by Dawn Ius
Fuck me, it is.
My smarmy ex climbs out of the car and right back into my life. Sunken eyes, scraggly hair. I choke on a gag and slink lower in the seat. He locks arms with Nick in a far-too-brotherly handshake.
Realization guts me–Kevin and Nick know each other.
Boosted cars together.
Heat circles my neck like a noose. I gather my hair into a ponytail and tuck it under my hoodie. Sink farther down in the seat.
Not subtle enough. Kevin spots me.
He sticks his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans and ducks low, peering through the Corvette’s front window. One heel lifts off the ground. His beady eyes zero in on me while his lips curl into a sneer of disbelief.
“Well, holy shit.” He swaggers toward me and revulsion pools on the tip of my tongue. I can’t believe I ever had sex with this loser. He touches his lips, acts coy. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
“I’m not that lucky.”
He laughs like I’m joking. “Seriously, girlfriend, I heard you got pinched.”
“No thanks to you, dickhead.”
Nick tilts his head with confusion. “You two know each other?”
“Jules and I go way back.”
My face goes hot with embarrassment.
“She’s with me now,” Nick says. He sounds so sincere I almost believe it.
“All good, bro.” Kevin double-thumps the ’Vette’s hood with his palms. “I’m done with her anyway. Gotta admit, I’m surprised to see you together. You know who she is, right?”
Nick’s hands ball into fists by his sides. His jaw jerks. “It was good seeing you again, Kev.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice Riley. He cocks his head to the side, another cigar pressed between his lips. Locks his hard stare on me. Smoke floats across his face. I’m rooted to the passenger seat, my hand on the door handle, prepared to bolt. Riley stares me down like a panther ready to pounce. He tips his cigar at me and takes another puff.
“You’re like King of Holding Grudges,” Kevin says. He raises a bushy eyebrow. “And I know how much that car meant to you.”
“Like I said, we should be going.”
“Yeah, I thought so,” Kevin says with a wide grin that shows off the gaps in his teeth.
A shiver runs up my spine. Air should start flowing again, but it’s like the world is closing in around me. Why would Kevin think Nick had a grudge against me? What car?
Kevin backs away from the Corvette, hands up in mock surrender.
Nick climbs into the car and turns over the ignition.
“What the fuck, Nick? Why did you pull over?”
“You think he wouldn’t have chased us down?” he says out of the corner of his mouth. “Riley’s not the kind of guy you want to dick around with.”
“We could have outrun him.”
“That would have been subtle.”
I fold my arms across my chest. He’s right, but I’m still pissed.
Nick puts the car in gear and drives up alongside the sedan. Kevin rolls down the window and gives us the two-finger salute. I think about flipping him off, but Nick’s caution raises my own red flags. I’m in no position to instigate a fight I can’t finish.
“Maybe we’ll see you around sometime,” Nick says.
God, I hope not. But like I said, I’m never that lucky.
Kevin winks. “Count on it. Oh hey, Jules . . . say hi to your little sister for me, will ya? Cute kid. Hate to see anything happen to her.”
Blood rushes through my veins so fast I’m sure one of them will pop. “You stay the fuck away–”
Nick rolls up my window before I can get the rest of the threat out. He peels out of the parking lot, leaving a rooster tail of black smoke in his wake.
I smack my hands on the dash. “Asshole!”
“It’s over,” Nick says. “We won’t ever see them again.”
“How can you be so sure?” My fear boils over into anger. “He threatened Emma.”
Nick flinches. “It’s just talk.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have pulled over.”
Nick avoids my gaze and I know I’m right. I slump back in the seat and close my eyes. It’s too much to process. “Shit. What are the chances?”
“It’s a small city,” Nick says. “Not a lot of major players. You two were bound to meet sometime.”
It’s not what I meant, but my explanation is cut off by Chelsea’s panic-stricken voice in the Bluetooth. “Guys? Where the hell are you?”
“We hit a bit of trouble,” I say, side-eying Nick. “We’re clear now.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Chelsea says.
My stomach flinches with unease. “We’re a few blocks out. Be there in eight, maybe ten minutes.”
“Good,” Chelsea says. “Because we’ve got a serious fucking problem.”
16
The List
Jack–1970 Dodge Super Bee 426
José–1965 Corvette Mako Shark II
Reggie–1968 Chevy ZL1 Camaro
Adam–1970 Dodge Hemi Coronet R/T
George–1968 Corvette Cosma Ray
James– 1964 Aston Martin DBS
Eleanor–1967 Mustang Shelby GT500
JOSÉ MAY BE A LONER, but Reggie likes to party.
The prize Camaro is hidden in a garage next to a sprawling bungalow tucked between a cluster of tall trees that barely muffle the sound of music thumping from outdoor speakers. An occasional squeal followed by raucous laughter punctuates the heavy beat.
More than a dozen vehicles line the edge of a long, gravel driveway.
Chelsea chews on her bottom lip. “We got good news and bad news.”
The bad’s a no-brainer. Even if we get to the garage undetected, we run the risk of being seen. It’s like trying to sprint a marathon in high heels.
“Someone want to tell me how this isn’t all bad?” Nick says.
Mat adjusts his Red Sox ball cap so the visor rides lower on his forehead. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I ran a scanning program and it looks like the security grid is shut down.”
“Okay . . .” Nick says.
“So the complicated lock Chelsea hasn’t figured out yet won’t be a problem.”
My mouth goes dry. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“But there’s a bigger issue,” Chelsea says. “A couple of the cars are parked–”
“In front of the garage,” I finish.
Shit.
“At least two,” Mat says.
The ground vibrates as the music from the party shifts to rap. At least the Camaro’s engine noise won’t be a concern. “What kinds of cars?”
Chelsea pulls out a camera and focuses on the front of the house. “We figured you’d ask, so we took a peek. Zoomed in on these.”
The Toyota Camry is the fourth most boosted car in the U.S. I can hot-wire that one with my eyes closed. But the second vehicle is newer. Fancier. Some kind of BMW. Which is impossible to steal without a special key fob.
“Maybe we should pull the plug on this,” I say. “Cops might already be looking for José. We should get him home.”
Mat taps the side of his head. “I’ve been listening to the scanners. Lots of boosts going down tonight, but nothing about the ’Vette yet.”
Nick studies the photo. “Depending on where Reggie is in the garage, I might be able to squeeze him out, but we definitely need to move the Camry.”
I tap the screen. “The tires on the BMW are pointing slightly to the left. What if you and Mat push the Beamer? I think you’d get two, three feet before the wheels turned in toward the trees, which would give us some extra room.”
“Smart thinking,” he says.
Chelsea shakes her head. “So now we’ve gone from boosting two cars tonight to four? Great. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
I squeeze her shoulder. “Make sure we don’t get caught.”
“Jeez, why didn’t I think of that?” She slings her backpac
k over her shoulder. “How about I get you in the garage?”
“Or do that,” I say.
With the plan set, Chelsea and I slink up one side of the driveway, while Mat and Nick take the other. As my feet navigate the steep slope, I note the potholes, any potential obstacles. With the Camaro’s low front end, a fast getaway might not be an option.
The music grows louder on our approach. Voices carry from around the side of the house. With any luck, the party will stay contained in the backyard.
At the Camry, I fish around in my pack for a Slim Jim to pop the lock.
Nick and Mat move into position behind the Beamer.
“You call those muscles?” Nick harsh whispers to Mat. “Time to hit the weights, bro.”
“El tuyo,” Mat says.
Nick grunts. “Yeah, up yours too.”
The car nudges forward.
I get to work popping the lock on the Toyota. Wedge open the door. As soon as my ass hits the seat, I start unscrewing the panels on the steering column. My internal clock is already out of whack.
The panel pops off and I fish around for the nest of wires, careful not to do too much damage. The Camry isn’t part of the bigger picture; it’s a necessary casualty, though I doubt the owner will see it that way.
My breathing steadies, heartbeat regulates. I’m on familiar ground here.
Chelsea’s champagne voice bubbles into my earpiece and for the first time, I don’t flinch. I think I’m getting used to her being in my head. “BMW’s out of the way,” she says.
I’m up.
I twist the wires together. The engine fires up and in one fluid motion, I cut the automatic lights, sit up in the seat, and shift the car from neutral to first. Press a little on the gas. The Camry crawls forward.
Nick waves me to the other side of the driveway. I ease the Camry out of the way, turn off the car, and yank the e-brake.
Two down.
Chelsea’s already at work on the garage door.
“Find me a drill,” she whispers.
I root around in her bag to dig out the small cordless drill and a selection of bits. She chooses the smallest and sticks it into the center of the doorknob. The drill bites into the metal with a soft whir.
“Bigger.”
I choose the next size up.
Sweat beads across my forehead. When she starts drilling again, I glance around, nervous some drunk might come out of the house and catch us. The music blares in the background. I smell campfire smoke and a hint of chlorine.
When the center of the lock finally pops out, Chelsea drops it like it’s on fire. “Motherfucker, that’s hot.”
We push open the door and I shine a flashlight into the room. A beam of light lands on the car. Jesus. It’s emerald green with black detailing on the hood scoop and along the side panels. The polished chrome rims sparkle.
Reggie is breathtaking.
Chelsea whistles low. “Looks like we know who the real stud in this group of seven is.”
“It actually hurts to steal this car,” I say, deflecting the seed of guilt before it can take root. To pull this off, I need to stay focused. “Dude’s going to be shattered.”
Chelsea heads for the door. “Meet you at the bottom of the hill.”
I barely hear her slip away as I get to work. The music from the party fades into the background. I focus on the tasks, grinding through the motions of finding and prepping the wires. My fingers tremble.
This is my first official boost from this heist without Nick.
It feels good.
Like I’ve got back some control.
I coil the wires and the engine engages with a roar. Tools clatter on the shelves. The garage door rattles. My whole body vibrates with the power. I fumble around in the glove box and grab the remote garage door opener. Hit the button.
My pulse skyrockets.
I buckle in and put the car in gear.
The headlights flick on. I look up–
And freeze.
A blond girl in a black bikini stands in the light, her mouth wide with shock, eyes the size of twin moons. Panicked, I rev the engine. She dodges out of the way as I stomp on the gas.
The tires spin a burnout and black smoke fills the back of the garage.
Reggie bucks forward and hits the gravel hard. Rocks spray in all directions. I shift to second and the back end swings out before the tires grab.
I’m so going to die.
I angle the car between the vehicles in the narrow driveway, praying I don’t hit a big rock or something that will pitch the car sideways. By the time I clear the last of the cars, I’m in third.
“Take a sharp left at the pavement,” Chelsea shouts in my earpiece.
The car vibrates. Every bump, every rock, sends a shockwave through to my arms. My fingers go numb.
At the bottom of the driveway, I crank the wheel. The back tires spin, jolting the car left. I regain control and let out a high-pitched whoop. Reggie’s a bucking bull and I totally just nailed this rodeo.
Up ahead, Nick pulls onto the road in the ’Vette and we race along the Boulder Highway.
His low voice worms in through the Bluetooth, curls right under my skin. “Think you’ll be able to keep up?”
I smile at the challenge.
On the first corner, I pull out alongside Nick and slip into fourth gear. “You know why they call me the Ghost, right?” Our eyes connect through the glass that separates us, and I can see the surprise. I feel it too. I’m slowly sliding into my skin–even if it comes with its own nickname.
“Because of your haunting personality?”
I stifle a laugh. “Nope. It’s because I can disappear.”
With a wink, I stomp on the gas.
17
The List
Jack–1970 Dodge Super Bee 426
José–1965 Corvette Mako Shark II
Reggie–1968 Chevy ZL1 Camaro
Adam–1970 Dodge Hemi Coronet R/T
George–1968 Corvette Cosma Ray
James–1964 Aston Martin DBS
Eleanor–1967 Mustang Shelby GT500
CHELSEA CHEWS ON ONE FINGERNAIL, pauses to inspect the chipped polish, nibbles again. The action goes against her near-perfect nature, which is my first clue something’s off.
Four days have passed since we delivered José and Reggie. With the Coronet literally in our sights–we’re across the street from the house–I thought we were in good shape. How naive.
She focuses on the iPad screen, her eyebrows knit with concern.
The silence is killing me. “What’s up?”
Her eyes dim, and I get it.
Adam’s place is buttoned up tighter than the infamous Bellagio vault. Thick fencing surrounds the property, which is locked by a keypad Mat can’t crack the password on. None of the number and letter combinations are working.
He pounds at the keyboard with determination.
Nick shakes his head. “All this for a fucking Coronet?”
It’s not the best-looking car on the list, but the fact that it makes the list at all means it’s more than just a fucking Coronet. The owner obviously agrees. “What are our options?”
Mat shoves his laptop up onto the dash. “More time?”
“We don’t have it,” Nick says.
I scan the surrounding landscape. It’s a rich part of town, on a cul-de-sac peppered with enormous homes. Streetlights and small bushes line the streets–not enough coverage for anything significant. We’re out in the open, which adds another layer of complexity.
Time for plan B.
“What if we wait for the car to leave?” I say. “Boost it from another location. It’s clunky, but maybe more feasible than this?”
Nick’s reflection shimmers in the car window. His eyebrows furrow. “It’s a stretch.”
He’s not wrong. For all we know, the Coronet’s parked in the driveway because it doesn’t run. And that five-car garage is bound to house more expensive cars.
“Wait, it co
uld work,” Mat says. He snatches his laptop off the dash and rests it on his knees like a security blanket. “Let’s look at our intel on the guy. Dominic Harris. Not much for social media.” He looks up from the screen. “Normally that would bug me–everyone’s on something these days–but he’s older, so it fits. Divorced.”
“That’s a start,” I say. “He on any dating sites?”
“One,” Mat says. “His tastes run young and blond.”
“Good luck picking anyone up in that hideous purple thing,” Chelsea says.
Plum Crazy. The hoops Mat jumped through to find this car almost justify the name. Hours of weeding through data, sorting through fake leads and dead ends. There’s no time to track down another purple Coronet.
“It’s Friday,” I say. “With any luck, he’ll have a date.”
“Or, we end up staking out the place all weekend,” Nick says. “Waste of fucking time.”
My skin bristles. “Unless you’ve got a better idea, this is the plan. Let’s give it till Sunday.”
His eyes darken. “And if we’re no further ahead?”
“We talk to Roger,” Mat says.
“And say what? That we can’t do it?” Chelsea shakes her head. “No way, José.” She pivots toward Nick. “Jules has the right idea. We’ll tag team it, take some of the pressure off. Mat and I will take first shift. You and Jules go get some rest. If something happens, we’ll let you know.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “You’re positive this is the only local Coronet?”
“They only made two hundred and ninety-six hardtop
R/Ts,” Nick says. “It’s damn lucky Mat found this one.”
“What if we skip to the Cosma Ray?” My voice lifts with hope. “It’s not like we have to follow any order, right?”
I recognize the issue before Mat even responds.
“I’ve got a couple of leads on George, but nothing solid,” he says. “Still working on James and Eleanor, though. These last three are a bitch. I’ve made some modifications to the trawler, but it will take some time to sift through the data.”
I pat Mat’s shoulder. “You’re doing great, Mat. We’ll try this. In the meantime, maybe we’ll run across another Adam. Keep looking?”
“Got it, Ghost.”
