He measured his paces, careful to keep his movements quiet as he headed in the direction of the stairwell. Once they reached that, they’d be heading up those steps at a punishing pace.
First, they had to make it past the security office unscathed.
The room was stationed near the steps and the only one whose lights beamed bright from underneath the door. The low murmur of voices was clear, a direct contrast to this aching, bone-searing silence.
The silence crawled beneath his skin as he waited for the telltale click of footsteps from behind him or the creak of opened doors—especially from the office. Flex. Flex. Flex. He continued to flick his fingers out and back again as he strode toward the entrance of the stairs.
They passed the security office.
Grif’s shoulders relaxed a fraction as he took the first steps away from the door, the windows gleaming and the blue light of monitors clear.
The creak of a door sounded behind him.
Fuck. Ahead of him lay the door to the stairs, a closer broom closet, and on the opposite side a cutout for a water fountain.
Grif’s feet moved before he could make the conscious choice. He raced forward, sprinting the rest of the way to the stairs. He only hoped Alanna and Scarlet picked up the memo. He reached out for the knob and turned, hurling himself inside.
He stepped out of the way as first Alanna dove through the entrance, and then Scarlet, who quietly closed the door behind her. The slight sound echoed in the pregnant air.
Grif’s heart slammed in his chest. If the guard had caught sight of them, the whole team of Aon Center’s security would be pursuing.
He stepped up to the door to peer through the square window in the center.
Two security guards stood in front of the office, wearing their uniforms and whipping their flashlights all around the darkened corridors. They weren’t running their way. Grif pressed his ear to the door to try and hear what they were saying.
“Heard a sound from the corridor,” one gruff, low voice said.
“Let’s patrol around the entrance,” the other guard suggested. The shuffle of footsteps followed, and Grif chanced another glance through the window. The silver rays of the flashlights aimed in the opposite direction as the two guards headed farther down the corridor toward the front of the building.
“Well, that keeps things lively,” Grif muttered, stepping away from the door. The chill of concrete emanated all around them, even if it had been painted the same brazen white as the rest of the building. The first of the cameras lay closer to the first set of steps. Grif checked into his comm. “Leo, mind getting the security feed?”
“You’ve got it,” Leo responded cheerfully.
“If they really wanted to give us some thrills, they could’ve chased us up the stairs,” Alanna said, flashing a grin. “What better cardio is there?”
Grif shook his head even though he couldn’t help his own smile. “All right, let’s do this.” He cast a glance to Alanna and Scarlet who both nodded in return. The stairs rose above them in dizzying spirals, an unending maze. Grif couldn’t dwell on the enormity—he placed his foot on the first step and began to climb. One at a time. That had been his motto from the beginning when his entire life spun out of control. Those first days, he’d seized onto the smallest tasks, getting out of bed being the hardest.
They moved fast, the steps flying beneath them. Even with their quiet tread, the faint footsteps echoed, until their marching upward sounded like an army. Truth be told, that was the Outlaws in a nutshell—a small band of rebels who pulled off heists large groups like the mafia wouldn’t dare touch.
The thud of the steps beneath his feet and the flex of his calves as he launched up yet another flight offered a soothing rhythm. Grif poured himself into the task, gaining the same serenity a fight in the ring or a ten-mile run offered. He lost himself to the physicality, which banished away the thoughts, fears, and worries.
By the time they’d scaled the first twenty-some floors, Scarlet’s breaths had grown ragged, echoing in the stairwell. Their mechanical motions began to flag. Torres Industries wasn’t at the very top, stationed beneath the observation towers in the forty to fifty range, which was still a punishing task for anyone, no matter what shape you were in. Drops of sweat beaded on his forehead, begging to fall.
Grif continued to lead the charge, until the steps blurred beneath his tread and the drops of sweat trickled down his forehead to sting his eyes. The only shadows that shifted were their own, and the sounds that echoed through this steep stairwell were their shallow breaths and the steady thump of their tread.
Nearer. They reached the fortieth floor.
“There’s a car that’s been circling,” Dan came in on the comm. Hearing his voice over their private system brushed Grif’s skin with whiskey warmth. Circling meant patrol. As long as they didn’t give any tip-offs, those fuckers could keep running roundabouts all night for all he cared.
“Keep out of sight,” Grif responded. “At any point, if the car stops, let me know.”
His pulse thumped hard, but the jolt urged him forward up another stairwell. The steps flew under his feet until the level he’d been looking for flashed into view. Grif skidded to a halt, almost slamming into the door. After the perpetual motion of scaling the stairs, his legs pulsed like he should still be running.
Grif cracked the door open and peered past. The familiar polished marble floor and wide entryway leading to Torres Industries stretched before him.
“Are you in?” Leo asked, buzzing in.
“That’s what he said,” Dan fired back. Grif bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
“We’re approaching the entrance,” Scarlet responded, keeping her voice low. “Get ready. I’ll be connecting you to his system in a matter of minutes to transfer the files.”
The front doors for Torres Industries gleamed, the sign bold yet elegant, even in the greenish view of his goggles.
Grif pulled out the keycard Dan had given him. He swiped the slot beside the frame, and a moment later, a click sounded as the doors unlocked. He pushed them open without a creak. The scents of bleach and toner warred the moment he took the first steps.
“I’m inside,” Grif murmured over the comms, his whisper cleaving through the quiet.
“That’s also what he said,” Alanna responded by his side.
“I swear to fuck,” Grif muttered, even as the grin lifted his lips. Damn, he loved his Outlaws.
“Security alarms are deactivated,” Leo came in over the comm. Scarlet’s combination of on-site and remote abilities was unparalleled, but this guy did a damn good job of stepping into her stilettos.
Grif took one step in, then another, waiting for a scuff, a light flicker, or even a breath. Silence ached from the tiles to the darkened fluorescents of this place.
“Let’s find this old bastard’s office,” Alanna murmured, brushing past him. She scampered ahead with a lithe fluidity he could never manage. Scarlet stepped in line with him. Even though the night vision goggles obscured her eyes, he could read her expression loud and clear with the way she chewed her lower lip.
“We just need to extract proof of his theft from the company, and we’re out,” Grif reminded her as they strode down the corridor.
“What if I could do more?” Scarlet asked, a cryptic edge to her voice.
“I trust you,” Grif responded. “As long as Doncaster isn’t slugging bullets at us, I’ll back whatever play you want to try.” Scarlet nodded in response.
The air tasted stale, like chewing paper, and Grif quickened his pace when they reached the hallway they’d taken to get to Dan’s office. Brennerman’s should be two to the right, close to the conference room where he and Dan had stolen a kiss. Alanna’s hand already leapt to the handle, and she twisted the door open.
Grif’s senses buzzed on high alert. He noticed the sharp pine of the polish in the air, every creak of the wind beating against the windows, and each shift of the moonbea
ms spilling through the broad windows at the far end of the corridor. He stepped in behind Alanna for his first view of Brennerman’s office.
If Grif didn’t already know the guy was a sleaze, he’d be able to tell with one glimpse into this room. No pictures decorated his desk, and while everything had the same clean, uniform look as Dan’s, this one emulated its owner in hiding the expenses. The desk was top designer make, and the seat behind it belonged in a Ferrari, not in an office. The surface held some clutter—stacks of different reports, guaranteed to be inconsequential and not what they searched for.
Alanna wandered over to the bookshelves behind the desk, filled with first editions of books like Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead. The paperweights gleamed, and as Grif lifted them, the heft ensured they were at least gold-plated.
Scarlet settled into the ridiculous chair and leaned forward to pop on his computer. The noise of the machine starting up made Grif’s muscles tense on reflex, but he strolled toward the filing cabinet on the opposite side of the room. Maybe he’d be able to find some sort of old paper trail, even though he doubted it. In this part of the job, Scarlet leapt to the fore. He and Alanna were the muscle to make sure she achieved her end.
The neon light of the screen illuminated the room, and Grif slid the night vision goggles up. Scarlet’s eyebrows drew together in concentration as her fingers flew across the keyboard, the clack-clack-clack the only sound echoing through this place.
Alanna started rooting through a filing cabinet, her fingers rapidly sweeping over file after file.
“Found a trail,” Scarlet murmured in the distracted tone that meant she’d immersed into whatever she was diving into on the computer. “Let’s crack this bastard wide open.”
Grif crouched in front of the safe by Scarlet’s side and began to work his magic. He’d been cracking safes for a long time now, and this wasn’t even the latest model. He leaned in, pulled his Phoenix out and worked over the electronic keypad. It only took mere moments before he heard the solid click of the lock releasing. He tugged open the door of the safe to examine the contents inside.
“Oh… fuck,” Scarlet said. One glimpse and his stomach sank. She glanced to him, her eyes widening in horror.
“What’s wrong?” Alanna whipped around from the bookshelf she crouched in front of.
“I recognize this name—it’s one of Nevarra’s aliases.” Scarlet’s fingers still flew across the keyboard; if anything, the typing was coming in more furiously. The room spun.
Grif examined the safe in front of him—not filled with cash, files, or anything he’d expected. Instead, there was a document with account information printed on the front with a deposit number with the dates included.
Brennerman was in bed with Nevarra. Of course.
He’d gamble his left nut that the safe was their go-between, and this was the account they funneled the cash through.
His gaze switched to the filing cabinet Alanna rifled through. Something flashed from inside the top drawer.
“What the hell?” Alanna cursed as she nudged around in the top drawer to reveal the flashing green light of a security alarm.
Twenty-Four
The reality of Dan’s situation descended the moment John handed him the pistol back in the apartment. The cool steel against his palm and the weight in the holster at his side solidified this reality he’d stepped into. This was happening.
Engineering nerd turned CEO hadn’t prepared him for a heist in the slightest, but he showed up anyway.
He came to a halt a few back streets away from the Aon Center, where he snagged a parking spot along the road. Patrolling around his own business wasn’t something he ever thought he’d be doing. However, Brennerman had pushed him to extremes, and Grif’s confidence and passion stole him over the rest of the way. Tuck stared out the window, his dark curls casting deeper shadows over his eyes. He’d been quiet the whole way over, but the man didn’t seem like much of a casual talker.
“What are the chances I’ll need to fire this thing?” Dan asked, trying to break the silence.
Tuck cast him an appraising glance, and he regretted opening his mouth. He’d plunged into yet another situation and fumbled, just like when he’d entered Torres Industries.
“Unless you’ve fired in the field before, I wouldn’t,” Tuck said, tapping his fingers along the side of the car door. “We’re not here to get into fights—we’re the lookout. With any luck, we’ll be watching a whole lot of nothing while the others infiltrate.”
“And if I’ve got the worst luck imaginable?” Dan asked, his mouth going dry.
Tuck offered him a wan smile, one that reached his eyes. “Then you’re going to run, and I’ll make sure you get out safe. We might flirt with danger, but I joined the Outlaws because Grif made it clear our lives are worth more than any cargo. Those kinds of leaders are rare.”
He wasn’t wrong. Dan couldn’t deny how his heart sped at the mere mention of Grif’s name. When all this ended, the idea of the leader of the Outlaws ditching his number, of them going their separate ways, made his stomach sink. Dan didn’t need to be told Grif was rare—he’d spent years searching for a fraction of the spark he felt around the man.
“You ready?” Tuck asked, cracking the door open a fraction.
Dan nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Grif and the others had made it into Torres Industries.
He should’ve felt a slight sense of violation at allowing a band of outlaws into the company, but it never belonged to him. Not truly.
As he and Tuck made their thousandth loop around the Aon Center, Dan soaked in the difference of listening to the city like this. On an average night, he might down a couple of drinks at Cindy’s or Columbus Tap, either by himself or with Vanessa, and then he’d grab an Uber back to his condo. Most of what he noticed was the traffic, the flash of cars driving by and the steady thrum of the normal pedestrian flow in those sections.
However, as he patrolled with Tuck, these Chicago streets took on a new life to him. The nearby scent of the river drifted his way, one the cool breezes swept away. The normal light display on the top of the Aon Center flashed, and certain floors held the dim gleam of lights kept on, yet his floors remained black as onyx. Honks and screeches sounded as cars traveled by on the still-busy street, but Dan’s gaze didn’t gloss over them like normal.
“How long have you been with the Outlaws?” Dan asked. His nerves demanded conversation, otherwise the shifting shadows from the headlights in constant flux would have him leaping out of his skin.
“Six years,” Tuck said. “Grif plucked me from the circus, and I’ve been with this crew ever since.”
“Does he do that often?” Dan asked, shaking his head, unable to help the grin on his face. Another slew of cars whipped by as they strolled through the pathway lined by manicured shrubs.
“Four times, to be precise,” Tuck responded, flipping the knife in his hand as they walked. Dan didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes roved, scouring their surroundings. He emanated a slick competence like Grif’s that Dan felt safer around. Tuck cast him a look. “No matter what loner bullshit the boss spews, when he brings someone into his life, it’s for keeps.”
Dan sucked in a sharp breath and avoided his gaze. The hope jerked hard in his chest, crystallizing into a sharp, fragmented sort of pain. He focused on the road, watching the flow of the cars. A black van looped their way. Tuck stilled beside him and stepped behind one of the taller shrubs to obscure himself from view. Dan followed suit, even as his heart thumped harder in his chest.
The van screeched to a halt in front of one of the temporary unloading spots in the entrance area of the building.
“Think this is Doncaster?” Dan asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His calves tensed, and his hand drifted to the holster by his side, as if somehow the pistol might protect him despite having never fired one in his life.
“We’ll find out,” Tuck murmured in response, not exactly quieting his nerve
s.
The doors flew open, and at least five guys piled out of the van.
All of them wore the navy uniforms he recognized. “They’re janitors in our building.”
He pulled up the binoculars they’d included in his pack and took a better look. The faces were familiar ones, guys he’d seen mopping the floors in the corridors who he’d waved to over the past year. His stomach performed an aerial flip.
“Do the janitors normally clean the building this time of night?” Tuck asked, an edge to his voice suggesting the same concerns nagged at him. Tuck stopped flipping the knife, holding the grip tight.
“This is well past their scheduled time.” Dan hesitated. “I know those faces though. They’ve been working for the business since before I arrived.”
The five men approached the building in unison, heading straight to their normal side entrance where a lot of the cleaning supplies were stocked.
“Fuck,” Tuck muttered. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Never tell me the odds,” Dan responded on reflex. His cheeks heated. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Tuck cracked a flicker of a grin. “Nerd.” He tapped the comm in his ear. “Grif, there’s a group of five guys heading into the building. They’re not Doncaster’s men, and they’ve worked as janitors in this building for a while.”
Dan’s heart thumped harder as the guys approached. One glance over here and the crew could spot them. He edged in behind the shrub even further, the rich pine scent suffocating, and the needles prickling against his clothes.
“Brennerman has his own security system, and we just tripped it.” Grif’s voice came over the comms, icing-on-a-cake smooth despite the bomb he dropped.
Midnight Heist (Outlaws Book 1) Page 19