CHAPTER NINETEEN
SYLVIE
What every great heist needs is a billionaire playboy who wants for absolutely nothing. The number of times I’ve thought that is staggering—or never. But here we are.
Zipping down the moonlit Massachusetts highway on my new Ducati with a mammoth Noire on the back was not part of my original plan.
And I’d be lying if I claimed that I felt settled about it because there’s an uneasiness swimming in my gut.
Those instincts should not be ignored, but I also don’t have the luxury of rescheduling this.
Aside from that, I love the bike and could not be more amused by the notion of Cash’s muscular ass balancing on the tiny wedge of the second seat.
“This is great,” he deadpans into the helmet mic. “Undoubtedly the right decision for you to drive. If you get tired, I can take over from this position since you’re pocket-sized.”
I weave between two sedans that are determined to stay neck and neck with each other and speed around an SUV to move into a clearer stretch. “I’m not that short. I’m five-two.”
He chuckles and spreads his hand over my thigh, his thumb meandering in an intimate perusal that shouts how confusing things have become while his other arm is still wrapped around my waist. “Those two sentences do not belong together, Sly.”
“Yeah,” I sass back as we lean into a bend, the cool night air rushing over us, “it’s my size we should be hung up on. How’s your tush?”
He presses closer, taking up the majority of the space on the bike and nudging me with the oversize bulge in his pants. “It’ll need a massage later for sure.”
The memory of him in my mouth—his flavor, his piercings, his grunts, and his overwhelming length and girth—assaults me, but he doesn’t need his ego stroked, so I go another direction. “Well, if it’s going to be sore anyway, hold on, princess.”
It’s a straight shot off the exit and all clear, so I pull the front wheel up to the melody of Cash’s whoop.
I keep it quick and low because our center of gravity is off with him on the back, but with a little finesse on the clutch, I manage a small wheelie to give him a thrill.
It’s a final hurrah for our en route fun.
Being with someone who enjoys a rush as much as I do is undeniably exhilarating.
Once I veer onto the Boston city streets, the jovial mood shifts to pregame intensity. The din of traffic and nightlife meld with my thumping heartbeat. Even Cash stiffens, sensing the change.
When I park a street over, the air is thick with tension.
While I don’t like company for a job, I wasn’t going to risk Cash doing something stupid out of genuine concern.
And on the upside, Axel did some digging regarding the cleaning crew for me, as an extra precaution.
His findings backed up mine—they’d switched due to a double-booked situation and some equipment issues.
The conspiracy theorist in me is aware that someone could make it appear that way, but I’m not letting myself spiral now. This should be a quick in-and-out raid.
The cleaning crew’s vans are already lined up along the rear entrance of the twenty-floor historical building. The uniforms are simple black polos with black pants, so I’m all set there. I remove my helmet, tell Cash I need a minute to check in with E, and step away with my burner.
He answers immediately, expecting me. “Are you there?”
“I’m good to go.” I pace in the shadows, nervous energy coursing through me—worsened by the fierce blues pinned to me from the overprotective Noire. “Cleaners are here, so I’ll head in soon. If all goes smoothly, it should only take me about twenty minutes.”
A whiff of the briny harbor water, mixed with car exhaust and the faint fragrance of molasses, wafts around me, doing nothing to help my sudden nausea.
“Is everything okay?” His voice has more of a manic edge to it than it normally does, and at first, I think it’s because he’s picking up on my anxiety, but then he tacks on a subtle accusation. “You disappeared on me.”
“I spoke with you on Cinco de Mayo, and then I sent you a message that the date for this was changing.”
“You did.” He hedges, irritation filtering through the phone now. “But you failed to mention how everything unraveled that night. I had an associate there who told me there was a power outage and a whole lot of chaos. The goal is to be as seamless as possible.”
Shit.
I’m not surprised he got a report from a secondary source.
I stopped fretting about that evening after I went to Florida though.
Life has been traveling at warped speed lately.
But as I stare back at the man who crashed the party, I’m wondering if E has any idea about that.
Doubtful. It would be challenging for him to ask anyone about me without drawing suspicion.
Unflappable confidence trumps most doubts more than a logical breakdown of events, so I lean into that. “It was seamless. I got what we needed. Nothing else matters, so stop panicking. You don’t need to know how the sausage is made.”
“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you,” he bites out. “But I do need to know if you were the one behind that.”
I’m not sure how to respond because if he pressures me for details about how I achieved the power outage, I can’t provide them—not without divulging that I involved other people. And that would be a disaster. He would not appreciate me roping the Noires into this.
Instead, I deflect. “Is there a reason you’re nervous? This isn’t a great vibe for me to be carrying minutes before a job.”
“Agreed,” he grits out, “but if someone figures out what we’re doing …”
He’s hiding something. This is always the problem in a con game. Everything said is bullshit.
“You can’t just leave that open-ended. What, E?”
“I’ve got a lot riding on this. That’s all.” He pauses for a beat—long enough to leave me guessing whether this uncharacteristic vulnerability is him spiraling or manipulating me. “If you think someone is interfering or following you, I need to know. We’ll find a new way in.”
A new way in? I don’t want to start this over or prolong this obligation.
We’re so close. But someone is aware of something.
I can’t decide if I should tell him about the note.
It might’ve simply been Danny, pissed that Cash had been tracking me down.
He loved the idea of having whoever he wanted while ensuring I was only his.
Or someone else is watching me. I did get the sense that I was being followed in New York the day before I got that warning, but I assumed that was Cash’s people on me.
Maybe I’ll tell E after tonight. At least we’ll have all the keys.
“Every job has glitches. I’m not thrilled about the cleaning company’s schedule being changed, but it appears to check out. Other than that …”
“So, you don’t have any reason to believe someone else is going after the keys or aware that you are?” he presses.
“I don’t …” I think about the last two jobs. There was no issue in San Francisco, and the only snag at Peter’s was surrounding Cash. No one else seemed to be interested in getting upstairs or into Peter’s office. “No, I really don’t.”
“Okay,” he grunts. “Call me when you’re done.”
“Will do.” I tuck my burner away and saunter back to Cash, who seems displeased.
He fits the hat that goes with the cleaning company’s uniform on my head and uses the bill to pull me in close. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I sigh, feeding my ponytail through the opening in the cap and shrugging off my leather jacket.
“He was edgy.” I pluck the small fanny pack from the backpack we brought with us, fasten it around my waist, and slide on a pair of thin work gloves.
“I just want to get this over with. I won’t be long. ”
He moves in step beside me as I start to walk across the side street. “I’ll sneak in so no one sees me, but I’m going with you.”
“The hell you are.” I narrow my eyes at him, my blood boiling.
“Look, I’ve played nice. But I do not have a plan that involves you walking into that building with me.
And deviations at the last minute are what end up getting people pinched.
Stay here, and I’ll let you be the getaway driver on the way home. ”
“Sly—”
“No. This man knows my family, and he’s unsettled. Things generally go downhill once someone is spooked.”
“Fine.” He snaps a bracelet on me—one I never even saw him get from anywhere. “This is my compromise. It lets me track you and your vitals.”
“You’re fucking insane,” I hiss, though I don’t bother fighting him. “But you win. Now, go back to the bike.”
“You’re sexy when you’re working, baby. So bossy.
I need to fuck that sass out of you, but …
” He grips the back of my neck and ensnares my mouth in a swift but sultry kiss that shoots to places I have no business paying heed to right now.
“Do your thing. If there’s an issue, I’ll be there. I protect what’s mine.”
I don’t have time to parse out his possessiveness, and he swaggers backward, letting me go, so it can keep.
Tonight’s entry is easy because the doors are wide open, and I’m dressed as someone who’s permitted inside.
But the cameras are a challenge. The security is monitored by a nearby agency on the weekends, probably more so with people here overnight.
I can’t loop the feed for the whole building because there’s an expectation to see the cleaners, but I don’t want to be filmed.
With all the facial recognition software out there, hiding is harder than ever.
There aren’t cameras in the stairwells though, so that’s my plan. I grab a backpack vacuum from the van and keep it in front of my face as I head for the door to the stairs.
“Did Mark tell you to do the stairwell?” some guy scurrying past me asks.
“That’s where I’m headed,” is all I respond as I pull the door open.