Fool’s Errand: Cartwright Brothers, Book 4

by Anderson, Lilliana

  “We can try. But I might not get pregnant in time. I’m not young anymore. It may not happen right away, or it might be too late for me—”

  “But we can try. And you can promise me, baby or not, you’ll go the moment things go wrong.”

  “You’re talking like things will go wrong,” I whispered, crying openly now.

  “All I want is to get this job over with then focus on making a life with you—that’s the goal. But this is my contingency plan. And I need you to agree to it.”

  “OK.” My agreement came out as a mere breath. “If you don’t come back, I’ll disappear.”

  “Promise.”

  “I promise.”

  Closing his eyes, he let out a relieved breath before pulling me against him and crushing his lips against mine, our bodies reaching for comfort in the storm of our minds.

  I focused on the way he tasted and the feel of his touch on my skin, losing myself in his arms, finding myself in his body, and most definitely, chasing away torturous thoughts of loss. If I lost him I would disappear. He’d become my breath, my heartbeat. He was where I belonged and where I wanted to stay.

  I would never let him go.

  Never.

  He had to succeed.

  We all did.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Step One

  “Remember that these locks have false gates as well as true gates,” I said, pointing to the whiteboard where I’d drawn all of the locking mechanism components so the Cartwright brothers could better understand what they were working with. “The best way to tell if you’ve hit a false or true is to tap it gently with your pick. If it wiggles, you’ve hit a false gate. If it’s solid, it’s true.”

  Sam raised his hand like we were sitting in a classroom instead of the office space at their storage facility. “What about drilling them? Could we just destroy the whole fucking thing to get the cases open faster?”

  “You drill a lock for the same reason you drill a safe—to get access to the pins so you can turn the barrel and unlock whatever you’re breaking into. Even if BiLocks weren’t drill resistant, it wouldn’t be a faster option. They have two rows of pins—twelve all up—so we’d have to drill each lock twice, line all those pins up perfectly, then turn the barrel to get inside. Picking them is fiddly, but once you learn what you’re feeling for, you can work on your speed.” I picked up a whiteboard marker and wrote as I spoke. “The intel is forty locks. With the five of you picking during the ten minutes to drop off, you have a maximum of seventy-five seconds per lock.” I circled the number and turned back to my overwhelmed trainees. “That’s the benchmark, but faster is better. I’m under thirty seconds, and I believe I can get faster than that, which means you can too.”

  “You pick locks as a career choice,” Kristian pointed out.

  “That’s really not all I do. But yes, I have a lot of experience, but you have picking experience too. If I recall, I taught you all to pick locks when we were kids.”

  “Basic door or window locks,” Sam said.

  “Still, you know what it feels like to line a pin in the gate. You guys can do this.” I pulled out my own lock and a picking set. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  * * *

  I walked them through the picking process daily, over and over—individually and as a group. Teaching these men something so tricky was strangely exhilarating. It felt good to be needed for my expertise. Like a pat on the back for twenty years of skill building. It was frustrating work that paid off just over a week later then Nate was the first to open his lock. His fist-pumped into the air as he yelled, “Motherfucking yes!”

  The tension that had lived in my body since I understood the importance of this job lifted just a little as an obstacle became just a touch smaller.

  “Good,” I breathed, moving in front of him and inspecting the lock for damage. He’d scratched it up a bit, but it was in pretty good nick. He’d used a light hand. “Now you can unlock this one.” I placed the lock I’d been demonstrating on in front of him and watched the light dim a little in his eyes. “No point in only knowing how to line up one lock. You have to be ready for any configuration.”

  He nodded in understanding, placing the new lock in his vice and picking up his tools again.

  I patted him on the back. “Step one done,” I said, my voice gentle. “Do it a few more times, then we’ll start timing you.”

  He nodded again then got back to work.

  * * *

  The next lock wasn’t opened until a day later. Sam and Toby got theirs undone within minutes of each other then immediately started rotating locks with Nate. Kristian and Abbot were pissed, not at their brothers, but at themselves. They wanted to move forwards, but they weren’t able to get past that first hurdle. Kristian even threw his lock across the room in frustration, embedding it in the gyprock wall from the force of his throw.

  “I think maybe we could all do with a break,” I suggested. “How about you guys check conditions and go for a surf? Clear your heads.” I’d never seen grown men file out of a room so fast.

  “You coming with?” Abbot asked when we were back home, standing in the doorway of our bedroom, his wetsuit pulled on his legs but hanging half off around his waist.

  “Surfing isn’t my thing. You know that.” I was relaxed on the couch, my feet up on the coffee table and a book in my hands providing a little escape.

  “Yeah. But you can run, or just watch—soak up some vitamin D. Or, you can come out with me.”

  I smiled. He obviously really wanted me to come. “I don’t have a wetsuit. And how would that even work?”

  He moved closer and pulled me to standing, sliding his hands around my waist and not stopping until he was cupping my arse. “You can borrow one from Leesh, and then you kneel on the front of the board while I ride the back. It’ll be fun. And very coupley.”

  “I see. You do this with all your girls?”

  “You offend me, blue. I’ve never shared my board with anyone. You are literally my first and last girlfriend.”

  Girlfriend. I smiled on the inside. After only a couple of weeks, this was still so new and every endearment meant everything. Pinch me so I know I’m not dreaming.

  “You’ve never done this board sharing thing before?” I leaned into him. “This isn’t convincing me, babe.”

  He laughed and started walking backwards, pulling me with him. “Well, I’m not gonna stop until you agree so it’s easier to just get your arse in a swim suit while I organise a wetsuit for you.”

  “But the water will be freezing.”

  “What kind of a triathlete are you?”

  “It’s a summer sport.”

  “Please come.” He pouted. “I’ll miss you something chronic if you don’t come, and I’ll pay you in orgasms if you do.”

  “You are such a big kid,” I said with a laugh, not objecting to his payment offer.

  He kissed my mouth quickly and grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Red Towels

  “Ready?” Abbot grinned as he looked over his shoulder at an approaching wave.

  “No,” I yelled. Although, I was laughing. We’d tried this couple surfing thing a few times already and fallen off each time. I’d spent more time hugging sandbanks underwater than I’d spent on the board with him.

  “I can’t believe you have no skills from when we were kids. Just try to stay in the centre of the board. No leaning.”

  “I promise you nothing.” I flicked my arms out the side to dramatically prove my point and rocked the board. “Oh no.” I cackled as I overcompensated and wobbled us some more.

  He clapped his hands onto my thighs. “I don’t even know how you manage to walk in a straight line. You have the worst balance I’ve ever seen,” he teased, laughing as the waves bobbed beneath us and we needed to wait for the next set.

  “This is why I couldn’t pick it up years ago. The waves throw off my equilibrium and
I can’t find my centre.”

  He clapped a hand on my arse. “Lucky I’m enjoying the view.”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Cheeky.”

  “OK. Here’s another one. We’re both gonna stay down this time, got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Here we go.” Lying with his face pretty much up my arse, he powered those amazing arms of his through the water and propelled us both forward.

  The wave hit, lifting the board, and I squealed and shut my eyes, holding on tight and trying my damndest not to rock while he laughed and said, “We’re doing it, blue. You’re surfing.”

  I opened my eyes, one at a time, and sure enough, we were in a fucking wave.

  “Woo,” Abbot shouted, stretching out his arm and touching his fingers to the roaring water.

  “Holy fuck, I’m surfing.”

  It didn’t last long, but it felt like flying, and I loved every second of it. Even the part where we dropped off the back of the wave and both rolled into the water.

  “Happy?” Abbot asked after we surfaced beside the board.

  I nodded. “Always with you.”

  He grinned and moved so he was holding the board either side of me. “Who’s the sweet one now?”

  “There’s nothing sweet about me, Abbot.”

  “Hmm.” He leaned in and sucked gently on my lips. “You’re right. Salty.”

  “So corny.” I laughed. “Should we head in?” The others were already on the beach.

  “Yeah. They’re doing a bonfire at the beach shack. A few beers then we call it a day.”

  “OK. But no drinking for me. Just in case.”

  He grinned. “You think it could have worked this soon?”

  I shrugged. “Who knows? I’m not due for my period for another week yet. But I want to be safe just in case.”

  “OK. I’ll stick to ginger beer with you then.”

  * * *

  My period arrived right on time, the pink stain on the toilet paper when I peed that morning the most disappointing moment in my life. It started off an irrational thought sequence that had me questioning my abilities as a woman. So stupid. I don’t know what I was expecting. It was the first time I’d tried to get pregnant. But, I guess I just wanted to be good at it. I wanted it to be easy. Unlike everything else in my life.

  We were still working on the locks. Nate and Toby were working on their speed, and Sam was still a little hit and miss, struggling whenever he had to start again. Kristian had opened one lock. And Abbot was still at a big fat zero.

  I wasn’t pregnant.

  “Come on, come on,” Abbot said between his teeth, diligently focused. I knew he was close, but still…I’m not pregnant.

  “For fuck’s sake, Abbot,” I snapped. “You have to figure this out.”

  He took a breath before he lifted his head, something I had to give him credit for. And even though his voice came out tense, he kept his cool. More than I could say for myself. “I’ll get it, blue. Relax. I’m doing my best.”

  “That’s not good enough. There’s eight weeks left. Eight. How are you going to get below seventy-five seconds if you can’t open even one in three weeks?” Granted, our lessons had been interspersed with various other preparation activities, but we’d all put hours into this. They needed to be faster.

  Needed. Because our time was running out, and if he isn’t ready…he might not come back. Then there’ll be no us, no family, just my many regrets…and me. Alone again, and not pregnant.

  Alone forever.

  “I’ll do it,” he assured me.

  “What if you can’t?”

  His jaw ticked. “Then I’ll be the fucking getaway driver and these guys’ll pick the locks without me.”

  We locked eyes, the other brothers staying silent, sensing the obvious personal reasons behind my worry.

  My heart started hammering.

  My head ached.

  “I need air.”

  Rushing from the room, I headed straight for the car park, half thinking I could break into a run and not stop until I was standing on the beach in front of our apartment.

  I stopped when my feet hit the gravel, hugging my arms to myself as I caught my runaway thoughts in a deep breath.

  Shit. I’m a jerk. Closing my eyes, I lifted my head to the sky and inhaled, calming myself as the sun warmed my skin.

  “You know, it’s been a good two months since I quit smoking, but every time I walk outside, I still tap my pocket looking for smokes.” Abbot stood beside me, hands in his pockets.

  “Why don’t you just have one then?” I looked into the distance, my hands still wrapped around my middle.

  “Well,” he started, glancing at me. “I hear that those things can kill you. And I kind of have something worth living for.” I’m melting. When was this man not the sweetest most understanding person in the face of my fiery attitude? He always knew how to get through to me, whether it was waiting me out or coming at me head-on, he always knew, always stayed calm, and always got through to me.

  How did I become so blessed?

  “I’m sorry, Abbot. I was a mega bitch to you in there and you didn’t deserve it.”

  He bounced a shoulder. “Eh, maybe I needed it,” he said, pulling his hand from his pocket and handing me his padlock.

  “You opened it.”

  “About two seconds after you stormed out of the room.”

  I ran my finger over the dents and scratches at the keyhole where he’d pushed a little too hard with the tension rod. I could literally see the effort he’d put into doing this. “I’m not pregnant, Abbot,” I said, letting a disappointed tear slide from my eye.

  “Blue.” He pulled me into his arms, wrapping me tight against chest. “It’s all right. We’ll just keep trying. That’s the fun part, right?”

  Nodding against his chest, I cried a little harder. “I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. I knew it could take a while. I just couldn’t help but hope, you know?”

  “Yeah, babe. I know.” He squeezed me a little tighter. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I know. But I love you enough that I don’t mind if you blame me.”

  I laughed a little, the sound getting muffled against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “No. You are,” he said with a smile as I lifted my head.

  I nudged him. “You are.”

  He grinned. “You know what’s really ridiculous?”

  “What is?”

  “I haven’t let you drive the Jag yet.”

  My eyes went wide with excitement. “Are you for real?”

  He held the keys out and grinned.

  “I love you!” I squealed, jumping at him and wrapping myself around him as I peppered kisses all over his face.

  He laughed and walked me over to his precious Jag, opening the driver’s side, depositing me in the seat.

  “For how long?” I asked, gripping the wheel while imagining how cool I looked right now.

  “Rest of the day. Me and the guys have some drills to run, so you can knock yourself out.”

  “You aren’t coming?” I was a little disappointed but it was probably for the best. I didn’t need him fretting when I smoked up his back wheels.

  “Don’t even pretend like you want me in there,” he teased. “You’re happy as Larry right now.”

  “I am happy,” I said, relaxing against the leather seat. “But it’s you making me happy. Not the Jag.”

  “It’s a little bit the Jag.”

  I giggled. “Just a little.” Then I reached out for his hand. “I really am sorry about before.”

  “Hey, I’d be worried if you weren’t stressed right now.”

  “I really wanted to be pregnant,” I admitted.

  “It’s OK, blue. When this is over, we have the rest of our lives together. There’s plenty of time for us. You’re only thirty-eight. You’re not fifty.”

  Plenty of time. Was he purposely forgetti
ng our situation?

  “But, this job, Abbot. I feel like we’re on a clock and even if everything goes perfectly, it still might be too late for me.” And there it was. I’d finally voiced my greatest fear—what if I’m too old? It had been a few weeks since Abbot had told me to flee if he didn’t come back, but as much as I hadn’t mentioned it, I hated that the thought had hung around my shoulders every moment since. I wasn’t a negative person by any stretch of the imagination, but this terrified me. I wanted forever with this man, not moments. Tick, tick, tick.

  “Hey, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, OK? Until then, we just keep fucking each other’s brains out and enjoying every moment we can.” He brought my hand to his lips.

  “I have my period.”

  “Babe, that’s what shower sex and red towels are for.”

  I laughed as I tugged his arm to bring him closer and kiss his wonderful mouth. “I really do love you a ridiculous amount, Abbot Cartwright.”

  “Me too, beautiful blue. Me too.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Happily Ever After Goddammit

  Time seemed to fly when you were preparing for a drug heist. With only a couple of weeks to go, all five brothers had managed to get their picking speeds down to less than forty seconds a lock. Pretty impressive stuff and well with the time constraints of the job. I’d never seen a group of people more focused and dedicated on perfecting a plan. Whoever said that criminals were lazy and only after easy money had obviously never met the Cartwrights.

  From the intel they’d received, each case was bulletproof and fireproof and also had a GPS tracker inside it that they’d need to deactivate. The idea was that they’d hit the armoured trucks and load the cases into a bigger refrigerated truck that they’d had modified so the GPS signals couldn’t be detected with the doors closed. They needed to get each case opened, unloaded and offline during the time it took to travel from the pickup site to the drop-off site. Meaning they also need to pick locks while being jostled.