Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“You need to eat.” Milo thrust a plate piled high with scrambled eggs and toast across the island. She wrinkled her nose. Not because the food didn’t look good, but because her stomach clenched at the thought of anything being put in it.
“Thank you,” she said. Milo nodded at her plate, and she picked up the fork. The scent of buttery eggs and freshly cut oranges tickled her nostrils. “I’m sorry, it’s hard to do all these normal things when Dani—” The muscles in her throat constricted.
Milo took the seat next to her, his pile twice the size of hers. “I know. Let’s just talk and try to have a few bites, okay?”
She nodded and took a bite of the eggs. Despite everything happening with Dani, one question kept surfacing in her mind.
“What brought you back to San Diego?”
Milo swiped a pad of butter over his toast and lifted his shoulder. “Tasha’s partner wanted out of the business, so I came to help her.”
She lifted her eyebrows and took a sip of orange juice. “You’re working at the pub?”
“Kind of. I’m part owner now, so—”
“Owner?”
“Yeah. It was a really shitty situation and there was no way she could buy out her partner and keep the bar.”
She lowered her fork. “You gave her the money?”
He pulled his shoulders back. “No. I invested in a good business.”
She gave him a skeptical look.
He sighed. “Yeah, I gave her the money. She didn’t ask, though. Tasha’s not like that.”
She didn’t know Tasha well, but when they were kids, she’d always been responsible, and so sweet. And Milo had always had a soft spot for his younger sibling.
“I don’t work the bar much. I’ve never been good with stuff like that.
But sometimes I bounce on the weekends.” He chuckled.
His laugh was low and brought up a deep memory that slipped away from her before she could grab and relish it.
“Thankfully most customers are there to eat and watch sports. I’m too damn old to deal with millennials. ”
“Watch it. You’re only three years older than me.”
His eyes bore into her. “You still look the same as you did ten years ago.”
She laughed and then quickly covered her mouth so he wouldn’t get an eyeful of chewed-up toast. “That’s almost an insult. I’ve dyed my hair, if you haven’t noticed.”
He lifted his hand, and his fingers tangled themselves into the strands of hair she’d let loose from the ponytail.
“I noticed.” His voice dropped an octave, and the words came out on a slow drawl. He moved his eyes from her hair to her face. “I also noticed a tattoo on your back.” His mouth lifted suggestively, and her insides tightened with need.
God, get a grip.
“Wait a minute, when did you see that?”
He dropped her hair and went back to his food. “At Alban’s.”
She hitched up her top lip. “How—”
“Your dress didn’t cover an inch of your back, that’s how.”
She wet her lips and swallowed to slow the flames that were spreading through her belly. He’d seen her tattoo, so what? There was nothing significant about that. But he remembered seeing it two years ago . . . Her cheeks tingled, and she took another bite to avoid his laser-focused stare.
“Are you going to tell me what it says or do I have to see it for myself?”
She coughed, covered her mouth, and reached for the glass of juice to dislodge the egg from her throat. The flames that had warmed her belly scorched up her neck. The image of being naked with Milo, his fingers tracing her tattoo, unleashed a flood of desire.
She dragged her eyes up to meet his. Lust sparked his fiery greens. His hand, so large that it ate up half the counter between their plates, twitched, and her fingers itched with the need to wiggle into his meaty, calloused palm, which had kept her anchored only hours before.
His eyebrows rose and he dipped his head, waiting for an answer.
She opened her mouth and urged her brain to come up with words . . . any words . . .
Ding, dong
Milo’s gaze jerked from hers, and he lowered his fork. “That’s Brock.” He pushed back his chair and stood. Serena glanced at the clock on the microwave: 9:41 a.m.
“He’s late,” she said, and followed him to the front door. Milo hooked his hand around the door handle and turned to her.
“Try to be nice.” His tone held a hint of humor, but the squint of his eyes warned her.
“I’m always nice.”
“Yeah, right.”
She poked him in the ribs and he let out a grunt. He opened the door while rubbing his injured side. “Hey, man.” Milo extended his hand.
Brock shook it and stepped into the house, shutting the door behind him.
Serena had to tilt her head back to look at Brock’s face. His form filled the entryway, standing a hair taller than Milo. Aviator shades covered his eyes, and his sandy brown hair waved in short locks. He peeled off his sunglasses, and his eyes landed on hers.
She screwed her lips to the side.
It had been three years since she’d seen Brock when he’d cut Dani out of a job. She shouldn’t be seething now. Not when she was so removed from her old life. But this was Brock. The cocky, playful dick who’d broken her sister’s heart and stolen fifty grand from under her nose.
“Hey, S.” His mouth hitched up in a brief flicker of amusement, but the smirk faltered as quickly as it had appeared. “I’m sorry about Dani. How are you holding up?”
She tightened her arms around her chest and rolled her lips in. Milo’s hand on her bicep warmed her. “I’m fine. I won’t say it’s nice to see you, but thanks for coming to help.” Her throat tightened on the words.
Traitor. Dani’s voice rang in her ears. Serena winced. Dani would get over it . . . eventually.
“Come in, Brock. We’ll go over what we have.
” She waited for him to kick off his shoes and then led him and Milo into the office.
With caffeine in her system and food in her belly, it was time to get down to action.
She rounded the desk that had been cleared of its computer and electronics.
Freshly printed blueprints covered its glass top.
On the edge of the desk was a sheet of paper outlining the details of the mission.
Milo moved next to her, his body so close that she ached for him to touch her.
He didn’t. He pointed to the paper. “The property is gated, but judging from pictures, we can climb the wall and that will position us behind the tennis court. We’ll have to enter the house here,” he said, gesturing to the side entrance.
“According to the prints, it’s the farthest from the servants’ quarters. Less chance we’ll be caught.”
Brock crossed his foot over his ankle. “Yeah, I like that it’s close to this line of trees. It’s a good spot for me to be on standby if you need backup.”
Serena approached the drawings. Her mind was much clearer now than it had been a few hours earlier.
“That won’t work.”
Both men pinned her with their gazes.
“Why not?” Brock said with a frown.
She moved in front of Milo. “Because here,” she said, tapping the drawing, “and here there are cameras.”
Milo huffed a breath behind her. “Shit, how did we miss that before?”
“We can hack into their surveillance system and deactivate the cameras,” Brock offered.
Serena chewed the inside of her cheek. In a different situation, that would be an acceptable idea, but they didn’t have time for that. “There’s too many things that could go wrong if we mess with their cameras. We’re better to slip in and not risk tripping a firewall and alerting them.”
“What do we do?” Milo asked. He’d moved closer to the table, and his chest brushed against her shoulder as he studied the blueprints. “It’s locked down.”
She massaged her temples. He was right. The other entrances were even tighter, with multiple rotating cameras or close proximity to the servants’ quarters.
Since they’d be making the move before midnight, it was too much of a risk to enter where the house was occupied.
And they couldn’t wait until later since they had to deliver the diamonds at 1:00 a.m. She moved to the printout of Titus’s evening routine.
Milo made a sound of impatience. “I’ve been through that. He doesn’t leave the house after dinner unless he has an engagement.”
She dug the knuckle of her index finger into her cheek. “Here,” she said, pointing to the second last point on Titus’s routine.
Milo and Brock leaned in. “What? An hour in his cigar room?”
She shrugged. “It’s all we have. The cigar room is on the main level, opposite end of the house as his suite. He’ll be there from ten to eleven. We’ll have to make it work.”
It wasn’t ideal, but given the circumstances, they didn’t have the luxury of rescheduling the heist.
Crap.
“We’ve got a bigger problem.”
Both men swiveled their heads to her.
“What?” Brock said.
“Titus has three rottweilers.”
Brock’s jaw unhooked and Milo hung his head. Someone cursed. She tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, forcing her brain to transport her back to her conversation with Titus about the dogs. Visions of the accident kept intercepting her memory, but she tried to ignore them.
“They’re usually inside. I have a room for them on the main floor, so I’ll need enough notice for showings to have one of my staff move them outside. If someone comes unannounced, they’ll be sorry.”
“The dogs are kept in their own room on the main floor.”
“Well that’s great. I don’t see how we can get past three dogs,” Brock said.
Milo didn’t say anything, but his eyes tracked her face. A hint of challenge lit his emerald greens. She scanned the papers again. Something had to work. She noticed an overhang off the master bedroom. Leaning closer, she smiled.
“Right here. We’ll get in through the balcony. He won’t have cameras outside his bedroom—or inside for that matter, and there’s a good chance the dogs won’t hear us.”
Brock’s chuckle broke her concentration. She looked at him.
“It’s not a stretch of the imagination that he’d have cameras in his bedroom. If you know what I mean.”
She pursed her lips. “Thanks for the visual.”
He raised his hands. “Hey, that guy has more women coming through his bedroom than I do.”