“Mmm.” She shifted against him, thrusting her pelvis closer to his thigh.
Jesus.
He turned his head so he could stare at the ceiling. His phone was stuck in his back pocket, so he couldn’t check the time. The last thing he wanted to do was fall asleep and wake up eight hours later, but Serena needed sleep and he sure as hell didn’t want to jostle her awake. He pulled the covers over her shoulder and closed his eyes. He’d rest a few minutes . . .
Buzz, buzz, buzz
The gentle vibration on his ass cheek jerked his eyes open. Serena lay plastered against him, her arm now looped around his neck and her knee so far across his thigh that the lower half of her body straddled him. He eased out from under her, letting her cheek slide to the pillow beneath his shoulder. She didn’t stir.
He pushed off the bed and fished his phone from his pocket. The first thing he checked was the time: 4:30 a.m. Damn, he’d slept more than two hours. Serena let out a deep sigh, and he backed out of the room and made his way to the main-floor office.
The house had way more space than he needed, but when it had come up as a foreclosure, he couldn’t resist the investment.
He dropped into the office chair and opened the message on his screen.
Rhett.
Dude, I hope you’ve given it some thought. Let me know where you’re sitting and I can contact some trustworthy uniforms.
Shit. He trusted Rhett, but couldn’t put his friend in a tough position. Now that they had agreed to steal from Titus, the rules had changed. He’d taken his newly polished record and traded it in for a criminal’s.
Again.
No. He’d only involve Rhett if it came down to it, and for right now, Milo had things under control. But if they wanted to rescue Dani unscathed, they’d need backup. They’d need at least one other person to be on lookout. Because he sure as hell wasn’t sending Serena into Titus’s den alone. There was only one person he could think of who was qualified to help. He was dangerous, a bit of an asshole . . . and Dani’s worst enemy.
He scrolled through his contacts, selected the name of a person he hadn’t talked to in years, and hit Call.
Serena was going to kill him.
* * *
Serena stretched her arms above her head and yawned. The chilly air outside the blankets made her tuck her limbs back into hibernation. Her cheek sunk into soft material, threatening to lull her back to sleep.
No, can’t sleep . . .
She frowned. Why the hell couldn’t she sleep? She forced her eyes open, and the sight of the unfamiliar masculine bedroom shot her into a sitting position.
Dani!
How long had she slept? No light shone through the blinds, so it was still night. She felt rested, though. God, that better not mean she’d wasted too many precious hours. She threw back the covers and charged out of the room. Where was her phone? And where was Milo?
She headed toward the glow of light on the main floor. Milo sat at an office desk, his hair disheveled, his T-shirt wrinkled, and his dark stubble much thicker than it had been the last time she’d noted it. She fished her fingers through the messy end of her ponytail.
“What time is it?”
“Almost five.”
She glared at him. “You were supposed to wake me.” Her tone held no venom, despite her annoyance. As much as she wanted to wring his neck for letting her sleep so long, she needed to get focusing on the heist.
Her gaze dropped to Milo’s caramel-colored coffee in a mug on the desk. Her mouth watered.
Milo stood. “Here, have a look at these blueprints. The kidnapper just sent them. I’ll fix you a coffee.”
She took his vacated seat and scrolled over the email. “Did you send this email address to your FBI friend?”
“Yes. That and the number he called from. Though I doubt the kidnapper is dumb enough to lead us to them that easily.” Milo disappeared toward the kitchen.
She pressed her lips together and clicked on one of the attachments. It had been years since she had to map out a job, but her memory kicked into high gear. She immediately sought out the location and the number of exits in relation to their potential entry point.
Milo returned a minute later and handed her a steaming white mug. “What do you think?”
She made a face. “On paper it looks feasible. He’s only a few minutes away from the interstate, which will help us make a smooth getaway.”
He rested his hands on the back of her chair and leaned forward. His chest brushed her shoulder as she forced herself to click on the second attachment.
“Here’s his schedule.” She tapped her thumb on the side of the mouse and winced. “Everything he has planned is during the day. We need to get in at night, when there’s less staff.”
Milo grunted.
She lifted the mug and took a sip of the perfectly sweetened brew. “Getting into his mansion will be hell. He has three live-in staff—his assistant, head maid, and chef. On top of that, he has five other full-time staff who come and go between nine and five Monday to Saturday.”
She set the mug down and lowered her head to her fingertips. Milo’s large palms covered her shoulders and kneaded her muscles.
“We can do it.”
She sucked back a laugh. “No, we can’t. You don’t understand. Dani is the backbone of every heist I’ve ever done.”
He stopped his massaging and swiveled the chair around, forcing her to stare at him. “You’re the ground agent. You do the hardest part of the job.”
Tears tingled the corners of her eyes. She was too tired to hold them back. “It’s not that . . . it’s her. I’ve always had her in my ear keeping me calm. Not just with jobs, but with everything. When I know she’s watching and leading me through darkness, I can get through anything.”
He dropped to one knee and nestled his palms on either side of her thighs. “Dani is lucky to have you. You’re going to do this, and I’m going to help you.”
She rubbed at the corner of her eye with her palm. Part of her wanted to scream “Why now? Why weren’t you there when I needed you before?” but she couldn’t. She couldn’t hate Milo for the past. At least not right now. Right now, she had to save Dani, and she needed Milo’s help to do it.
“It’ll be tough with just the two of us. When Dani and I did Alban’s heist, we still had our team in the background to help with getaway and research.”
One of Milo’s hands moved from her leg, and his fingernail scratched over his top lip. “About that . . .”
She narrowed her eyes at him. He squinted at her through one eye in that familiar don’t-be-pissed-at-me look of his. Her blood slowed.
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “I, uh, called in some help.”
She sat forward. “You did? Great. Who?”
His gaze shifted to the ground and back up. “Brock Wheeler.”
She felt the muscles in her face go lax. “Brock? The same Brock we used to work with?”
His wince deepened. “That’s the one.”
“Oh my god.” She stood and paced the small office. “You’re out of your mind. Dani will lose her shit.”
“Well, Dani isn’t in a position to argue.”
She glared at him. “He agreed to this? He knows what we’re doing and why?”
“Yeah, I just got off the phone with him.”
Her skepticism grew. “At four in the morning?”
“He’s not much of a sleeper,” Milo said, shrugging.
She let her breath hiss through her teeth. “What did he say?”
“He was appalled by what’s happened to Dani. He’ll be here around nine, so you can grill him then.” Milo stood and hooked his hands around her elbows. “Look, we need all the help we can get. Whatever differences you have with Brock, set them aside.”
She tapped her foot on the ground. It wasn’t about her differences with Brock. She’d never had anything against him. It was Dani’s differences with him she defended.
H
e was Dani’s ex-boyfriend and rival. But he was the best of the best at what he did, like Dani. This heist wasn’t about money. It wasn’t about being the one on top. All that mattered was getting Dani out alive. And if that meant recruiting Brock, so be it. She’d deal with Dani’s wrath later.
The thought made her cringe.
“All right.” She jabbed her finger against the wall of Milo’s chest. The muscle didn’t give. “He’d better not be late.”
CHAPTER 7
“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 Last Heist (Pretty Thieves Book 1) Page 8