?” Jansen asks.
“I needed to go to Chicago, anyway. There are a few details I can’t get from internet research alone. I’ll have to go see the Rubens in person. ”
Trips puts down his mug with more force than necessary. “No faces on the museum cameras, Walker. It’s too risky.”
God, as if I want to be on the security cameras. This won’t be a pleasure trip. I might not be good at a lot of the stuff the other guys do, but I know art. And this trip is non-negotiable. “Here’s the deal. I’m not going to fool a close inspection without clear lines to the margin of the work. I saw a shadow on one of my reference pictures.
“It’s probably nothing, but I don’t want to miss something obvious. Also, for what it’s worth, I’ll be there more than a month before we steal it—there’s no reason the cops would look back that far unless we give them a reason to. And of course, the better the fake, the longer it’ll be before they realize it’s missing.”
“I don’t like it,” Trips says.
Jansen spirals one of Clara’s dark curls around his fingers. The texture of it is so fresh in my mind, if I focus, it feels like I’m the one holding her, the one with my hands in her hair. But I’m not. He is. And she’s content in his arms.
“I mean, it comes down to whether or not we’re taking this job, doesn’t it?” Jansen asks.
RJ sighs. “Aren’t we already committed?”
I committed us. I found this fence, found this job. I’m the one who failed to identify the Van Dyck this summer. We all wanted this access, but I’m the one who landed us in this damn tryout situation. “She knows where we live. I’m sure she knows our faces, our names. I think we’re stuck at this point. ”
Trips leans back in his chair, anger burning in his gaze, his fist clenched tight. “Read through the brief. We’ll meet again tonight to strategize. Do you work today, RJ?”
RJ nods. “Two junior ninja classes, eleven and noon. I’ll be available by 1:30.”
Trips’ gaze shoots to Clara, and my stomach twists tighter. “What about you, Clara? Do you have a shift at the coffee shop?”
Why is he pushing her into this? He took my dare; he bet she was headed to the FBI. He’s the one who thinks she doesn’t belong here.
Why the hell did I even fight with him about her joining us?
Because I’m an idiot. And I don’t want Trips to be right.
I want her here, with me. I’ll happily ignore the eventuality of my own shattered heart just to keep her close. Legally bound to her forever, even if she’s with one of the other guys? It’d be torture, but at least I’d get to see her, talk to her, laugh with her.
Glaring at Trips, I wonder what he’s up to. He took that bet, so why is he inviting her to a strategy meeting? Is he hoping she’ll freak out and run? God, she should freak out and run. That would be the smart move. She’d be safer and happier away from us. From me.
She pulls her hands inside her sleeves, her knuckles creating shadowed ridges in the fabric. “Um, yeah. I have an afternoon shift. I’ll be off at 4:30.” Her big brown eyes are shades of confusion, but her whole posture changes when she’s included .
Damn it. Why didn’t I send her the brief? I’ll do it right after the meeting. She doesn’t like being excluded any more than I do. I know that.
Trips stands up. “Then we’ll have a dinner meeting at six. I want ideas and issues. We need all the parameters so we can make a good plan. Walker, send her the details.” He leaves, stomping upstairs, the door to his room slamming behind him.
Damn it. Even Trips noticed that I didn’t send Clara the brief. And there’s no way he didn’t note the way she straightened when he took her schedule into account. Fucking Trips is taking better care of our girl than I am.
Even when she withdrew after that clusterfuck with her ex, even when she ignored all the rest of us, she still let Trips cart her around, let him bring her to class.
She still let him in, the lucky bastard.
Turning to Jansen, her feet slide off my lap. “Does that mean I’m invited?”
“Of course,” he says, pulling her closer.
What would I give for his faith, for the way he can make her glow.
What could I possibly offer her that he can’t? Meatloaf? A forged Degas? She doesn’t even have a fake ID, but I didn’t notice. I never asked.
I need to get out of here. Because the longer I stay, the more I’m going to fuck this up. “I’ll forward you the details,” I say, forcing myself out of the room, first one step, then the next.
Leaving her in Jansen’s arms, RJ looking on.
This is good. This is what she wanted.
She deserves the best.
Even if the best isn’t me.