Chapter 1 #3
“I can tell. Welcome to Crime 101. Besides that camera right there,” he pointed up to a camera high above the door that seemed to be pointing exactly where Carrie was standing.
She jerked back, hiding the key behind her back, reaching up to make sure her mask was in place.
“Stop panicking. We’ll take care of that as soon as we’re in.
But besides that, as soon as they realize they’ve been broken into, the first thing the cops are going to do is look at the doors and ask, ‘who’s got a key?
’ So, I highly suggest you wipe your prints off that and chuck it into the river tonight.
“Next, put these on.” He handed her a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, already wearing a pair himself. “Ideally we want them to think this lock was jimmied, which could have been anyone and doesn’t point to you.”
He pulled a length of stiff wire, like a cheap, straightened clothes hanger, from his back pocket, bent it into a U shape and inserted the two ends into the lock, scrubbing it around roughly before finally turning it.
He opened the door and gestured Carrie to go ahead.
She tried not to be impressed at how easy he’d made that seem.
They entered the craft store’s dimly lit back warehouse among racks and racks of craft supplies, the unholy trinity of fake scents hitting her like a brick: Pseudo Cinnamon, Never Evergreen, and—
“Gah!” Pukey Pumpkin Spice. She clapped a hand over her nose and hurried past the rack of candles nearby, unmistakable in bright red, green, and deep orange.
“Not a pumpkin spice fan?” he asked, as if they were just out for a nice walk around the neighborhood.
“No, ugh! It’s so fake.”
“It gets to be fall and the whole city starts bathing in pumpkin spice,” he observed. “It’s a sign of the season.”
She turned to Buck. “Why are you here? This is my skin in the game, remember? My part to play. Plus, aren’t you worried your guys will skim off the top while you’re gone?
” She glared at him from behind her mask.
He had the hood of his black sweatshirt up, mirrored sunglasses on, and that was it.
She had to admit that he looked much cooler than she did.
He looked at her over the rims of his aviators.
“Lighten up, Scream,” he said, booping the mask’s nose.
“I had to make sure you were committed and not going to the fuzz, but here you are! Strait-laced Carrie all dressed up and pulling a B and E. Never thought I’d see it.
And my guys know better than to let the count come up light.
” A dangerous glimmer shone in his eyes.
The smile dropped from his face and he held out his hand. “Now give me the envelope.”
Huffing at him in exasperation, Carrie handed it over and crossed her arms, tapping her foot while he thumbed through the $400 inside and read the note she’d written sloppily on the front: NEEDED STUFFING FOR THANKSGIVING PROJECT. THIS SHOULD COVER IT. SORRY. WILL PLAN AHEAD NEXT TIME.
She tried to snatch it back but he just laughed, holding it up out of reach.
“Give that back!” She reached and jumped for the envelope, only to find herself smooshed against one very nice, solid chest.
“Umm,” she said, realizing the position she was in. They were in. His free arm was wrapped around her waist and her feet were off the floor. She dropped her arm and suddenly it rested around his shoulders.
“No, please. Keep trying.” He raised his eyebrows at her. His aviators had slipped down his nose and she found herself drowning in those gorgeous Pacific blues. “I’m really enjoying this side of pretty, Miss Perfect, four-point-oh, shoulda-been Valedictorian Carrie Smith.”
He thought she was pretty? She felt herself blush and never was she happier to be wearing a mask.
“I am not Miss Perfect.” She wiggled and he thankfully let her down.
“Also, I got a three-point-nine-seven. Shane McMurray got Valedictorian.” All because of that stupid science fair project where she’d tried and failed to make cold fusion a reality in six weeks, while Shane had succeeded in proving there was iron in Total Raisin Bran.
Not that she was still sore about it or anything.
Buck snorted. “Shane McMurray eats paint compared to you.”
Aw, she practically melted in her Keds. That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her.
Then he looked at the envelope still in his hand and snorted a laugh, pocketing it.
“But you’re still Strait-laced Carrie.” She started to protest that assessment, but he cut her off.
“We’re breaking and entering here, Cara.
Rule number one: don’t leave evidence behind when you’re committing a crime.
We could consider this my very reasonable consultant’s fee for not letting you be a dumbass.
” He patted his back pocket. “However, if you’re good,” his smile was a charming warning, “I’ll give it back to you when we’re out of here. ”
“I was just—”
He gave her a stern look that did something inappropriate to her insides.
Geez, what was wrong with her? “That envelope has your handwriting and fingerprints all over it. Now, for lesson two, I’ll show you why you don’t need that get up.
” He led the way to the office, very much like her own, and pulled the VHS tape out of the security system, tossing it into one of the shelving carts.
“There see? It doesn’t matter if the cameras see us. No recording. Like my uncle would say, bada bing, bada boom.”
“That’s smart,” she said, wishing she had thought of it. She took off the mask, tossing it in the shelving cart with the VHS tape.
“Anyway, come on Cutie,” he said. Together they stepped out into the dim, silent store. Carrie paused, looking around.
“Which way?” Buck whispered behind her, causing her to jump. He laughed, a low, husky sound.
“How am I supposed to know?” she whispered back.
“You’re the nerd girl. I thought craft and bookstores were your personal nirvana.”
It was true but, “That doesn’t mean I automatically know craft store layout.” He kept looking at her expectantly.
She huffed in exasperation. “Fine, take a cart and go left, I’ll go right. We’re looking for pillow stuffing. It’s probably near sewing.”
“Alright,” he agreed. “But first, hand over your cell phone. Come on, I know you have one.”
“Why?”
“So you don’t get any ideas and do something stupid.”
She hesitated.
“Or, I can just follow you and this can take twice as long?”
“Fine, here.” She slapped her prized Nokia into his outstretched palm. “I want it back though.”
He looked at the little brick of a phone in its faux leather case in disdain. “Once this is done, can you at least get something better? Like one of those new flip phones.”
“Sure, like I’m suddenly going to buy a thousand-dollar phone. That wouldn’t be suspicious at all.” Carrie shook her head. “Besides, if I were going to spend a bunch of money, it would be on a new car.”
“The ‘81 Pontiac isn’t cutting it anymore?” he asked with a grin.
“Earl was . . . very reliable,” protested Carrie weakly, surprised he’d noticed her car in high school, or remembered the boring, gray steel box that took days to get from zero to sixty.
Her current Honda Civic was economical, but not much better.
She sighed. “I’d get a 60’s Mustang maybe, not the stupid ‘80s ones. Or maybe a late-model Porche 911, or . . . how much money are we talking here?”
“You like fast cars,” he said sounding surprised.
“Who doesn’t?”
“So, what do you think about the new Boxter?”
“Mmmm, that car is hella fine. Even better than the 911. Impractical though.” It was sad to admit, but true. Impractical cars were her weakness. And maybe impractical men.
“Impractical is the spice of life,” he grinned at her, unaware of the turn her thoughts had taken.
Her gaze stuttered away from him. “Anyway, we gotta find the stuffing.”
Carrie turned right, pulling the cart with her and glad to get a few minutes alone.
She was not aware of his every move again, like back in high school.
He was not exciting, she told her libido sternly as she moved past bins of plastic pumpkins and the shelves of you-paint-it wooden signs.
It was the situation, not his stupid, crooked smile in the store’s nighttime security lighting.
The décor section melded into seasonal and she passed a discount rack of country themed merch featuring cowboy hats, boots, orange plaid bows and the phrase, “Happy Fall, Y’All!” all over everything. No wonder it was on clearance. Where did Tracey think they were, anyway, the heart of Texas?
The country kitsch throw pillows made Carrie think she was on the right track, until she found herself in a stand of fake Christmas trees, lit and twinkling in the dark store. The shelving cart’s wheels got stuck on the fake, cottony snow on the side of the path.
Just as she was bending over to free the wheels from the sparkly fluff, which maybe she could use, if necessary? She heard a loud whisper behind her.
“Ppssst! Carrie!”
Even knowing logically that it had to be Buck, Carrie stumbled, and it was in that moment that someone else moved, someone only a few feet in front of her.
Carrie jumped with a shriek and punched out on instinct at a short figure that had been hiding in the dark.
Whoever it was chose that moment to flip on lights, grab at Carrie, make a horrible racket, and . . . gyrate at her.