by Elise Noble
Objective two: achieved.
The waiters brought out the main course, slow-roasted lamb, which I didn’t feel at all inclined to eat. At least the chef had gone for quality over quantity. For the most part, I didn’t get nervous before jobs—I’d done too many of them now to consider wasting the energy—but this one mattered. Really mattered. I couldn’t erase the bad parts of Alaric’s past, but I wanted his future to be rosy.
That fucking painting.
We’d act after dessert was served. The guests would be preoccupied and tipsy, and hopefully the security team would have grown complacent, more concerned about an external threat than a bunch of slightly raucous partygoers. Black would make the final call, and I watched him as he watched the room.
“Could somebody pass the water?” Hallie asked.
“Still or sparkling?”
“Still.”
Rafael topped off her glass as a waiter set dessert in front of me. Chocolate Surprise, according to the menu, and the surprise was that it nearly blew my fucking head off. Who thought it would be a good idea to add chilli to chocolate mousse? I swallowed a whole glass of water.
Not long now.
“One minute,” Black murmured.
Nate began a countdown, and we switched to an open channel. Each of us wore a subvocal earpiece, small enough that it would pass a cursory inspection unnoticed. Ravi’s hands moved in his lap, and I knew he was arranging his tools. He had the job of extracting Spirit from her ornate gilt frame and replacing her with Xav’s version. Black was his bagman. The rest of us? We’d be running interference. I locked in on the nearest guard, memorised his position, calculated his likely path.
Ten, nine, eight…
I fished the smoke grenade out from between my legs and pulled the pin. Two faint metallic pings told me Dan and Ana had done the same.
Seven, six, five…
Xav, Quinn, and Rafael? They had flashbangs. When the girls rolled the smoke canisters on zero, Nate would count us three more seconds, enough time to close our eyes and cover our ears. Then the men would let loose.
Four, three, two…
Fuck, a waiter was on the move. I cut my eyes in his direction, and Ana answered with a nod. She was on it.
One…
The lights went out. The metal screens installed for the event acted as blackout blinds. Thanks to Nate’s activities during the week, the backup generators remained silent.
Zero…
I kicked my canister hard, and it skittered four tables away. The hiss of smoke was followed by gasps, then screams when the flashbangs went off. I leapt out of my seat and put myself on a course to intercept the guard. Felt rather than saw him ahead of me. Body-checked him hard enough that he landed on his ass.
“What the…?”
“Oh! I’m so sorry!”
If everything had gone according to plan, Ravi would be at the stage already. Beth had been unexpectedly brilliant in the run-up to tonight. When she delivered the Picasso to the hotel, she’d prattled on about her old job at the Pemberton gallery and talked up her art history degree, and the dude who’d brought Spirit was only too happy for her to take a closer look, front and back. Her body cam had recorded every detail of the painting and its frame, and she’d even managed to get her gloved hand in the picture for scale.
Black would be carrying the forgery across the room, holding it aloft so nobody walked into it by accident. At six feet seven, he was the tallest man at the gala apart from Rafael, and Rafael was busy bumping panicking guests out of Ravi’s way.
Terror, confusion, horrified shouts—we had it all. Someone tried using a flashlight, but the beam bounced uselessly off the smoke.
“I have Spirit,” Black announced.
Objective three: achieved.
“It’s a tight fit,” Ravi murmured.
I really didn’t want to hear those words at that moment.
“Will it go in?” Nate asked.
“That’s usually my line,” Carmen quipped.
A groan. Was that Dan? “Too much information.”
“It’s done,” Ravi said, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. Thank fuck for that.
“Places, everyone,” Nate ordered.
We fought our way through the fray so we ended up somewhere in the vicinity of our table. We’d spied on the setup and replicated the layout at Riverley, learned the number of steps between each obstacle, and practised walking around the ballroom for days with our eyes closed. I reached my seat just as the lights came on again.
Holy hell. The banquet hall was a war zone. Stray shoes, smashed glass, blood because the latter didn’t mix well with bare feet. Dazed diners stumbled around like zombies. On stage, Spirit looked untouched, and that was where the security team headed as soon as they found their feet. Would they notice the switch?
“The painting!” a woman shrieked. “It’s gone!”
Ah, shit.
I spun to look at her, but she wasn’t pointing at Spirit. No, her trembling finger was extended towards an empty spot on the side wall, three slots up from the Picasso.
To echo the guard’s words from earlier: What the…?
“Which painting’s gone?” a guard asked, and his voice held a hint of panic. Quite understandable, given the circumstances.
“The Shepherd’s Watch.”
“What’s going on?” Alaric asked. “Somebody took a different painting?”
“Sure looks that way,” I muttered under my breath.
“The Shepherd’s Watch?” Bethany echoed. “Oh my goodness! I studied it at university, and… My gosh! It was rumoured to have been stolen during the Holocaust. The alleged owner lost a court battle to get it back.”
Reality hit me like the proverbial freight train. Marshall had been used. We’d been used. The Master didn’t want Spirit; he wanted The Shepherd. This gala had been the obvious place for an attempt to steal both Spirit and The Shepherd, and our team’s efforts had been nothing but a distraction. A countermeasure. There had been a second crew here, and they’d got away with their prize.
That motherfucker had played us.
The hardening of Black’s expression showed me he’d realised the truth at the same time as I did. A silent promise passed between us.
Whoever the Master was, when we caught up with him, he was a dead man.
CHAPTER 13 - SKY
STAY OR GO? Stay or go? Stay or go?
An hour after I’d run into my worst nightmare, and I’d scrubbed my face and changed into capri pants, golf shoes, and a pink polo shirt. Thanks, Bradley. All I wanted was a pair of jeans. And a cigarette. I needed a cigarette. Yes, I’d quit smoking when I moved to America, but if ever there was a time to start again, it was now.
Part of me wanted to call a cab and fade quietly into the night, but I owed it to Emmy to say goodbye. What had Rafael told her? Had he laid my secrets bare? I should have come clean three weeks ago, shouldn’t I? Asked if it was possible for me to step down and perhaps help out at the office instead. Sat in the surveillance room or something. That way, I might have been able to salvage a fragment of my career at Blackwood.
My bag was packed, my dress back on its hanger. Just looking at it hurt. Right now, I should have been downstairs, keeping distressed guests away from Ravi. How was it going? I hadn’t heard any alarms, but I didn’t expect to—Nate had control of the entire system.
My fingers twitched as my body cried out for nicotine. While I’d been busy, I’d barely noticed the withdrawal symptoms, but now I wanted to stick NiQuitin patches all over my body. A tribute to failure. One of the assholes downstairs would probably call it modern art and pay twenty thousand bucks for me to stand in a gallery. Hmm… A potential new vocation?
Oh, screw it, someone in this place must have a cigarette. Where was the smokers’ corner? Every building had one—that little outdoor hidey-hole where like-minded addicts gathered to escape other people’s disapproving glances.
Thankfully, I had somewhere to put
my room card now. I slipped it into my pocket as the door closed behind me, then set off on my quest. At least I wouldn’t bump into Brock Keaton again. Not only did I keep my wits about me this time, but he was undoubtedly being waited on hand and foot while women fawned over him in yet another example of injustice in the world.
A security guard was positioned by the side door, and he watched me as I approached.
“Any idea where the smoking area is?”
“No, ma’am.”
Fat lot of good he was. I slipped outside and found myself in the side car park. For most of the week, it had been almost empty, but tonight it overflowed with Bentleys and Porsches and Ferraris and Range Rovers. Even an Aston Martin. And was that a Bugatti? A guy my age sat on a high stool behind the valet stand, and I headed in his direction.
“Hey.”
He looked up, a key in his hand.
“You need your car?”
“I’m looking for the smoking area.”
He glanced left and right. “It’s over on the other side of the hotel, but you can smoke here. Nobody’s around. They’re all at the big party.”
“So it’s a bit awkward—I actually need to bum a cigarette because I’m meant to have given up smoking.”
Another glance in each direction, and he fished around in his pocket and came up with a packet of Marlboros. My hero.
“Shh. I didn’t give you this.”
“I won’t say a thing, I swear. Do you have a light?”
He did, and it was easier to breathe once I got my first hit of sweet, sweet nicotine. I inhaled deeply, coughed once because I’d been deprived for so long, then blew out a stream of smoke.
“Better.”
“Rough night?” the valet asked.
“Something like that.”
“Row with your parents?”
I figured I owed him a cover story. “My boyfriend. No offence, but men can be such jerks.”
“I get it. My last boyfriend turned out to be a real asshole too.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be—I met a much nicer guy.”
“That gives me hope.” Another lie—Rafael had been surprisingly understanding about my cock-ups so far, but not even he could brush tonight’s incident under the carpet. “I was thinking of maybe getting out of here. Do you happen to have the number for a cab company?”
“Sure I do. You have your phone?”
I patted my pockets. Shit. “I left it in my room.”
“It’s okay, I can write it down for you.”
The valet backed into the little hut behind him and came back with a piece of paper and a pen. Would I call for a ride? I still hadn’t made up my mind.
“There you go.”
“Thanks. Do you have to stay out here all night? Surely nobody’ll arrive this late?”
“The boss says I have to stick around.”
His tone said the boss was an idiot.
“Can’t you sneak inside?”
“Nope, I need this job. Got one year of college left, and it won’t pay for itself. And where else would I get paid to drive a Lamborghini? When I can find the key for it, that is.” He held up a handful of keys, then dumped them onto the shelf in front of him. “This is a mess.”
“There isn’t a system?”
“Oh, sure there’s a system. We write the registration number on a paper tag, tie it to the key, and drop it into the basket. Then at the end of the night, we spend fifteen minutes hunting through the pile and the guests get annoyed.”
“What about using a numbered board? Or a secure cabinet?”
“You have no idea how many times I’ve suggested that, but the boss is old school.” The valet put on a croaky voice. “‘We’ve been doing it this way for years, son,’ he always says. So I’m trying to separate the different makes. You know, all the Porsche keys together, that sort of thing.”
“Good idea. I’ll be looking for a new job soon. On balance, would you recommend valeting?”
At least I’d managed to get a driver’s licence during my time at Riverley.
“It can be great. I’d suggest trying for an upscale restaurant when you’re starting out. Fewer guests means lower tips, but it’s a steady stream of customers through the evening rather than a crazy rush at the beginning and the end. Much easier.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
Movement behind the valet caught my eye. A man in a white shirt and black trousers had slipped out of the fire exit from the basement. Why? He wasn’t one of our team. A waiter? He was wearing a tie rather than a bow tie, the same as all the staff. Yes, a waiter. When he turned, an outside light caught his face, and I recalled he’d served us breakfast the day before yesterday. But why was he leaving in the middle of the evening? And through an emergency exit? What was the package under his arm?
Something felt off about his movements.
“Are you working at the moment?” the valet asked.
“Right now?” A giggle bubbled out of me. “Of course not.”
“I meant, like, when you’re at home.”
“Oh. I don’t think so. My last job, I made a few mistakes, and it’s either jump or be pushed.”
“Things might not be as bad as you think.”
The waiter avoided me and my new friend, making sure he put several vehicles between us as he flitted past in the gloom. But I watched him from the corner of my eye. He was carrying a handbag. A chunky leather ladies’ handbag. Had he stolen it? From one of the party guests? If I had to guess, I’d say he probably had.
“No, things are pretty bad.”
“Have you tried talking to your boss? Sometimes it helps. Not in my case, but my buddy Frederico…”
I tuned the valet out as the waiter crossed into the main car park, and a moment later, I heard a car door slam. An engine started. That fucker. He’d stolen some poor woman’s handbag, and now he was doing a freaking runner.
I might have had one foot out of the door at Blackwood, but Emmy had still managed to instill some morals into me during my time there. Yes, I’d stolen from people myself in the past, but only wallets, never a whole bag. And on the odd occasion they’d contained personal items, I’d taken the cash and mailed the rest back to the owners. The people at the gala were all loaded. That bag most likely contained a stack of moolah.
What should I do? I only had a second or two to make up my mind. The waiter had already turned down the driveway. Soon, he’d be long gone.
“Look!” I pointed past the valet. “Is that a fox?”
He turned to see. “Where?”
“By the corner of the building.”
I reached over the top of the stand and grabbed the first key that came to hand. Lucky dip.
“My mistake. I think it’s just a shadow.”
“Sometimes we do get foxes here. And one of the receptionists, she swears she saw a bear on the grounds.”
“A bear? No way.”
“That’s what she said.”
Wrap it up, Sky. “Thinking about your advice, I’m gonna take it. You’re right. I should talk to my boss. Like, straight away.”
“Now? On a Saturday night?”
“She works weird hours. Thanks for the cigarette. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Okay, nice talking with you.”
I hurried back the way I’d come, and halfway to the door, I turned to check whether the valet was still watching me. He was. I gave him a little wave to let him know I’d caught him, and he looked away. Psychology 101. I cut left and crouched between two cars. What had I got?
A Ferrari key. I’d nicked a fucking Ferrari key.
Not ideal, but needs must, and before you give me a lecture, I was only planning to borrow the thing, not send it to a chop shop. And that waiter needed to be stopped. The way he’d moved, quickly yet confidently, made me think it wasn’t the first time he’d pulled that trick. How many more people would he steal from if he got away? I might have screwed up everything else tonight, but perh
aps I could redeem myself slightly if I tracked down a thief.
I duck-walked between rows, pressing the button on the fob until a shiny red car bleeped back at me. Hello, wheels. Whoever owned it must have been pretty tall because I could hardly reach the pedals, but I didn’t have time to mess around with the seat position. Instead, I cringed as the engine started with a roar, then drove out of the car park as fast as I dared. How long did I have before the valet called the police? Surely he’d have noticed the Ferrari leaving?
At the end of the driveway, I glimpsed a pair of tail lights disappearing around a bend to my right and took off after them. If I’d had to pick the top ten worst vehicles for surveillance, this bloody car would definitely have made the top half of the list. There was absolutely nothing subtle about it. The only point in its favour was that I didn’t look like a cop. The waiter was in a newish hatchback—a BMW, maybe, or an Audi. Where was he going? I settled in at an appropriate distance to find out.
CHAPTER 14 - EMMY
NONE OF US had to fake our annoyance when the police questioned us. No, we hadn’t seen anyone acting suspiciously near The Shepherd. No, we had no idea where the painting had gone. Yes, we were as shocked as everyone else by the theft. Laurelin was in tears, and Black offered a few words of comfort in between glaring at everyone else.
“If the police don’t find the painting, I’ll put a team on it,” he promised.
“I just can’t believe this is happening. This was meant to be a celebration of Derek’s life.”
If she’d known Derek had been shagging his secretary until he was no longer physically able to, she probably wouldn’t have been quite so upset, but never mind.