CHAPTER SIX #2
“Maybe.” I pause our trek behind the cover of the grotto, unable to keep myself from skimming my palm over the definition of her silky arm. “But now I’m an accessory to this, one way or another. I have as much on the line as you do, and I have a hell of a lot of resources to correct any issues.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Her jaw sets, popping open with indignation.
“You do not have as much on the line as me, and while I appreciate you recovering from your fuck up of crashing this party, you don’t get to play hero now.
I did the recon on this job. I put myself on the line countless times for it.
And I’ll be the one in that room, finishing it. ”
Every cell in my body itches with the urge to comfort her, completely separate from the attraction that has utterly consumed me for months.
I lift her chin so she’s forced to look at me. “I wasn’t suggesting that I had any claim to the success of tonight. I meant that I’ll be there every step of the way. If something goes wrong, you won’t be alone.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Her ambers romp all over my face, so many perplexing emotions swirling inside them.
“I’ll give you the bare bones. His office is locked, but I have the code.
The safe I need to reach is located within a sculpture.
That shouldn’t be an issue, but the time variation I offered is in case there is any security surrounding it that I didn’t find during recon. ”
My chest swells with an unfamiliar warmth, but I don’t let on that I’m surprised by or grateful for her trust. That might squash it. “You didn’t get eyes in the office?”
“I know the type of safe due to his connections and purchase history, but the camera doesn’t point at the sculpture—”
“So he doesn’t have to worry about someone scouting the contents on the footage,” I finish, downing most of my drink.
“Exactly,” she whispers, allowing herself the smallest sip of champagne.
This entire house is a monument to priceless artifacts.
What the hell is she stealing if it’s so precious that Peter won’t even risk it appearing on camera?
I can’t get hung up there. Sylvie may be here for something she deems a treasure.
But so am I, and she’s actually in arm’s reach. I’m not going to risk blowing it.
“And the lock?” I ask, assuming she has all her bases covered, but needing to be certain.
She nods, pouring her champagne into my nearly empty glass. “That is one thing you can help me with. The safe is secured by iris identification, and the interface is located in the cigar lounge, where we’ll be having drinks with him.”
That does complicate matters. Again, I swallow my natural instinct—this time, it’s to gloat about how I could use my sleight of hand to assist, ask if she needs me to extract his eyeball for easier access, or to extend my awe for her gumption to pull this off while hobnobbing with the man himself—and instead play it unaffected.
“The plan?”
“I’m all set.” Her mouth quirks as if she could read some of my inner thoughts. “I just need it to seem natural for me to be near the thermostat, which is actually a control panel and located on the opposite end of the room from where the chairs are. Your diversion skills could be useful.”
I tap the corner of my eye. “All set?”
She laughs and starts walking toward the house again. “He had an appointment at the optometrist a week and a half ago.”
Christ, this woman fascinates me. Not only is she far beyond gorgeous, but she’s brilliant and cunning with a veneer of vulnerability that I’m eager to get a better glimpse of. And that’s only scratching the surface of how she’s wrecking me.
I’m fucking hard because she had a replica of Peter’s eyeball made. Who knew that was even a goddamn kink?
“Good.” I clear my throat and adjust my jacket as we continue on the path. “But if he realizes the safe has been broken into, won’t everyone in that room be prime suspects?”
She sighs, the slightest shred of apprehension glazing the sweet noise. “That’s not an option. He has to be clueless because what I’m taking won’t be used for over a month.”
“You’re counting on him not checking for all that time?”
Her chest deflates with what is likely a reservation about how much she should share. “He won’t need it until I’m done with it, and I’ll be leaving a dummy in its place.”
Before we make it to the French doors, I grab her elbow. “Anything else I should know?”
“No. This is a simple job.”
I kick my chin to her purse. “Give me your phone.”
“This isn’t the time.” She’s aghast, but there’s a morsel of amusement mixed in there.
She thinks I’m hitting on her again, and I don’t think she hates it. Noted.
“We’re friends now, remember?” I arch my brows to call her on her hypocrisy. “And if you run into a problem, you can text me so I know to cover.”
She huffs, glancing around, as if there’s another solution out here, until she finally concedes, plucking her burner from her purse and handing it over. “Here.”
I take it, logging my number and texting my phone so I have hers too. “This will do for tonight, but I expect your primary number when this is over, Sly.”
She hitches her bare shoulder with coy flirtation. “We’ll see. It depends on how well you do, Noire.”
Peter led a group of twelve to his lounge. The room is impressive and yet nothing special—leather, mahogany, amber lighting, ancient books, art, and humidors. I own several similar parlors.
I’m familiar with all the guests as well. Four of the men are my members, so we’ve had a few conversations over the years. The fifth man and his wife are real estate gurus, who have their own reality show.
None of that holds my attention. No, that would be the fact that Peter Fairfax brought six couples to his private gathering, but didn’t invite a date.
I’ve never wanted to murder someone for their internal thoughts, but here we are.
Because I know he’s envisioning Sylvie in positions he has no right to imagine.
I sip my whiskey on the rocks, tuning out the droning conversation in favor of eating up every speck of space between me and the beauty I get to flaunt as mine tonight. Pecking her neck, I cruise to her earlobe and keep my voice low. “When is it go time, Sly?”