As of yet, we haven’t even laid eyes on our host. For all we know, he’s not even at his own party, which wouldn’t surprise me. The man is an eccentric who plays by his own rules.
“Want to try to scout the place?” I ask Sin.
She nods, placing her half-empty glass of prosecco on an empty tray. I deposit my tumbler of vodka beside it.
So far, we’ve made the security cameras in each room, as well as the exterior of the chateau. Pretty typical given the size of the house and its contents. While we haven’t spotted any stolen art, there are still plenty of expensive pieces throughout.
I snicker, imagining the Renoir we stole hanging over Mercier’s bidet, so only he can enjoy it.
“What’s so amusing?” Sin drawls as she once again grips the inside of my elbow.
“Oh, just imagining the Renoir in Mercier’s bathroom so he can stare at it every time he has to take a shit,” I say.
Snorting, she squeezes my arm as we elegantly descend the staircase. We smile and nod at people as if we know them. Polite, upper-crust gestures, and barely a soul here has a clue we’re common criminals.
On the first floor, still more people come in and out of the party. There’s a massive library and a formal music room where others mingle. All protected by motion-activated security cameras.
It doesn’t mean anything from our standpoint since we aren’t casing this place. But anything we can glean from the way he lives could help us figure out how to come out of this without ending up dead or busted by the cops.
It’s easy to discern he lives lavishly, spends his money on ridiculously expensive and pretty things, and he’s security conscious.
Oh, and the fact he’s the one who shot Neal rather than William says Mercier is vicious. He doesn’t mind doing his own dirty work if he feels someone’s actions warrant it.
We attempt to go through a door that appears to lead to the basement, but we’re immediately stopped by a security guard who seems to materialize out of nowhere.
“I’m sorry, Monsieur. Mademoiselle.” He gives us a gracious bow. “But that area is off-limits to guests.”
“No worries,” I say with a careless shrug. “Just thought Monsieur Mercier must have a hell of a wine cellar down there.”
A frosty smile is all we get in return, and I lead Sin away.
“So the Renoir isn’t in his loo, but rather his basement,” she murmurs with a slight giggle. “Good to know.”
Chuckling, I guide her up the stairs once more. When we reenter the ballroom, I immediately pull her onto the dance floor for a waltz. I could pull off a passable tango if they played one, but not sure I could handle such a sexy dance with Sin.
Regardless, she fits perfectly in my arms. This isn’t the first posh event we’ve been to together. Sin and I have staked out many fine establishments posing as well-to-do guests.
“If I haven’t said so yet,” I murmur in her ear as we slide into each step together, our motions radiating grace and sophistication, “you are the most beautiful woman here tonight.”
Sin rolls her eyes, and I tug her in closer. “Actually, the most beautiful woman in the world. Did I tell you that?”
Her eyes cloud slightly, but I get a faint smile. “It’s been a while since you’ve told me that.”
She’s right. Since before she sent me off to prison, at least.
“Well, you are.” I dip my head, brushing my lips against hers as we glide to the music. “The most beautiful, sexy, warm, and intelligent woman I know. You’re a one of a kind, Sin Westin.”
Her smile widens as she moves closer, pressing her cheek to mine. “You’re not so bad yourself, Bellinger.”
We dance in silence for a bit. With reluctance, I dare to bring up something that could kill the moment. “If I could get you out of this without you needing to run and look over your shoulder, would you exit gracefully and let me handle it from here on out?”
She jerks away to search my face, eyes flicking back and forth as if trying to discern if I’m serious. “How?”
I shrug. “Simple. I have a heart-to-heart with Mercier. Tell him the truth—that we’ve reconnected and the old feelings are still there. Play up the proprietary boyfriend who wants his little woman at home to have his dinner cooked and waiting for him. Slyly tell him I want to make an honest woman of you—keep you barefoot and pregnant. Take your pick of options, but I’d paint the picture I’d like to caveman you into being a stay-at-home girlfriend or wife.”
“He’d never let me out of my debt to him,” she scoffs. She tries to snuggle back into me, the entire idea dismissed.
I hold her at arm’s length, make her look into my eyes to see I’m dead serious about this. “I’ll tell him I’ll take on your debt. Pay it off or work it off—whatever he prefers.”
“You’d do that for me?” she quizzically asks.
“Well, technically, if he accepts my offer to work it off, that would be moot if we’re successful in taking him down, but if he’s willing to let me pay off your debt, then yes. I’d do it for you.”
Frowning, Sin shakes her head. “You’re a confounding man, you know that?”
“Why?” I ask with a slight grin.
“Because I sometimes think I have you back… the old Saint who was in love with me. Yet, at other times, I’m not so sure.”
“You drop that word casually,” I point out.
“What? Love?” Her laugh bubbles up from deep in her chest. Almost seeming embarrassed, she glances around to see if the noise caught anyone’s attention before bringing her gaze back to me. “I don’t throw it around casually, but I’m not going to hide from it. This might be a surprise to you, Saint, but my feelings for you never changed. They’ve stayed true and strong throughout the years. I get yours have changed—I wronged you. But mine… I never stopped loving you… not for one single second.”
I’m not prepared to handle the emotions her words cause within me. I hadn’t thought we’d talk about something so deep, yet I’m the one who opened that fucking door.
On one hand, I feel an almost cataclysmic sense of joy to know she still cares for me so deeply. On the other, mild panic begins to well inside me. Not because I’m afraid of commitment or love, but because we are embroiled in something so deeply dangerous that I’m afraid to acknowledge any reciprocal feelings. I’m afraid it could alter my course or make me careless in some way.
But I owe her some kind of answer, so she’ll at least know I’m in deep with her as well. “Sin… when this is over, I’m ready to explore everything with you. I promise. I’m sorry I can’t give you more right this moment, but—”
Her fingers cover my mouth, halting my words. When she shakes her head, it causes a ripple through that beautiful crown of hair. “I trust you, Saint. I believe in you enough to wait until you feel the time is right. And that’s all I need right now.”
Yeah… I’m probably still fucking in love with this woman. Since we’ve reconnected, she’s proven to me over and over again why I should be. Sin gets me better than anyone ever has.
“But…” she murmurs, taking my chin between her fingers to make me look at her. “I won’t step back from this no matter how many times you ask, Saint, so don’t do it again. I’m with you until the end of this caper, so suck it up, okay?”
I’d hoped for a different answer. I had fucking prayed she’d entertain the idea of letting me get Mercier off her back so I could concentrate solely on bringing him down instead of needing to worry about her. I had wanted to remove her as a distraction.
But I should have known better. My sweet, beautiful, and brave Sin isn’t going to let fear over what we might face control her. She’s going to insist on standing by my side until the very end.
I hate hearing her confirm that, because now I’ll need Cruce’s help to make sure she stays safe.
So be it.
All I can do is act like I accept her proclamation. When I capitulate with a, “Fine. Partners ’til the end,” I don’t ev
en feel bad over the bald-faced lie.
Her return smile is beautiful, and I memorize it. “Partners in crime.”
“Always,” I murmur, drawing her closer. If we come out of this, my life of crime is over. I hope Sin feels the same.
There’s a slight tap on my shoulder. “Excusez-moi.”
My head turns to see Julian Mercier is the one who interrupted us. Insides briefly icing over—had he heard anything he shouldn’t have?—I halt our dance, tugging Sin to my side.
Julian gives me a polite nod. “So glad you could make it tonight.”
Without waiting for a reply, he gives Sin an appraising once-over.
“Ma petite, tu fais de l’ombre à tout le monde.” At her blank look, he flashes her a grin and laughs. “Ah… Sin, may I have this dance with you?”
No fucking clue what he said first, but I know it wasn’t that because dance sounds practically the same in both languages. I also hadn’t liked the seductive timbre in his tone. Nor do I appreciate the way his eyes seem to burn into Sin’s.
Suddenly, all thoughts of playing nice evaporate. All I can think about is beating him to a pulp right here on his expensive, parqueted ballroom floor. I’d gladly break a few knuckles to slaughter him, right here, right now.
But then Sin’s voice breaks through the haze. With a flirty laugh, she lets him down gently. “While I’d love to, Julian, I was just telling Saint how badly my feet hurt in these new shoes. Women’s fashion is for the birds.” With a cheeky wink, she continues, “But tell me—what did that first phrase you said mean?”
To my relief, Julian appears disappointed instead of offended as he chuckles. Dropping his voice to a silky murmur, he answers. “Ma petite, tu fais de l’ombre à tout le monde—My dear, your beauty puts everyone else in the shade.”
Sin giggles, covering her mouth. Mercier looks pleased with her reaction while I have to fight off my murderous feelings again.
But then I get excited when he glances between us and says, “If I can’t tempt Sin into a dance, then perhaps you two would like to accompany me down to the lower level? We have some private matters to discuss.”
A thrill runs through me. I don’t dare look at Sin, afraid my expression will give me away.
But this is it.
He’s going to let us in on the big plan. We can finally start the real work of taking him down and ending this whole thing.
So I can get on with my life.
With Sin.
CHAPTER 22
Sin
Saint and I follow Mercier to the door the guard turned us away from earlier. The same guard is there, holding the door open for us.
There’s an ornate wooden staircase that descends to the basement level of the château. It’s cavernous, seeming even bigger than the upper levels, yet it feels plush at the same time because of the thick carpeting and silk wallpaper.
It feels as if we entered into an art museum from all the gorgeous paintings in ornate frames on the wall. Professional up-lighting provides the right ambience to fully appreciate the art. There are several marble pedestals topped with busts and sculptures. Glass cases hold ornate jewelry—some of it looking incredibly old, maybe even from royal lineage—displayed in a line down the middle of the floor. Antique furniture dots the perimeters along the walls and in corners.
Even with my well-trained thief’s eye, I cannot tell what is legit or what might be stolen. My gut says it’s legit because it would be too risky to leave it out in the open like this, even with a guard manning the door above. Besides, people who are sociopathic enough to steal risky high-end items do it because they are addicted to possessing such rare items. The goods are usually so revered they are hidden away and only taken out to relish in private. I’m betting he has a hidden room or vault somewhere to protect his illegal collectibles.
Mercier moves through the area slowly, his gaze traveling over several of the pieces he has on display. It’s clear he has a genuine love—probably more like a sick obsession—with all of this stuff. However, I’m just as sure part of his love is not only for the beauty, but also for merely owning something most cannot.
Mercier moves to a pair of double wooden doors with ornate carvings, then opens them. Inside is a huge office with dark paneled walls, heavy masculine furniture, and heavy velvet drapes that cover the windows.
William sits in a guest chair, and he stands as we enter. He’s not dressed in formal attire like the rest of us, which says he wasn’t invited to the party upstairs. Then again, I’m thinking we’re not here for the party either, but for an important meeting to find out our next quest.
Mercier motions us into chairs as he settles behind his desk. Once we’re all sitting, he leans forward and clasps his hands on the desktop. His gaze flicks between us before he gives a cordial smile.
“I’m ready to discuss the next job I have for you two,” he says, and my heart sinks a little. If he’s planning one of the greatest heists of all time, it’s going to take more than just Saint and me to pull it off. I don’t want to do another “job”. I’m ready to take this arsehole down so I can get on with my life.
Apparently, Saint is thinking along the same lines because he says, “No offense, Julian… but I’m tired of working ‘jobs’ for you. I wanted on your team because I thought you had the capability to pull off something big.”
I’m slightly shocked by Saint calling Mercier out like that, especially since we’d watched him kill Neal in cold blood. But admittedly, it’s smart. We need some indication of when this might be over, and this is Saint’s way of digging for information.
Mercier guffaws at his brashness. “Mr. Bellinger, I think you will find the job I’m getting ready to propose will more than satisfy your requirements of ‘bigger and more exciting’.”
I can’t help but sit up a little straighter at this proclamation. Could this be what we’ve been waiting for? Is this what the insurance consortium got wind of and hopes to take Mercier down with?
Silence hangs in the air, increasing the dramatic effect of what Mercier is about to reveal. He clears his throat before saying, “The job I have for you two, if successful, will most likely go down as the greatest and most lucrative heist of all time.”
“And you want just Saint and me to do it?” I have to ask. “Because if we’re doing something big, I envisioned a large crew.”
“In my opinion,” Mercier drawls with a flourish of his hand. “Involving too many people is dangerous. Chances of leaks or getting caught increase. Besides, I believe you two—along with the strategy William has devised—have all the skills necessary to pull this off.”
Again, Mercier goes silent, as if he’s building up major expectations. Saint and I wait him out, refusing to play that game.
Looking over to William, Mercier gives a slight nod.
Rising, William picks up a remote control and aims it at the wall to our right. A soft whirring noise emits from the ceiling, then a screen starts to slowly lower. Another tap of the remote lights up the screen to reveal the picture of a building.
I recognize it immediately. “You want us to rob the Diamond Warehouse?”
I’m not sure how much Saint knows about Paris’ jewelry district, but the Diamond Warehouse is famed for the diamonds and other jewels it contains. It’s never once crossed my radar as an attainable goal because with that much wealth congregated in such a small area, the security has to be unbreachable. In my opinion, at least.
“I believe it is doable,” Mercier says.
I study the picture on the screen. The warehouse holds a massive walk-in vault for people to store their valuables. While it isn’t limited to diamonds or other jewels, my understanding is probably ninety percent of the contents are such. There are also offices within the building for diamond resellers and wholesalers, as well as private jewelers. It’s like a “bank” for jewels with office space.
William points the remote at the screen as he walks toward it. The front of the warehouse disappears, repla
ced with schematics of the building.
“The warehouse is simply laid out,” William explains. “Two floors. The bottom floor is completely open. It houses the vault and a handful of management offices. On the second floor, there is rental space for buyers, wholesalers, and jewelers along the perimeter. There are armed guards on the interior as well as an individual guard in front of the vault. Motion sensors are spaced out in intervals along the interior. Cameras, too. There is no effective way in and out of the building via the doors or windows as they’re all equipped with glass-break sensors, tripwires, and motion detectors.”
“What does roof access look like?” Saint asks.
William’s smile is greedy. “That’s exactly where you’ll go in.”
He clicks again, bringing up several photographs of the roof. “Access to the air vents is easily attainable. You can reach the roof from the building next to it with an easy jump.”
“Thank God,” Saint mutters. “Thought you might have us parachuting in or something.”
It breaks the tension a bit. We all laugh, but yeah… glad we’re not doing that.
Mercier rises from the leather chair behind his desk. He moves to stand by William, crossing his arms as he stares at the screen. “Getting you in the building should be easy. Saint… it’s your job to deal with the interior sensors and cameras.”
“Not a problem,” he replies, and it won’t be. He has access to a tech genius at Jameson who can create any type of gadget required. Plus, Jameson has big-time government sources. He can get whatever we need.
Mercier nods at the screen, and William clicks the remote again. A picture of the vault comes up—taken at a distance from within the warehouse—and it’s massive. At least two-thousand square feet if I had to estimate, constructed from thick steel.
“How do you have so much intel?” I ask Mercier, because this is not information found on Google. “If we’re going to rob this place, we need to know what we’re being shown is trustworthy.”
Mercier’s appreciation of such a blunt request is clear. “I’ve had an inside man renting space and posing as a jeweler for the past year. He’s been in the vault several times because he rents a lockbox. This is accurate and up-to-date information.”
Code Name: Heist Page 14
