by Kay Marie
Jo glanced up, finding his steely eyes. “Thaddy…”
He tilted his head, curious.
Jo swallowed. Once they got inside, there’d be no more talking. And once they were done, they’d split up, two different hotels, two different flights, two different destinations. If there was anything she wanted to say, she had to say it now. About Nate. About the Russians. About her father. About them. About anything. But the words caught in her throat, too much to explain, too much to think about when the mission required all her focus.
“Good luck.”
“I don’t need luck, Jo Jo.” He put his finger under her chin, tilting her face up, studying her. And then he winked and dropped his hand. “Not when I have you.”
Jo rolled her eyes to cover up the twinge of guilt needling her side. And then she took out her tablet and got to work.
My final job.
One way or another, this is it.
The last time.
With that thought as fuel, she typed a few strands of code and cut her way into the security system using the bugs she’d planted earlier. Her fingers moved fast as lightning over her keyboard as she disabled the house alarm, turned off the cameras inside, and shut down the motion sensors. Then she looked up, meeting Thad’s questioning gaze with a nod.
He knelt, pushing his needle into the lock. A few turns of his wrist and the door clicked open. They slipped inside and shut it quietly behind them. Even though Thad hadn’t attended the gala, he’d studied the blueprints they’d stolen same as she, and he found the staircase easily, moving fast but absolutely silent through the house, a panther on the hunt, stalking its prey. As they crested the steps, Jo spared a moment to glance his way. A thrilled gleam flared to life in the corners of his eyes, one Jo couldn’t help but notice resembled the glinting edge of a sword in the sun, lethal and beautiful and terrifying all at once. He zeroed in on the Degas, taking it in hungrily, a starved man finding food for the first time. Art was his drug, his life, his passion.
And his downfall… The thought broke through before she could smother it.
Jo shook her head, dispelling the words. There was no time for that, not now. She put her hand to his forearm, stopping him, as she took to her tablet again, this time to breach the second layer of the security—a backup circuit for the safe she knew was hidden in the office upstairs, the specialized cabinets in the master closet, most likely holding jewelry, and the discreet sensor attached to the back side of the Degas, hidden, she assumed, in the edge of the frame. It had taken her nearly four straight hours two nights ago to figure out an undetectable way in, but now, it only took a few seconds to type the pathway and deactivate the alarms.
Jo tapped Thad twice, his sign to move.
He took a small flashlight from his pocket, no bigger than a pen, and pressed his cheek against the wall, parallel to the frame. There was no more than a centimeter of space between the back of the painting and the wall, but it was enough space to see if there was a third sensor they’d need to disarm. This was the biggest wild card of the entire operation. Some people, the smart cynical kind who didn’t trust big security firms to actually do their jobs, sometimes employed a third line of defense. Something as simple as a cheap battery-operated magnetic alarm was oftentimes the most difficult to get around. Jo couldn’t hack her way in. They couldn’t plan for them. And unless Thad was careful, even touching the frame could flip the switch. Because this job was about insurance fraud, she doubted the homeowner had gone the extra step—he did, after all, want to be robbed—but they couldn’t be too sure.
Thad spent thirty seconds checking every shadow for a hidden sensor, a lifetime in this sort of setting. Satisfied, he slipped a small scanner out, one which should effectively desensitize any magnets in range, and slowly passed the small beam around the edge of the frame—just in case.
He found Jo’s gaze.
She moved to the opposite side of the frame, hands hovering over the gilt wood, waiting for the signal.
He held up his fingers, counting down.
Three.
Two.
One.
In a swift motion, they lifted the hefty frame from the wall, stepped back, and froze.
No alarms.
No sirens.
No nothing.
Jo exhaled slowly, finding Thad’s gaze again as they gently dropped to their knees and set the painting facedown on the floor. Crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes, letting her know he smiled beneath his mask—a devilish grin, she was sure, filled with victory and ecstasy and sin, the sort of high he only got from one of two things. She’d seen it many times before.
Jo stood and walked to the window, checking the time on her tablet. They’d been inside for less than five minutes, but the hard part was over. Behind her, Thad was painstakingly detaching the canvas from the frame so he could roll it up and store it in the tube secured to his back. If they damaged the art, it would instantly lose value, and since he was the artist, this was his area of expertise. But she wasn’t worried. He was as meticulous as he was mischievous. He had it under control, especially with her standing watch, allowing him to focus without having to look over his shoulder, trusting her to have his back. Just as she’d always trusted him to have hers—a promise she desperately wished he hadn’t broken.
Her mind went to the flash drive. Her hand instinctively found the purse dangling by her waist. Was the bag hot to the touch? Or was she only imagining that phantom heat—a panicked sort of burning to match the one simmering under her skin, an inferno closing in around her?
A snap broke her from her thoughts.
Their signal. The only sound they ever used on a job to catch the other person’s attention—speaking was too risky given that the homeowner was asleep down the hall.
Jo turned.
Thad secured the cap on the tube. She caught a flash of white from the canvas now resting inside.
That was it.
Months and months of planning, and they were done.
In. Out.
Easy.
Jo stepped back from the window but stopped cold as a flash of light flooded the room. Headlights. She pressed her back to the wall and peeked around the edge of the molding until she could see the street. A car pulled to a stop two doors down. Far enough away to be coincidence. But she knew in her heart it wasn’t.
Jo snapped twice.
Thad froze.
Another car pulled to a stop outside. Then one more.
Jo signaled to the window on the other side of the room, and Thad crept over to peer outside. He held out his hand, signaling the number two.
Shit.
Five cars.
Nate woke up. That was the only explanation. He woke to find her missing and knew exactly where she’d gone. And he could’ve let it go, but he didn’t. He came after her.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
Jo closed her eyes, squeezing, as her heart thudded in her chest, beating like a fist against a locked door, trying to break free.
She had to calm down.
She had to focus.
They’d planned for this. Their escape routes had been specifically designed around the possibility of being surrounded. Thad would go to the roof, and from there, the opportunities were endless—the man was practically a monkey. He’d climb into the neighbor’s terrace and maybe over one more building just to be safe, and then he’d hide until the street cleared. Jo wasn’t worried about him. Not at all. He was a master of the getaway.
Jo, on the other hand, had already shown her cards.
Her exit was out the back.
Into the alley.
Where Nate would undoubtedly be waiting.
If she hadn’t taken him out that door earlier that night, he probably would’ve never known it existed. Not every townhouse had them—in fact, very few did. Jo would’ve been gone before the Feds even thought to check the opposite side of the block for an exit. She would’ve been free. Instead, she was trapped, in a web of her own maki
ng.
With that singular realization, all her dreams went up in smoke. Her bakery. Her coopies. The image of being nestled in Nate’s arms, watching snow fall. All of it. Gone. Poof. Because when he caught her, there’d be no deal. No leverage. No immunity. He wouldn’t need it. She’d be caught red-handed, a criminal through and through, with the ski mask to prove it. Which, really, when it came down to it, was no worse than she deserved.
A warm palm landed on her shoulder. Jo spun with a gasp, but it was Thad. Only Thad. He stared at her, trying to understand her panic, when as far as he knew the plan was still foolproof, still a go. And for him it was. There was no reason for Thad to get caught. Not when it was her fault, and hers alone, for getting in too deep.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
A hard knock sounded against the door.
Jo and Thad locked eyes.
The homeowner would be awake any instant. The Feds were about to bust their way in. If they were leaving, it had to be now.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Instincts taking over, they snapped apart and turned, running for the stairs. Thad raced up. Jo hurried down. No time to think. No time to process. Only to act.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Footsteps thudded from the bedroom upstairs, but Jo was already on the ground floor, racing for the back exit. And she had no doubt Thad had made it to the roof terrace and was already climbing his way over the divide and into the neighbor’s property. She unlocked the deadbolt on the patio doors, slid outside, and crossed the courtyard in a matter of seconds. Her hand hovered over the knob for the exit into the alley. She paused, ripped off her ski mask, and arched her head back, sucking in a long, cool breath of air. Her last, she was sure, as a free woman.
Then she opened the door and stepped through.
- 26 -
Nate
There was a defeated look in her eyes as she stepped through the door, something resigned yet content, something he’d never seen before. Her hair was disheveled. Her movements slow. Her body stiff. They locked gazes across the dark expanse of the alley as Jo quietly shut the door behind her. For a moment, they both remained still. Quiet and still. Was there anything left to say?
She glanced behind him, to either side, her brows pulling together and her mouth dropping as she realized Nate was alone. “No backup?”
The question could’ve been flippant, but with the shock running through her tone, he didn’t think so. If he were being honest, he was just as surprised as she was. Nate had no idea why he’d told the others he was going to do a quick scan of the surrounding streets. He had no idea why he’d shrugged off Leo’s offer to provide backup. He had no idea why instead of actually taking a lap around the block, he’d turned into this discreet alley, blanketed in shadow. He had no idea, and yet, even worse, he did.
Because he knew Jo would be here.
And he knew if anyone had come with him, they’d arrest her on the spot.
And he wasn’t sure he could bear the sight of her in handcuffs or the knowledge that all those glorious ideas of after would be gone.
Jo took a step forward, wary. “What are you doing, Nate?”
“I don’t know, Jo,” he growled, anger simmering, threatening to break free of his careful control. Anger at her for leaving. Anger with himself for letting her go. Anger that after so much time and so much dedication and so much commitment, he was risking it all—a promise he never spoke of, a revenge nearly two decades in the making, his entire career—over something his father would have scoffed at. Over a woman. A woman he’d only known for a week.
But for some reason, Jo was so much more than that.
Somehow, she was everything.
“Why’d you leave?”
Jo sighed, tilting her head to the side, as though the answer was obvious. “Why’d you follow?”
“Because it’s my job.” Was that the real reason? Or was it because he needed to see her again, to fight for her, to at least say goodbye?
Her eyes softened, as though she heard the struggle in his voice. “Are you here to arrest me, Nate?”
“I don’t know.” Nate shifted his weight, gaze dropping to the asphalt beneath his feet. He didn’t seem to know anything anymore.
Jo stepped closer, hesitant but growing bolder, turning back into a more recognizable version of herself. “Are you going to let me go?”
“I don’t know,” he said through gritted teeth. As Jo closed the distance between them, his hands formed into fists. She pressed her palms to his chest, sending a different sort of heat into the inferno building beneath his skin, two sides, two warring sides, one tender and one tempestuous, both fighting for the lead. Jo slid her fingers around the back side of his neck, teasing, toying as her nails grazed his scalp.
“Are you going to kiss me?” Her voice was deeper this time, full of an ocean of implication.
Yes.
He leaned down.
No.
He pulled his head back.
Yes.
Again.
No.
Again.
I shouldn’t—
We shouldn’t—
She—
I—
Nate shook his head, releasing a frustrated breath as the battle reached a crescendo. “Goddammit, Jo, I don’t know!”
She folded her lips, rolling them into her mouth and biting down for a moment as the corners twitched. “Then what do you know?”
She was enjoying this.
Enjoying this!
The woman was infuriating.
Absolutely infuriating.
Nate’s nostrils flared as he met her amused gaze. “I know you stole my files.” The pleasure fled from her features. “I know you just broke into a house and aided in the theft of a priceless work of art in order to make good on a deal with the Russian mafia.” Nate shoved his hand into his pocket, then pulled out a set of metal handcuffs. They glinted in the bit of light seeping into the alley from the street. “I know I have every reason in the world to turn you around, place these on your wrists, and take you to headquarters for questioning.”
Jo swallowed.
So did Nate.
Every muscle in his body trembled gently with the weight of those words, the truth of them. And then his body went lax. Because as soon as he saw that brief flash of fear in her dazzling green eyes, his heart won the fight.
Nate dropped the handcuffs.
They clinked as they hit the street.
“And I know,” he murmured, lifting his hand to her cheek and brushing his thumb over her silken skin. “I know I won’t use them.” She moved her palm to cover his, holding his hand against her face. Nate stared into her eyes and asked again, “Why’d you leave?” But this time there was nothing but vulnerable, brutal barrenness in his tone.
Jo closed her eyes, letting her head dip into his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“I know that too, Jo.” She’d told him already, in that soft confession before she’d walked out of his room. I’m sorry. I thought I could, but I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry. An apology made to the empty night, to silence, when she’d thought he was asleep. But he’d heard every word. “What did you mean when you said you can’t?”
He had to know.
That was what it all came down to.
Was she delaying the inevitable…or was she putting it off completely?
One option he could live with.
The other, he honestly wasn’t sure he could.
“I can’t…” she trailed off, closing her eyes as though to hide from the truth. Her brows knotted together as her face scrunched with silent pain. “I can’t do this the way you want me to do this. I need time. Time to read the files, but mostly, time to talk to my father.”
“Jo—”
“No, please, Nate,” she said as her eyes popped open and bored into his. “Please, you have to understand. I need to hear it from his lips. I need to see the truth in his eyes. I can record it on my phone. I can do whatever I need to do. But I
can’t wear your wire and have that conversation when I know the whole world is listening. I can’t. He’s my father. My father.”
Her voice caught on the word, breaking.
“I understand. I do. But there’s something you need to understand too.” Nate paused, taking a breath, stalling. He’d never told anyone this before. Not his mother. Not his siblings. Not his partner. Some of the men at the bureau understood a portion of it—they had eyes and access to the confidential files and were smart enough to put two and two together. But it was different to tell someone, to actually say it out loud and face that day he’d shoved as far into the back of his mind as possible, to remember those last few moments, the darkest of his life, when all he’d seen was red—on his hands, on the grass, flooding down the street, spilling from his father’s chest, his own vision curtained by a gossamer red in his agony and anger. Speaking the words gave them life, tossed them into someone else’s hands to either protect or throw back in his face. For the first time in his life, staring into Jo’s eyes, he understood he’d found someone who’d keep them safe, keep him safe. “There’s something I haven’t told you, Jo. Something, something I need you to know.”
His voice was raw.
Stripped bare.
She squeezed his hand, nothing but concern in her eyes as she watched him, studied him. “What, Nate? What?”
“This is about more than just work for me. It’s about so much more than my job. It’s— It’s— It’s everything, Jo.” His voice was barely a whisper. Little more than the wind.