Will we have to drink a shrinking potion to fit through there? I suck in my breath. I can’t believe we’re going in.
Garrett clutches my upper arm and pulls me to a stop. “You look like a thief,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear. “Ready to prove you are one?”
Beneath his mask, his eyes read dark as night, but in their depths, I detect a spark.
Heat ripples through me as a breeze ruffles my hair, and I’m sure he can see my pulse throbbing in my throat. I swallow. “I think so.”
“No going back now.”
“No.” A sinking feeling drops in my stomach. It hits me like a hurricane. I have a bad feeling about this. If we fail, if we get caught, I’m going to be locked up for a long time… Hoping I’m wrong but knowing I’m not, I grab his arm. “One thing,” I ask, my breath shallow.
“What’s that?” He lowers his face to mine, and my brain buzzes.
“What’s our exit strategy?”
“Ah.” He grins and reaches into his pocket. “Jump.” He flips a carabiner at me.
My trembling hand catches it, and I slip it into one of the zipper compartments on my suit.
“Wonderful.”
Chapter Forty-Three
March 20X6, Menlo Park
Clinging to the trees, we make our way to the house, sliding side by side along the glass facade to avoid triggering the motion sensors. My entire body stiff with tension, I want to run screaming into the woods, but I grip Garrett’s shirt so I’ll keep moving. When we arrive at the red front door, we freeze, backs to the wall, as two quick flashes bathe us in light, splaying our shadows across the porch.
Certain we’ve been caught, I feel my lungs seize, but I exhale when I realize it’s Rayelle and Kyran signaling all is clear.
Garrett holds one arm over my chest, pinning me in place, and he must feel my heart thundering. His other gloved hand inches toward the alarm keypad.
“Stop!” I whisper, my hand shooting out of its own volition and grabbing his arm. “Are you sure this is right? It was Teresa’s job—what if she got the code wrong?”
He glares at me, whispering, “What choice do we have?”
“None, I guess.” I bite my lip.
“Do not freak out on me. We have to trust our friends did their jobs.”
“But we’re not supposed to trust—”
“Do we have to talk about this now?”
“No. Go ahead.” My stomach uneasy, I gulp. Deep down, I think my instinct is to trust them, but at the same time, I can’t get past my nerves and I’m second-guessing everything.
“Remember, timing is important. Promise me: no more interruptions.”
“Promise.” I nod, sweat forming on my forehead. “Simon says stop exclamation point,” I remind him.
He punches in the code, and I hold my breath, exhaling only when the keypad turns green. The lock clicks as it unlatches.
Garrett releases me but catches my hand, keeping me close to him as he opens the door. “Go slowly,” he whispers. “The hall of footsteps.”
“I know,” I whisper back, my jaw clenched. The moon shines through skylights, lighting our path down a stark hallway with white walls and blond wood floors, leading into the great room. I’d believe we could walk straight through the house into the woods if it wasn’t for the moonlight glinting off the glass walls. “I don’t want to know how Toby and Ben got the saliva to deactivate the footstep detector right now.”
“Be glad it wasn’t your saliva they were after.”
I grimace. “Oh, I am.”
Deep in the gardens beyond the glass great room, two lights flash. Before I can think, Garrett swoops me into his arms, throwing me over his shoulder and closing the door behind us in one motion. My heart leaps into my throat, and it’s a miracle I don’t scream. “What are you doing?” I hiss.
“I don’t want to take any chances with two sets of footsteps,” he whispers, his feet gliding across the floor until he reaches the base of the stairs.
“I’m capable of being quiet,” I say as he lowers me down the length of his body, setting me on a step. I’m highly aware of every inch of him that slides against me, igniting me in goose bumps.
“It didn’t seem like it when you were happily slamming car doors.” He holds me close, keeping my cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Don’t move a muscle.”
As if I could. I’m so on edge, rigor mortis might be setting in. If I was meant to be a thief, shouldn’t I be in flow right now? On autopilot, like I was during the obstacle course? Not thinking, just doing? My proximity to Garrett has me all jumbled, and I can’t think straight.
“You know, Liam was right,” he says into my hair. “You do smell like a girl.”
My head snaps up, and it’s all I can do to keep from kneeing him in the crotch.
His lips press together, hiding a smile.
“The footstep detector will be back on any second. And next up, the fog blaster,” he whispers, pointing to the jets imbedded in the walls that line the stairs. “They look like an art installation, but if they’re activated, they’ll spray pepper spray or a sleeping compound—I don’t know which—but we don’t want to get caught snuggled up in Simon’s bed, do we?”
My heart races beneath my catsuit—or maybe it’s his heart.
Not wanting to admit my traitor body might not be opposed, I grind my teeth. “I’d definitely prefer pepper spray,” I reply.
He lets out a little laugh.
We stand there, clinging to each other in silence as precious seconds tick by, lasting for what feels like eternity.
Every muscle in my body is poised, ready to bolt, and my spine aches. I squint into the dark, hoping for a spark of light. “What’s taking so long?”
“I don’t know, but I’m positive Harbor and Mike will come through with the signature. He’s an expert forger, and she’s the perfect decoy if they need one,” he says.
“But what if something went wrong? We’d be stranded here.” My head spins.
A light passes through the still space, flooding over the couch and strange sculptures in the great room before traveling into the kitchen. It goes dark. We wait, our breathing heavy. I glance at my watch. Only three minutes have passed since we entered the front door. Not enough time to get caught, yet. The moment the second flash begins its journey, we bolt up the stairs, both fighting for the lead. The fog blasters remain closed.
When we reach the second floor, Garrett catches me around the waist, bringing me to a halt and sending hot shivers coursing through me.
“The shotgun-shell wall,” he whispers in my ear. “Sophia and Ophelia are on this one—retina recognition.”
“Sophia’s an expert makeup artist. She’s got this,” I reply, trying to steady my quaking limbs. “She probably made a fake eye… Wait.” I frantically scan the center anteroom we stand in. “How are we going to see the light?” Hallways and doors lead to bedrooms from all directions, but there are no windows.
Garrett points to the ceiling, and I glimpse stars twinkling through a skylight.
CLICK.
Grabbing me, Garrett throws me to the ground, covering my body with his. My insides leaping, I squeal, certain we’re done for, waiting for the bullets to ravage us. He clamps his hand over my mouth as the walls around us shift, rearranging themselves into a new layout.
“Robotic walls,” I whisper through his glove when they’ve stopped moving. He removes his hand from my mouth. “Now how are we supposed to know which bedroom is the master? The map will have changed.”
“We’ll have to guess.” His breath is hot on my cheek.
We lay there, not moving, every inch of our bodies pressed together. This time I know it’s his heart pulsating against mine. Electricity coursing through me, I long to curl into him.
White light pours through the skylight, s
potlighting us before it goes dark. “One,” I whisper, grateful for a new place to channel my energy. “Which room do you think it is?”
“The master used to be down the hall to the right… I’m guessing it doesn’t change? Only the rest of the rooms reconfigure to accommodate guests?”
The light flashes again.
“Two,” I say. “Sounds like a good guess to me.”
He yanks me up, and, shoulders hunched, we scramble down the hall into what can only be the master suite, based on the size of the chandelier dangling from the ceiling and the glass walls that open to balconies overlooking the forest.
“Bingo,” he says.
“Where’s the closet?” I ask, my lungs heaving in disbelief we’ve made it this far.
“This way.” Garrett nods over his shoulder.
We tiptoe to a hologram wall next to the fireplace. Certain we’re about to trigger an unmapped weapon, I hold my breath as we step through the wall. Thankfully no alarms sound. We arrive safely in a spacious bathroom with stone floors and a soaking tub that overlooks the pool. Crossing the space, we find the closet, and I exhale.
“What do we do now?” I ask. “We can’t just open the closet door, can we?”
“What does the map say?”
My hands shake as I take the paper square out of my pocket and unfold it. “It doesn’t say anything.”
“It seems too easy,” Garrett says. “But it would be ridiculous to put in a code every time you opened your closet, right?”
“We don’t have time to debate ridiculous,” I say, glancing at my watch. “We’ve been inside ten minutes. Time is not our friend. Open the door.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. It’s my heist; I call the shots.”
“Fine.” Rubbing my throbbing temples, I step aside so he has full access to the door.
“You open the door,” he says.
“No!” My stomach clenches. “Like you said—it’s your heist. Man up. If we go down right now, you take the blame, anyway. Open the door.”
“Fine, but it’s going in the report that you disobeyed orders.”
I narrow my eyes. “There’s a report?”
“Of course there’s a report. This is a test.”
“Whatever. Getting an A-minus isn’t exactly my biggest worry right now. Would you open the door?”
“A-minus? You think I’m giving you an A?” He laughs but quickly grows serious. “Ready? One, two…” Our eyes connect, and I could get lost in his depths. “Three.” He yanks open the door, and I brace myself.
Silence.
His shoulders visibly relax, and I practically collapse in a heap as the tension releases.
“After you.” He gestures me inside.
The closet is nearly empty, containing only three crisp dress shirts and two pairs of pants hanging in a neat row. A stack of shelves holds four perfectly folded charcoal zip-front sweaters, a pair of loafers, and a set of running shoes.
“He must use a clothing rental service,” Garrett says, his fingers tapping lightly along the back wall. “Which makes the car thing even stranger…”
“What about the car thing?”
BANG.
My heart flip-flops. The noise comes from outside, sounding like a car door slamming. I whip around, squinting into the night outside the bathroom windows, poised to jump at the slightest rustling of leaves, but all is silent.
Garrett keeps talking like nothing happened. “Simon is a minimalist guy. Look at this place. He doesn’t seem like he’s in to accumulating ‘stuff,’ so why give up space to a car collection? Even if he secretly likes driving, why wouldn’t he subscribe to a service that lets him borrow antique cars any time he wants?”
“Did you hear that?” I hiss, wishing he would hurry up and figure out how to open the wall.
“Hear what?”
“Nothing.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Am I losing it?
“It’s weird I’ve never heard of his collection,” he continues. Spreading his fingers, he runs his palm over the wall and frowns. “The closet has a knock lock, right?”
“Yes. The map has the code from Stewart, but it doesn’t say where to knock.” Impatient, I dig my nails into my palms to keep from pounding on the wall myself.
He traces a line to a spot near the ceiling. “This feels like a false panel, and, judging by the dirt smudges, I’m guessing the lock is here. What’s the code?”
Consulting the map, I chew my lip. “Three knocks, pause, seven knocks, pause, one knock, pause, nine knocks.”
“Okay. Count with me.” Balling his fingers into a fist, Garrett lets his hand hover over the wall.
“Go,” I say, and together we count, “One, two, three,” as he raps on the wall.
“Pause,” I say, my pulse thundering in my ears. I silently count to two. “Go. One, two, three, four…”
When he gets to the final knock, we hold our breath. To my amazement, with a click, the wall slides open, revealing a small lounge with a large wall screen and two leather loungers—one red, one dark brown. The only other furniture is a reclaimed wood bar. I squeal as Garrett grabs my hand.
Together, we step inside.
Chapter Forty-Four
March 20X6, Menlo Park
“The red chair is biometric.” Garrett clicks on his penlight and kneels to examine it. “Simon has to sit in it to open the safe—wherever that is.”
“There aren’t many places it could be,” I say, shining my flashlight around the sparse space. “How are Chloe and Vick going to get Simon to sit in the chair if it’s in here?”
“What does the map say?”
Blood pumping in my veins, I spread the map on the floor. Illuminating the circle next to the “biometric chair” icon with details about the safe, I read aloud. “In the event of an emergency, the driver’s seat of Simon’s vintage Corvette is also wired to open the safe remotely if he sits in it. The Corvette is part of his car collection, which he stores at his Menlo Park home…” My throat constricts.
Garrett and I stare at each other.
“Vick and Chloe have to get him to sit in the Corvette…” he says.
“Which means he’s here.” I finish his sentence.
Everything goes silent. It’s like we’re suspended in midair with realization whirling around us.
“Of course Chloe’s heist required her to get a piece of ass,” I mutter, snapping the tension. “I don’t even want to know what she had to do to get him here.”
Garrett laughs, and all is right with the world. Except for the fact Simon is probably about to kill us. Or, at the very least, send us to jail for the rest of our lives. My insides crumble. I can’t let that happen. I want this to be my life more than anything.
“We can still do this,” he says, crawling behind the bar. Crouching, he examines its contents with his penlight. “We’re sticking to the plan. This is how it’s supposed to happen.”
“Are you nuts?” I ask, tears stinging my eyes. “We should run.”
“Do you really think so? Is that what your instincts are telling you?” He shines his light on me.
My eyes widen at the word “instinct,” but I quickly brush it aside as coincidence. Breathing deep, I check in. My heart is throbbing, my head is spinning, and my shoulders are pinched, but nothing is triggering me to leave.
“This sucks,” I say, joining him behind the bar. “But we should stay.” Kneeling next to him, I peer at the rows of glasses and bottles. “The safe must be back here.”
“The mini-fridge?” he suggests.
“That’s my guess.” Spotlighting the room with my flashlight in search of other possibilities, I realize there aren’t any windows. I gasp. “How are we going to see Rayelle and Kyran’s flashes?” My mouth goes dry. “How will we know when Simon sits? What if he already has?” A shiver runs
down my spine. “What if he’s coming now?”
Garrett is silent. The light from his pen raises to my face. “Do you know? Is that what your instincts say?”
The blood drains from my head, and it’s as if the room turns on its side. Again with the instincts. He can’t be asking what I think he’s asking.
Setting the light on top of the refrigerator so it casts us in a soft glow, he grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “Listen, Ella. I have a confession. I was going to tell you after the heist, but I think now is the time.”
“Ella?” I whisper, the name reverberating in my brain.
“I know everything, Ella. I know who you are.”
His voice echoes, sounding faraway, and the room spins around me.
“I should have told you sooner—I was the one you were supposed to meet that night—the night you died. You were Faye’s Initiation Heist, but I messed up. And I’ve sworn to protect you ever since. That’s why you’re my partner.”
My stomach twists, and bile burns my throat. “You know everything?” I manage to say, lungs straining for air. Blackness blots the edges of my vision as I try to comprehend.
“Yes. When Crystal realized your potential—that your instincts are unmatched—she knew you didn’t belong in the Influencer world. That’s why she contacted Allard. That’s why you came to Keystone.”
“You’ve known all along…” My lungs heave. “You lied to me…”
He presses his forehead to mine, piercing me with those murky eyes that can only be my undoing. “Stay with me, Ella. I know it’s a lot to process, but I need your help to finish this job. We’re running out of time. You would never have let me near you if I told you the truth. I didn’t want to lie—I only wanted to protect you. Remember, I told you: no matter what happens, you know it in here.” He thumps his hand over my chest.
His hand on my heart gets through to me because I do know it. My instinct is to trust him. The fog lifts, and I know I’ve got to focus. “I don’t know if I can do anything.” I sit on my heels to create distance between us. “My instincts don’t operate on command.”
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