by Rebel Adams
“You’re drinking already? It’s barely noon.”
“And a six-hour flight. What am I supposed to do the whole time?”
“Umm…look over the project plans? Figure out how to enter the house, retrieve the painting and not get caught.” Unlike Kent, she hasn’t changed after the meeting; instead, she rushed back to her office to get everything they needed for the trip. Her electronics and “gadgets” are one of a kind. Like the watch on Kent’s wrist. It’s one of five she created a year ago. It’s less watch and more of a thief’s version of a Swiss Army Knife.
She’s not even sure how he got it but she’s not surprised. He’s the kind of man that sees or hears about something he wants and takes it. It’s one of the few things they have in common. From her research Kent was born with a platinum spoon in his mouth. Maya’s family isn’t poor, but her parents are scientists who work in academia. Their research and discoveries went to help the world at large. Maya’s childhood was spent in libraries and laboratories. At eight she had taken apart the family computer and rebuilt it. At ten she hacked into the Department of Transportation and switched all the traffic lights to yellow. In the entire city. By fifteen she had three cease and desist letters from the state of New York and after she got out of M.I.T. she couldn’t get a job because of her security risk. Really, she had no choice but to go underground and work against the system.
“I’m pretty sure I can drink and look at blueprints, Maya,” Kent says, swallowing his drink in one gulp. “I’m a multi-tasker. You’re well aware of this.” He lifts an eyebrow and it’s all Maya can do not to punch him in his smug, perfectly sculpted jaw. Well, either that or jump in his lap. Unfortunately, neither of those are appropriate options for their current situation.
“You’re also a conniving bastard who I don’t trust.”
He refills his drink and takes a sip. “Those are your issues, not mine.”
Maya grabs the arm of the flight attendant. “Get me what he’s having—but a double.”
“He’s already having a double.”
“Then a triple. Or just the entire bottle. Something to numb my brain for the flight.”
She stows her bag and sits across from Kent, hating the fact he’s able to get under her skin so easily. He’s beyond handsome. Gorgeous—in that underwear model sort of way. Amazing body, handsome face, soft dark, curly hair…the outside is, well, perfect. But his insides? He’s broken beyond repair.
Another passenger enters the plane and loads his suitcase in the overhead storage. “Who are you?” Kent asks, shoulders tensing, hand disappearing to his side.
The man turns and Maya’s eyes roam his body. He has warm brown eyes and commanding stature. He offers his hand. He’s polite—how refreshing. The opposite of the douchebag sitting across from her. “Agent Queen. I’ll be working on the Obsidian Project with you.”
Maya and Kent glance at one another. They don’t trust each other, but at the same time, they know one another. This guy? He’s a wild card. “Agent Carson didn’t mention you,” Maya says, in a careful tone.
“Because he knew you would fight him about working with anyone else.” He takes the seat across from Maya and eyes the half-full drinks. “I’ve briefed your files. This job should be a walk in the park for the two of you.”
“Since we haven’t briefed your files, care to fill us in on what you plan to bring to this operation?” Kent asks. His voice is aloof, but Maya sees the wariness in his eyes.
“First of all,” Queen says, tossing a thick envelope across the table, “here’s your paperwork. False passports, visas, and other identification. I’ll get us into the hotel and procure transportation. Any sort of logistical needs we have in Italy will be my responsibility.”
“Makes sense.” Maya flips through a file she brought with her. “Here’s a list of the items we will need. Including additional weapons.” Queen takes the paper from her and reviews it.
“I think we should be able to manage all of that. Once you have possession of the painting, I will deliver it back to Agent Carson and give you your reward.”
“You have the authority to do that?” Kent asks.
“I have the authority to do whatever it takes to make this a successful mission. Including babysitting the two of you.” A small smile tugs at his lips.
Maya tilts her head. “What does that mean?”
“That means I know about the history between you two. You’re the best at what you do, but you also act like a pair of teenagers when you’re together. Chaos and mayhem are not unexpected. I’m here to make sure everyone focuses on their jobs.”
Kent shakes his head and places his own stack of paper on the small desk between them. “Whatever makes you guys feel better. I’m just here to make a fast two-point-five million.”
Picking up her drink, Maya drowns the remaining liquid. “Same.”
They only fucked once. Well, no, that’s not exactly true. They were only together one night, during which, they had sex more than once. Mind blowing, earth-shattering, toe-curling sex, but it was just the one night. Nothing more and never again. At least that’s what Kent told himself.
He’d always been an arrogant prick. It’s just his nature, but first and foremost, he’s a manipulator—a con man and a thief. As a kid, he stole from classmates at his boarding school. Primarily money and electronics. The parents of snotty rich kids were happy to replace a new iPod, each one better than the last, rather than deal with any sort of drama. In college, he dabbled in identity theft, but after a while that seemed too low-rent, easy pickings on the not-so-wealthy. He was smarter than that and he decided to go after more high risk ventures. Foreign cars, art work—the occasional jewelry job. He loved to push himself—rarely going after the same prize more than once.
His thefts were not about the money. He had money. A trust fund left by his parents when they died. No, for Kent, the thefts were about power, ingenuity and the thrill of victory.
Much like fucking Maya had been, because ultimately, that night had been one of his biggest victories so far. But women, even her, were like the treasures he stole. There was always another one to conquer.
All of these things weighed heavy on Kent’s mind as they flew across the Atlantic. This project marks the first time he’s stealing something back, and for the greater good of the country. His normal dealings were handled in smoky bars or secret offices, generally through a third person so no one’s hands got particularly dirty. But this? This project is sanctioned by the FBI itself. Ultimately, he felt conflicted. It seems too legit.
“What’s wrong?” Maya asks.
He holds up his drink and clinks the ice. “I need another drink.”
“Too bad I’m not your servant.”
“That’s for sure,” he mutters, waving down the flight attendant.
Her eyes narrow. “What did you say?”
“I said, I’m sure that if you can disable the electronic security system, I can handle the guys inside.”
“As you can see from the information packet, we’ll go in tomorrow night during the party,” Queen interrupts.
Maya flips through the paperwork but sees nothing. “What party?”
“A political fundraiser.”
“Wait. That’s adding at least twenty more guards.” Kent grimaces at the news.
Queen doesn’t look concerned. “Yes, there will be more, but they will be occupied with their client, giving a little more leeway for you two to be in the building without notice. You’ll go in dressed like staff.”
“Whatever. I can take them.”
Maya pinned Kent with a hard look. “You think we can take twenty guards?”
Kent snorts. “I can take twenty on my own, if you stay out of my way.”
“Hey! I can handle myself.”
Queen interjects, “You’ll go in as serving staff to blend in and work your way to the art room. Clarke will have to disable some security inside while you guard her. I’ll oversee the computers from a remote p
oint.”
Kent sighs with annoyance. “Fine, but if she’s compromised, she’s on her own.” The words are barely out of his mouth when he feels the sharp point of Maya’s boot heel impale his foot. “What the fuck, Maya?”
“I’m sick of you belittling me. One more snide comment and my boot will be up your ass. Got it?” she asks, face wild with fury.
Pausing for a moment, Kent considers his options. He quickly realizes he doesn’t have many because Maya will, and can, totally kick his ass. “Got it.”
“Flight lands in thirty minutes. We need to wrap this up,” Queen directs, ignoring their spat. Good thing because there is no doubt, this is only one of many that will happen before the trip is over. “I’ve got the exit strategy lined up. We’ll go over it in detail at the hotel.”
Maya excuses herself, and instinctively, Kent leans to the side to get a better view of her long legs and perfect ass. She disappears in the back of the plane. After a minute, Kent stands and follows.
The bathroom door slides open and she rolls her eyes when she spots him waiting in the cramped hallway. He holds his hand up to block her exit. They’re inches apart.
“What the hell do you want, Kent?”
“Interested in joining the mile-high club?”
“Sorry,” she says. “Already a card-carrying member.”
He flicks his eyes down the passageway, toward Queen. “What do you make of that?”
“He’s handsome and smart. Agent Carson must trust him. Worried about the competition?”
“I’m worried about having a babysitter.”
“Agent Carson is probably worried you’ll steal the painting and try to sell it to a private buyer. Queen is insurance.”
“I want you to stick close to him. Don’t let your guard down.”
She scoffs, “With you around? No chance.”
Kent presses closer and cups her chin with his hand. “You’re not still mad are you? I apologized.”
Her steely resolve wavers—a tiny flash in her brown eyes. It’s gone in an instant. “You did not apologize and I’d have to care to be mad. Trust me, I don’t. I’m just sick of your sexist attitude.” She jerks her chin away and immediately Kent drops his hand. His face, per usual, is unreadable. “We’re doing this job, we’re being civil, and after that, we’re done. For good.”
Pushing past Kent, Maya strides away. Kent follows, muttering, “Well, at least I’m forgiven.”
“Again, I’m starting to see where our tax money goes and why the US is in a shit-ton of debt,” Maya says as she enters their penthouse suit. She glances around and spots the two bedrooms adjacent to the spacious living area. “Fancy digs, eh, Kent? Wait, Kent?” She looks in the hallway and finds him. Arm pressed against the wall with a dark-haired and skinned woman.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Kent leans into the woman and says, loud enough for Maya to hear, “Mi dispiace molto bella. Ignorare la sua. Incontreremo più tardi.”
Kent walks past her and heads straight to the bar where he opens a bottle of scotch. Maya declares, “You will not see her beautiful self later, asshat. We’re working.”
He raises an eyebrow, impressed she understood Italian. “I appreciate you’re taking the role of my wife so seriously.”
“Fuck you.” She crosses her arms over her chest, aware that she’s more annoyed than she should be. “All I know is you and Queen better be prepared to share a bed.”
“You saw the paperwork, Maya. As far as the Italians know, we’re married.” He flashes a wicked grin. “I guess we’ll have to christen the bed.”
“Just because Agent Carson thought it would be a good idea to travel as a couple doesn’t mean I’m sharing a bed with you.” She narrows her eyes at Queen who has his phone out and is checking messages. “You get the couch.”
“Sure, whatever. It’s all for appearances, anyway.”
Grabbing her suitcase, Maya enters one of the bedrooms with a huff. “I’m taking a nap. I’ll meet you at six for dinner.”
Kent drains his drink and loosens his tie, disappearing into his own room.
Even Kent can admit Portofino, Italy is beautiful. What he doesn’t want to admit is how exquisite Maya looks right now. The hotel restaurant overlooks the water and her warm brown eyes sparkle in the candlelight. Thank God, they’re seated quickly because no one else needs to see his obvious boner. Especially Queen, who, even though Kent couldn’t see it, clearly had his own obvious boner for Maya.
“You look lovely,” Queen says, pulling out her chair.
Douche. Kent can’t help but think.
“Thank you,” she says, pushing her hair over her exposed shoulder. She has on a slinky black, strapless dress that makes all of her assets pop. Kent inhales and grabs the attention of a waiter to order a drink.
“Carson informed me that this isn’t the first time you two have worked together.”
Maya laughs. “Working together is a bit of a stretch.”
“I was working a job and Maya botched it.” Kent smirks. “I had to save her ass so we wouldn’t both get pinched. So if that’s what you consider working together, then sure, okay.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“No?” Kent asks with a mock frown. “Feel free to clarify. I’d love to hear your version of events.”
Maya shoots him a death glare and turns to face Queen. “Is this off the record?”
“Totally.”
She takes a big gulp of wine and swirls the liquid leisurely around her glass. “Kent and I worked the same circles for years. Taking different jobs, due to our specific skills but gaining comparable reputations. Two years ago, we both landed on the same job without realizing it.”
“And she completely fucked up my score. Or tried to at least.”
“Shut. Up.”
Kent waves his hand. “Continue.”
“A Bugatti Veyron disappeared from an eighteen-year-old pop star’s garage in LA. The little prick wanted it back and approached me about retrieving it, presumably so he could crash it into a wall or something,” Maya explains, rolling her eyes. “Kent, had another client who wanted to steal the already stolen vehicle to add to his private collection.”
“A Bugatti Veyron? How much do those cost?” Queen asks.
“Starting price is 2.5 million.”
Queen whistles. “An eighteen-year-old had a 2.5 million dollar car. Insane.”
“Yeah, especially when you consider the fact its primary use was for the kid to egg his neighbor’s house,” she says. “Anyway, the Bugatti’s disappearance caused huge chatter in our community. Within days, I got a tip saying it was locked up tight in an underground garage in Montana.”
“So wait, you guys have like thief chat rooms or something?”
“Or something,” Kent replies.
Maya continues, “We both arrived at the same time to steal this stolen car and it’s one giant clusterfuck.”
“What happened?”
“It’s really about a difference in styles. Kent likes to fight his way in. I like to sneak in.” Maya peeks at Kent, but he feigns indifference. Really, though, she knows he’s intrigued by how much information she’ll share about the experience they had together. Does he know how much he hurt her? That even now, rage boils beneath her skin when she remembers what he did to her? Probably not, because that’s how much of a self-absorbed dick he is.
“I dismantled the security and unlocked the garage from outside, but it didn’t matter. I walked in and found five guys knocked out on the ground. Kent had already taken them out.”
“And I got to the garage with a backpack full of explosives planning to blow off the interior door. To my surprise, the door was wide open,” Kent adds.
Queen leans forward and asks, “So what happened next?”
With the garage door open, Kent assessed the room and spotted a figure near the car, dressed head to toe in black. He silently took out his gun, prepared, first and foremost, to get out
of this alive. Killing wasn’t his first solution, but he’d do it if necessary. The person stiffened, sensing his presence and turned, holding a gun in his direction.
“Drop it. Now,” Kent demanded. He held his hand steady and even.
“No chance, asshole,” a woman replied.
A woman. With a foul mouth.
Kent’s mind raced. There was only one person who could beat him down here. They’d never met. But he knew of her. Her reputation was fierce, a solid competitor, even if he would never admit it out loud. “Clarke? What the hell are you doing here?”
Maya’s shoulders sagged, but she never lowered the gun. “Are you fucking kidding me? Kent? No. Turn your ass around. I got here first.”
“I’m not leaving without that car.”
“Ditto.”
Neither seemed sure what to do about the situation but the clock was ticking. Literally. One of the guards groaned on the floor. With her gun still on Kent, she kicked the limp man in the side. He watched, fascinated, until he spotted the red pinpoint on her forehead.
“Clarke,” he said in a low, even voice. “Down.”
Her eyes met his for a brief moment and she dropped, flat to the ground as the first bullets flew through the air. One ricocheted off a pole near Kent; he immediately dove through the open passenger’s door of the car for cover.
He was halfway over the gear shift when he saw Clarke crawling on her hands and knees toward the car. He considered leaving her ass for fucking the job up. A bullet flashed over her shoulder and pinged through the garage.
“Fuck,” he muttered, opening the driver’s side door. “Get in.”
She was already in the seat with the engine flared before he could reconsider his actions. “Damn, she’s beautiful,” She virtually purred as she gripped the steering wheel.
She almost got shot—almost got him shot, yet she was admiring the freaking car. This woman was nuts.
“Can you drive a stick?” he asked. Two more guards entered the garage, dressed in black, loaded down with weapons. “Stop stroking the steering wheel, Clarke, and get moving!”