The Last Heist (Pretty Thieves Book 1)

by Samantha Keith

  “Fine.” Footsteps scuffed through the speaker, and Milo handed her the phone. She took it off speaker and pressed it to her ear.

  “You’ve got one minute. Don’t try anything stupid. I’m listening.”

  “Serena?” Dani’s weak and broken voice met her ears. Serena dropped into the chair at the desk and pinched her nose to stop the flood of tears. It didn’t help.

  “Are you okay? Have they hurt you?” It was a stupid question. Dani’s battered and bruised face were evidence of that.

  “No, he hits like a girl, don’t worry.”

  “Make it quick!” the man said in the background.

  “Serena, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I should have listened to you when you told me the job was too big.”

  Serena’s senses perked up. The job was too big? What was she talking about? Fear wrapped around her heart. Oh, god. Maybe she had a concussion, or was delusional.

  “It’s okay. You’ll be home in a couple of days, I swear.”

  “I love you. Even though you stole my ex.” She chuckled. Warning bells screamed in Serena’s head. Dani wasn’t making any sense. Saliva saturated her mouth, and vomit inched up her stomach. She swallowed. The last thing she wanted to do was upset Dani further.

  “I love you too. Be safe, sis. Don’t piss them off.”

  “All right, that’s enough!” The man’s voice crowded her ear. “I’ll send the instructions. One hour. Don’t be late.”

  The line went dead.

  CHAPTER 8

  Serena’s hands shook violently as she lowered the phone to the desk. She drew her knees to her chest.

  Even though you stole my ex.

  Dani’s words made no sense. They had never shared interest in a man—it had to be a message, but what did it mean? Serena rocked on the seat. Dani had sounded so different. A shell of herself. Yet Serena couldn’t disregard what she’d said. Milo’s and Brock’s voices penetrated her concentration.

  “It will take me at least a half hour to get the cash,” Brock said, as he fit his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. “He didn’t give us much fucking time.”

  “He doesn’t want to give us the chance to come up with a plan.” Milo dragged his fingers through his hair. “My cash is here. I’ll get it together now. I’ll call you once the directions come through. If you’re too far away, I can meet you on the way to the drop-off location.”

  Milo’s gaze swung to her, and he took two long strides to fall next to her chair. “Hey, are you all right?” His palm rested on her cheek and his warm, scrutinizing globes searched her face. “Dani’s okay. They won’t touch her now, honey. This will all be over soon.”

  A wave of ice flowed out of her heart, and she forced herself to nod. She couldn’t waste another second dwelling on what Dani had said. After the money had been handed off, she’d tell Milo about her concerns regarding Dani’s mental state.

  God, what if they had drugged her? She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Please, God, no.

  Brock slipped out of the office. Milo moved his thumb over her cheek.

  “I’m going to need your help, but I have to grab something from the garage.”

  She watched him disappear and then return with a crowbar and a hammer. She stood and met him in the hallway.

  He picked up her hand and tucked her fingers into the warm cocoon of his palm. Frantic butterfly wings beat against her breastbone. She fought off the thoughts of what those pesky butterflies meant. Not fear. She’d never feared him.

  She feared her reaction to him.

  He led her upstairs and into the spare room. She turned in a circle, taking in the space. A double bed was positioned against the far wall, along with a white nightstand and dresser. Simple and tidy, although it was obvious by the thin layer of dust on the dresser and unrumpled green quilt that no one had stayed in the room for a while.

  Milo made his way to the corner of the room. “I’ve tackled most of the renos, but there’s still the odd thing I need to do,” he said, gesturing to the peach-colored walls, which didn’t match the rest of the house. He dropped to one knee and faced the wall.

  “It’s a big house for a single guy,” she said to the back of his head.

  “Yeah, I’ll list it in the spring, maybe. Make a quick buck.” He turned his head. “Maybe you can sell it for me,” he said with a wink.

  Warmth tickled her insides, and she gave a small nod. The chances that they’d still be speaking come spring were slim to none, but it was a nice thought.

  She frowned and took a few steps closer as he wedged the edge of the crowbar between the baseboard and the wall.

  “What are you doing?”

  He tapped the hammer on the bottom of the crowbar and the wood loosened from the drywall. He peeled it back and then passed her the crowbar. “Can you pry off the other end of the baseboard? This section needs to come off.”

  The fact that he was asking her for help removing a two-foot piece of trim made a smile pull at her mouth. He could accomplish the task blindfolded with two fingers, yet he acted as though he needed her assistance. In all likelihood, he was trying to keep her busy so she wouldn’t collapse into a puddle of panic.

  She accepted the tool. “Sure.”

  She repeated his motion, and when she had the baseboard loose, he tugged it off, being careful not to rough up the wall. She pushed her knuckles into the carpet and lowered her chin a few inches. A hole no more than two inches high took out a section of the drywall that the baseboard had hidden.

  Milo pressed his palm into the carpet, and his pinky brushed hers. “You’ve got small hands—can you reach in there?”

  She wiggled down so she was lying on her tummy. The angle brought the inside of the wall into view. Rectangular bundles of cash were piled between the studs. The depth of the space was less than six inches, so she didn’t have to slide her hand in too far.

  Serena couldn’t help feeling a tingle of delight. Not because of the money, but because Milo had shown her where it was. He trusted her. People of their kind—who had been betrayed by their own family and robbed by friends—didn’t trust easily. He hadn’t needed her help getting the cash. He’d wanted to prove that he trusted her. She pulled out the first bundle. A cloud of dust came with it. She coughed and turned her head, passing Milo the money.

  “Sorry, I haven’t been in here in a while.”

  She nodded, but his words hit her. This money was his savings, likely his escape-plan money—every good thief had one. Hers was in the bank. And he was using his to save Dani.

  For her?

  One by one, she dragged out the bundles, ten of them, until the hole was empty. She pushed herself into a sitting position and waited while Milo popped the baseboard into place and hammered the nails back in.

  He passed her a handful of bundles and she closed her hands around the money. His money. Money that would buy her sister’s life. Tears welled in her eyes. When they were kids, Milo had always been there for her. Loyal to the core, her best friend, the boy who would give all the money in his pocket to someone on the street.

  They’d grown in different directions, been torn apart by their scheming families and insecurities. Yet he was here. A mountain of protection that had taken her into the safety of its foothills without hesitation. She’d lost so much more than a friend when she’d lost Milo. She’d lost the promise of what they’d had.

  She dragged her eyes up the length of his forearm. The corded muscle flexed beneath his bronze skin. His bicep stretched the sleeve of his shirt, and the material was taut over the breadth of his shoulders. She swallowed as she took in the thick column of his throat, in need of a shave, and the full, pale lips that had possessed hers a hundred times.

  She needed him.

  The warm, tantalizing flame of desire that had plagued her a decade ago still burned wild.

  Milo rocked forward and pressed his foot into the carpet to stand. She dropped the money, sprang to her knees, and pushed her palms to
his chest, stopping him.

  His eyes shot to hers. Burning embers of green fire and blue ice tangled in a stormy cloud of knowing. The tools fell with a clank. His hands circled her hips and his thumbs instantly brushed beneath the hem of her shirt to caress the skin beneath.

  She couldn’t thank him. Every word she wanted to say sat buried in a heap of emotion and lust. She shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t get involved and sure as hell not now.

  His gaze fell to her lips and heat swarmed between her legs, moistening the throbbing folds that craved him.

  Screw it.

  She swooped her hand behind his neck and brought his lips to hers.

  * * *

  Christ almighty.

  The memory of kissing Serena had haunted his dreams since the night of Alban’s heist . . . right before he’d blown the blissful look off her face with his jackass comment. Fuck, he needed to set that straight and explain himself.

  For now, there was no way in hell he was breaking the contact with her sweet, luscious lips. Her tongue slipped between his teeth and flicked over his. The blood drained from his head and filled his cock as the minty taste of her mouth shot through his system.

  He tightened his hold on her hip bones to prevent himself from tearing off her shirt and devouring every inch of her skin. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t give into the alpha male side of him that wanted to strip her, own her, make her scream and shake with every stroke of his cock inside her.

  She drew her tongue out of his mouth and her lips brushed against his in a slow, torturous motion. He had to hand over the control to her. She was hurting, terrified, and she needed his support. He’d take her lead on this if it killed him.

  God, he hoped she’d need his cock too. His poor little buddy didn’t understand the torture going on upstairs. Serena dipped her head, and a lock of her hair fell in front of her face. Her lips firmed in a shy smile, and she peeked up at him.

  “Sorry, I . . . I don’t know how to say thank you.”

  The world around him tilted. Ah, hell. She’d kissed him out of gratitude? The wood in his pants became a limp rod of disappointment. She didn’t want him. Not like he wanted her. He scrubbed his palm over his cheek. He had to save face. The last thing she needed was to see his disappointment.

  He chucked her under her chin. “You don’t need to thank me.”

  She snorted. “You’re giving up a hundred grand,” she said, gesturing to the money now littered around them like candy-bar wrappers. “You saved all that.”

  He reached down to pick up the money and tools. “What’s money compared to someone’s life? I have money. I have assets.” He stretched his arm out, taking in the space around them. “Hell, this house is almost paid for. I was never stupid with my money. A hundred thousand dollars is nothing, and it sure as hell isn’t something you need to pay for with a kiss.” He winked at her to take the edge out of his voice and got to his feet.

  She took the hammer and crowbar from his hand. Her mouth worked, as if she were rolling words over her tongue. She lifted her eyes, and her steely blues sliced through him.

  “I don’t kiss everyone out of gratitude.” She moved past him and turned to stare at him over her shoulder. “Just so you know.”

  He followed her out of the room, once again kicking himself in the ass for not having a filter between his head and his stupid mouth. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and fished it out.

  “It’s the instructions.”

  Serena gravitated to his side, rising onto her tiptoes to view the screen. It took every ounce of control to block the scent of her hydrangeas and focus on the words.

  “I know that location,” she said. “It’s about twenty minutes from here.”

  The destination was a lookout area, likely deserted this time of year. He shifted his gaze to the clock at the top of the screen. He had less than forty minutes to get there. He took a screen shot of the message and sent it to Brock. A second later, Brock responded.

  Got the money. Be there in ten.

  Serena scurried to the office and dropped the tools on the desk. “We should take separate vehicles in case they try anything funny. You go alone in yours and Brock and I’ll follow.”

  Milo grimaced. “I’m not so sure about that, hon.”

  She whirled around to face him, hands on her hips and seemingly ready to throw another one of her feisty little punches. His jaw still ached from the last one.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re staying here,” he said, planting his feet, as if that would somehow prove his determination. “You and Brock.”

  Her head snapped back an inch. “Like hell I am.”

  He exhaled. Moving with caution, he put the money on the desk, and brought a tendril of her hair into his grasp.

  He twirled the lock around his finger while her eyes grew wide and distant. He tugged. “It’s too dangerous.” He spoke softly and moved his hand to her shoulder to calm the anger that was crinkling her forehead.

  “And breaking into Titus’s mansion isn’t?”

  “This is different,” he said, his tone stony. There was no way he was budging on the subject. He couldn’t.

  “What if I can identify him?”

  He shook his head again. “It’s too risky. I don’t know what I’m walking into, and if something happens to you, there’ll be no one to ensure Dani gets out safely.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist. She was pissed, but at least she wasn’t arguing that point.

  “Besides, Brock is pretty and all, but you’re the brains of this operation. Dani needs you.”

  She dropped her head back and fixed her stare on the ceiling. “Fine.” She brought her focus back to his face and cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

  He laughed and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her cool skin on his lips was like a bucket of cold water over his head. He was getting too close, too comfortable. Being around Serena would consume him.

  “You’re a hell of a lot prettier than Brock.”

  * * *

  Milo reached down and flicked the temperature knob, shifting the air from hot to cold. With the sweat tickling his armpits, the last thing he needed was heat blasting his face. All of this was riding on him. He’d come up with the idea to buy them more time, but who was to say they wouldn’t make off with the two hundred and fifty grand and then blow Dani away?

  He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. He couldn’t think about that. He’d done everything in his power to stay one step ahead while his unrelenting attraction to Serena kicked the wind out of him. All he could hope for was that the kidnapper wasn’t stupid enough to jeopardize several million dollars for a fraction of that.

  No one was that stupid.

  The clock on the dash glowed in the vehicle’s dark interior: 9:23 p.m. Seven minutes early. He navigated the winding road to the lookout point. There weren’t many places for backup to hide in this area. He slowed when he rounded the bend and swung the car into a parking spot. His headlights sliced the air. The lights from the city below lit half of the night sky, and stars speckled the darkest part.

  Fatigue crept into his bones, but his mind was wired.

  Two beams of light came around the bend, and he watched in his rearview mirror as the kidnapper approached. There seemed to be only one man in the blue Silverado, but Milo’s senses prickled nonetheless. He wouldn’t put anything past these bastards. The driver’s side door opened and a man wearing a ski mask stepped out with his hands shoved in his pockets. He stood a couple of inches taller than Milo, his frame wide and heavy.

  Big dude.

  He wouldn’t be tough to pick out in a lineup. Milo shoved open the door of his SUV, snatched the dark blue reusable bag, full of cash, and advanced on the man. Icy eyes stared at him through the cut-out holes, but not even a hint of recognition sparked Milo’s mind.

  Gravel crunched beneath his shoes. His senses sizzled. He didn’t d
are take his eyes off the kidnapper, but he scanned the space around them with his peripherals.

  “Throw me the money.”

  Milo tightened his hold on the bag. Fuck, he hated that they had to trust that the douchebag would keep his word, but there was no help for it.

  “You won’t get any more money or the diamonds until we speak with Dani again.”

  The guy laughed. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to throw away millions just to kill that bitch? She’s alive and she’ll stay that way. At least until tomorrow night,” he said with a shrug.

  Milo’s body rippled with the need to cross the fifteen feet that separated them and punch the guy in the face. He clenched his teeth until they ached, to stop himself from fucking this whole thing up.

  The man’s face hardened. “Make one stupid move and you’ll be shot.”

  Milo lifted the bag that hung by his thigh and dangled it in the air. The man gave one sharp nod. Milo tossed it. The bag sailed through the air and landed at the kidnapper’s feet with a thunk. The guy bent over, picked it up, and rummaged through it.

  Amusement lit his eyes. “Don’t move until I’m gone,” he said, as he retreated. “If anyone follows me, the deal is off.” He climbed in his truck and peeled out of the lookout spot.

  The strings of tension in Milo’s neck loosened. He dug his hand in his pocket for his phone and turned for his vehicle just as a dark shape charged out from behind it. Milo dodged the blow that came at his head, but the sharp movement made him stumble. Another jab shot out. He shifted again, taking the blow to the side of his ribs.

  Pain shot through his midsection and a grunt burst from his lips. Milo held his arm like a shield in front of his face and swung his free hand into the attacker’s mouth. His knuckles stung as the guy’s teeth split his skin. The impact jerked the man’s head backward. Then Milo balanced his weight and stomped his boot on the attacker’s knee.

  “Ah, fuck!” The guy fell to the ground and cradled his injured knee. “You fucked up my leg!”

  Milo shrugged. “If it was broken, you’d be crying like a little bitch.” He stretched out his foot and nudged the injured leg. The guy howled again. Milo reached down and yanked the ski mask from his face. Dark curls spilled out, but in the darkness, and given the angle of the guy’s head, he couldn’t make out his face.