by Lexi Duval
He moves back another step and drops into a chair by the wall, crosses his legs, and waits casually for the show to start.
His voice is rumbling and deep and oozes authority. Even though I'm doing this because I have to, I'd imagine he exercises the same control with his staff and business associates.
But I'm not a member of his staff. I'm not being paid for this. I'm doing this to keep my ass out of jail.
I'd do anything to keep from going back there...
I slide my arms behind my back, my agility and flexibility making it simple for me to reach the awkward zip. Slowly, with my eyes never leaving his, I pull down, and feel the fabric loosen over my body.
One by one, I slip the shoulder straps off me, let them fall down my upper arms and lie against my soft skin. Now I pull down, peel the tight fitting dress over my bust, my breasts bursting into view. As he'd ordered, I'm not wearing any underwear.
The sight of my pale breasts widens the look of lust in his eyes, creates an extra crinkle in his smile as dimples deepen on his cheeks.
I keep pulling, running my hands down past my navel, revealing my toned stomach, and over my hips. I twist my waist a touch as the dress reaches my pubic region, but his voice stops me in the act.
“No,” he says from the shadow against the wall. “Turn around. Show me the other side of you.”
I do as I'm told, taking several small step in my heels until I'm looking in the other direction. I continue now, pushing the dress down, rolling the cloth over the top of my ass. I bend down a little, arch my ass up as I continue to strip the black dress off my ashen skin.
A slight chill runs over me as I feel the dress drop down my legs and bunch on the floor, leaving me completely naked, completely exposed.
I stand up straight, and wait for a moment before he speaks again.
“Turn around.”
Now his eyes drink me in fully. My athletic legs, the curve of my hips, my toned midsection and pert breasts. His eyes drift to my groin, shaven and clean, and the strip between my thighs.
“You have a beautiful body,” he tells me. “You missed your calling. You should have been a model.”
But I'm not a model. I'm a thief. And that's just why I'm here...
“Move back to the bed,” comes his voice, spilling out of him and growing with desire. “It's time to get started.”
Chapter One
Two Nights Earlier
It's cold, dark, and completely silent.
The night sky crackles with the distant sound of thunder, so far off it's faint, a blanket of heavy cloud above swiftly gliding past with the stiff breeze.
My body is covered in black from head to toe. It often is at this time of night, when the world sleeps and my work begins.
Black pants. A tight black top. A black hooded sweater to guard against the cold. My thick brown hair is bunched up in a ball, hidden beneath a black balaclava, only my hazel eyes and pale lips visible behind the thin fabric.
Ahead of me is a wall, too tall to jump up and grab the top of. Along it are cameras stretching around the boundary of the estate. They're supposed to pick up everything.
They won't pick up me.
I'm a professional, and this is my world. I've been scouting this property for weeks now, learning everything I can about it. Using contacts to gain access to its blueprints, to find out what treasures lie within.
The owner, I know, is a billionaire. His name – Sage Dalton – is well known among the world's elite, if not the general public. But it's not the person I care about, it's what he has hidden within his home.
A single score against a man like him can make me millions.
With a small backpack fitted to my back, I move toward the wall and feel for the tiniest of handholds to slip my fingers into. I'm strong, agile, and capable of scaling a wall like this easily enough as long as I find the right place to climb.
With the ease of a monkey, I lift myself up from the ground and soon reach the top. This particular spot, my research has told me, is a rare blind spot for the cameras on the wall and around the proximity of the estate.
I drop to the ground on the other side and see the mansion looming in the distance, a grand shadow against the dark sky. In my head I think of the positions of the cameras hidden around the gardens, in fountains and statues, on the walls of the various wings of the mansion itself.
I know, too, that there are security staff at certain points along the perimeter. The gate, in particular is manned 24 hours a day, but aside from that a couple of other guards monitor any movement around the property.
But still, I won't be seen. I know their routines, where they go and at what point. And I know that my infiltration route is clear, as long as I stick to my schedule.
I wait a few moments by the wall, hidden against it with the shadows of the clouds above obscuring any view of me. The storm raging in the distance is an excellent and welcome distraction. In fact, it's largely why I've chosen tonight as the night to make my move...
Forward I creep, guiding my path through the maze of gardens and trees and flower beds. At one point a light shines, spilling its glow over the external reaches of the mansion's western wing, a spotlight tripped by my movement.
I'm ready for it. I expect it.
As soon as I step to where I know the motion sensor is, I'm darting forward as quick as a cat toward a small alcove built into the side of the wall. Above, I hear the distinct electronic whirr of a camera as it pans around to look over the lit space of garden.
I'm no longer there.
For a few moments, the camera turns from side to side, until going still once more. A squirrel or a bird or some other rodent. That's what they'll be thinking. Nothing worth checking in person.
Against the cold stone of the mansion, I slip around until I reach a ground floor window. I pull my backpack off my shoulders, take hold of a glass cutter, and set it to the window pane.
The suckers stick firm, before the cutter begins a clockwise motion, turning a full 360 degrees until it slices right through the pane and creates a hole big enough for me to slide my slim frame inside.
In I go, passing my bag through the gap and then slipping through like a snake. The sound of the wind follows me inside through the hole, the air inside the palatial mansion cool and feeling as old as the stone walls.
I'm in a small study, dusty and clearly rarely used. I know, from my studies of the blueprints, that I need to make it across to the east wing. I creep out through the door, which creaks and groans and sounds as loud as a passing train in the darkness.
The place is almost pitch black and feels oppressive, as if horrible things once happened here long ago. It's an old mansion, built more than a century ago, and nothing like some of the other modern estates I've infiltrated. This one feels more authentic, like something you'd see on an historic tour of Europe.
From my bag, I slip a pair of night vision goggles. They turn the world green, and direct my sight down the corridor, through several large adjoining halls and rooms, and finally to the reason for my visit.
The library.
It's a large, sprawling space, with bookcases covering all of the walls and rising high up toward the ceiling. To reach the highest books, there's a stepladder that's attached to a rail that runs along the base of the bookcases.
But I'm not interested in the millions of pages of accumulated knowledge and fiction. No. There's something far more valuable that interests me, hidden in a place I might never have thought to look if I didn't already know it was there.
To the left wall, hidden behind several thick, old, books about the history of accounting, is a small safe. Without knowing where it was, it would take hours, and a heavy dose of luck, to discover its whereabouts.
But I do know.
Quietly, but quickly, I remove the books and set my eyes on the safe. It's rudimentary by modern standards, opened using a simple four number pass code on the number pad on the front.
With a quick switch of the display on m
y goggles, the sight of four finger prints begins to shine up from the electronic pad – 2, 5, 6, and 9.
That gives me 24 possible permutations of the digits. Within only a few moments, I've worked my way through them and managed to find the right sequence – 5962.
The safe clicks and falls open, and I eagerly reach in. My heart pounds a little harder than normal, but mainly I keep my emotions under control.
Inside is what I'm looking for. A set of diamond earrings that Sage Dalton once gave to his wife, thought to be worth over two million dollars. She, of course, didn't last long, and he got the earrings back as part of their pre-nup.
More the better for me, I think to myself.
I pocket the diamonds, storing them securely in a zipped pouch on my pants, and shut the safe quietly. Nothing else inside interests me. I'm here for one thing, and one thing only.
I replace the books, make it so that I was never there, and begin making my way back through the mansion. As I do, I can already hear the sound of the rain growing on the roof, quickly clattering hard as the skies above start to empty their load.
A smile drifts up my face, the storm closing in right on schedule. As I reach my entry point, I notice the garden flash up outside as lightning zips down from above. Thunder follows quickly after, rumbling through the house and up my feet.
I slide through the circular hole in the glass window, feel the rain quickly soak into my black camouflage. More lightning comes crashing down, more thunder booms in the heavens, and I quickly dart through the gardens once more, cutting my path right to the wall where I came in.
Again, the spotlight shines behind me, but I'm through it before the monitoring guard has any chance to see me. I reach the wall, and scale it quickly, once more knowing that the old stone brickwork will provide me with the grooves I need to get my fingers inside.
So I climber over with speed, and find myself quickly dropping to the outside of the estate's boundary, my feet hitting the ground with a splash. I allow myself a smile as my pulse quickens with excitement, and I dart off into the wooded area beyond the wall.
I pace between the trees, hearing no sirens or alarms in the background. Knowing that I've escaped once more and left absolutely no trace.
The Night Panther they call me in the press. I've always liked the name. Sleek and nimble and cunning as a cat, I infiltrate and extract within the blink of an eye.
And tonight, I've just made one of my greatest scores...
Chapter Two
My eyes open like a spark of lightning and I sit up in bed. I quickly gaze around the room, take in my bearings for a moment, and then carefully settle back down.
That happens a lot with me.
It's a symptom of growing up in so many different rooms, never settling your head on the same pillow for long enough to get attached. That was my life as a kid, moving between foster families like I was being used in a game of pass the parcel.
At 17, I threw in the towel and decided to go it alone, but that only led me to prison after a couple of years of petty theft and burglary. I was wet behind the ears then. Not the pro I am now.
Still, I'm only 24 and am now waking up with scores worth 2 million in my pocket. Not too bad for a girl with 'no prospects at all', as I was always told by the stupid fucking teachers I had in high school.
If only they could see me now...
My surroundings aren't exactly like I was used to growing up either. And they're certainly nothing like that jail cell I occupied with a middle aged woman called Marge for over a year.
Because right now, I'm in a hotel room. A nice hotel at the south of the Brooklyn Bridge, with Manhattan rising high outside my window in the distance. I've been here for about a week now. And before this, another hotel nearby.
Frankly, I've gotten into the habit of moving on constantly, and even staying in the same hotel room for too long makes me feel a little uncomfortable. Mainly because I get paranoid that someone might finally track me down.
The Night Panther.
I've been in the press for over a year now with that name. They first called me it when some CCTV footage came up showing me scaling the wall of a large townhouse on the outskirts of Chicago, trying to reach a balcony to gain access.
I did, of course, and came away with some fine jewelry, and ever since then any hint of a home invasion or jewelry theft has been linked to me. The images of me climbing that wall, and various other limited sightings, gave me the name.
I suppose it's due to my black camouflage and agility.
Last night I added to my growing legend, and as soon as it gets out who the target was, the press are gonna freak. Billionaire Sage Dalton, robbed by the Night Panther. It doesn't get much better than that...
With the storm having faded, the day that's followed looks glorious out the window. It's still crisp, the weather still clinging to the back end of winter, but the sky is a clear and sparkling blue and New York never looked quite so beautiful to my weary eyes.
And weary they are.
Last night, after finally getting back from Long Island, dressed in a totally different outfit and carrying my black camouflage and diamond earrings in my bag, I found myself hardly able to sleep. It was already well into the morning, and yet my mind was buzzing so much that I ended up drinking several double shots of vodka just to knock me out.
It worked, eventually, my mind falling foul of the alcohol at about the time that dawn was approaching. That was only a couple of hours ago, and now I'm feeling wrecked, my body stripped of the adrenaline that was coursing through it last night.
Still, I've got a big day ahead, and need to ship on these earrings as soon as possible. By now, one of Sage Dalton's staff will be just about discovering the circular hole in the window, and the house will be going on lock down to discover what might have been taken.
It won't take them long to realize it's Dalton's prized earrings...
So I get up, take a shower, and start preparing myself for my meet. I dress in a pair of simple jeans and a sweater, all nondescript clothing, and set about altering my image.
Blonde wig goes on first, then blue contact lenses. Then I spend plenty of time altering my make-up to the point where my complexion looks nothing like normal and my features take on an entirely different appearance.
Within half an hour, I go from pale skinned and dark haired, to blonde and tanned and looking to all the world like a playboy bunny.
It's all about deception. When I meet my contact, I don't want him to know what I really look like. He has no idea of my name or who I really am. All he knows is that I'm able to procure these high profile pieces of jewelry and deliver them to him for a price.
The price today has already been agreed upon - two million dollars. But I suppose he'll sell them on for even more...
With my disguise perfected, I step out of my room and down to the street, hanging a large coat around me to further shield my appearance while offering me plenty of protection against the bitter cold.
I hail a cab and get driven to a small, discreet bar in South Brooklyn. I pay the driver, step out, and quickly scan the area. It's quiet, only a few pedestrians ambling down the streets, going about their business.
I move forward, push through the door to the bar, and find a predominantly empty space inside. It's fairly dim and run down, with old wooden chairs and tables giving the impression of an old German tavern.
Behind the bar, a single barman stands reading the paper, while dotted here and there are mainly single men, fairly old, drinking ale and looking for all the world like lost souls.
I scan each of them, but see no sign of my contact. Immediately, a frown dips on my face and I begin to consider leaving. The man is never later. Never. And if he is, that might signal a problem.
As I consider it, I hear a call from behind the bar.
“You sure you're not lost there, sweetheart?”
I look up and see the barman staring at me. I do look totally out of place in here with my b
londe hair and bright blue eyes.
I drift toward him, and order a water, still wondering whether to walk out right now and rearrange.
No, Kristen, give it a few minutes at least...you've come this far.
I take my glass of tepid water to the corner and settle in, my sights set firm on the entrance.
Ten minutes. That's what I'll give him. If he's not here by then, I'm leaving. There are other buyers out there...
I set myself the plan, and sit in silence, trying to avoid the gazes of the lonely looking men planted at various points around the bar.
The minutes pass, and still I see no sign of my contact. And slowly, but surely, my heart rate rises and my body tightens, preparing to jump up and leave at a moment's notice.
And then I see movement outside.
Through the murky window on the door, I can make out the image of a man approaching. No, not one man. There are several of them, a small group of three, dressed in dark clothing as they pace toward the entrance.
The door opens, and as it does I feel my heart constrict, my lungs suddenly lost of air. Half in a panic, and half trying to keep control, I think about running out the back, escaping through some window in the bathroom.
Because right in front of me, scanning the room, is the man I robbed last night.
Sage Dalton.
Chapter Three
I grip tight at my purse, knowing the contents, and turn my head down and to the side, hoping I won't have been seen.
But how could he possibly know who I am? How does he know I'm here? Did my contact rat me out?
Behind Sage, two large men follow, both wearing black suits and white shirts and stern looks. Bodyguards, I'd imagine.
Within seconds, I already feel like my time is up, because Sage is walking toward me. He's scanned the bar, spotted me, and is no longer deigning to look anywhere else.
My body twinges, and I make half a move to stand and run, but his voice stops me in my tracks.