by Jane Henry
“You’d make a hell of a thief,” I whispered.
She seemed taken aback for half a second, but then her palms slid up and her two hands locked behind my neck. “I feel like this is high praise coming from you,” she said.
I nodded. “The highest.”
“Yeah? Would you want me on your team?” she teased.
So many answers flashed through my mind. That I worked alone—except that wasn’t quite true anymore, since I’d been pressed into service to stop a gang of highly placed killers. That I didn’t trust anyone—but that wasn’t really true either, since I’d learned to trust the other members of Masters’ Security, even the one who was the bane of my existence... and I was pretty sure I was coming to trust Sabrina, too. So, in the end, I told her the simplest truth.
“You already are,” I whispered.
Her eyes got kinda big and exceptionally shiny, and her nose twitched like she was fighting tears. But I didn’t have time to dwell on that long, because in the next instant, she’d locked her arms more tightly around me, drawing herself up on her toes and fitting every inch of her torso against mine.
“Just to say,” she breathed, centimeters from my lips. “I fully recognize that this thing between us is insanity.”
“Total craziness,” I agreed. My free arm moved from the counter to spear through the hair at her nape.
“It’s adrenaline. From the stress. Makes us feel things more strongly. To need to prove we’re alive…” Her breath hitched. “Or whatever.”
“I’ve seen it happen,” I allowed. And I had, sure, but not like this. Never like this.
“So it doesn’t have to mean anything.” She rubbed her nose against mine, tantalizing me with the possibility.
But I was wise to her careful phrasing now. Fool me twice and all that. “It doesn’t have to,” I told her. And she smiled brilliantly as, for the first time, she pressed her lips to mine.
In the past, I wouldn’t have told you that it mattered who kissed who. It never had before. Hell, I liked taking control with the women I fucked—it was more than a pleasure, it was a need—so ninety-nine times out of a hundred, I was going to be the one initiating things, and that was fine with me. But there was something about this one that changed my mind.
She knew who I was. It was as complicated and as simple as that. She knew I was Anson Daly, the street thief son of a junkie. She knew I was very much an active criminal, but she also wasn’t one of the freaks who got off on being seen with the baddest motherfucker on the block, like the girls who’d lined up to fuck me back when I was known as Saint. She knew that I was a sarcastic punk who would never have a pedigree to match the balance in his bank account. And she was kissing me anyway.
Kissing me enthusiastically anyway.
Kissing me and rubbing herself against me while making these frantic little moans just like she had last night that made me want to turn her around, bend her over the cold, white countertop, and...
Slam.
Somewhere in the not-so-distant living area of the apartment, a door slammed and raised voices penetrated the fog in my brain.
I stepped back and ran a hand over my hair, trying to calm the blood pumping hot through my veins.
“We need to…” She gestured helplessly at the food on the counters, her cheeks pink and eyes wide. “Cook?”
“Yeah, babe.” My voice was gritty as hell, half anger and half arousal, and I turned toward the metal rolling cart so I could get myself under control. My dick was uncomfortably hard, making its presence known against the fly of my dark pants.
What the hell was I doing? Billy Morton and the other assholes I’d known back in my old neighborhood would laugh their heads off if they could see me now—on a job, for the love of sweet baby Jesus, and hard as a rock over a girl. But what was really pissing me off was that, even knowing everything at stake, my self-control had completely failed me. I’d wanted her. I still wanted her.
I cleared my throat and emptied the rest of the bags, which contained produce and some of the cooking paraphernalia we’d stopped by Sabrina’s apartment to grab along with some clothes. Hidden below her tools, carefully concealed among the whisks and her knife set, were the tools of my trade.
I opened a tiny plastic case that contained the ear comm each of the Masters wore on a job. But this time there were two devices inside the case. I hesitated for a second.
“Everything okay?” She was hesitant, and I knew part of that was because she had no better idea than I did what to do about the crazy, inconvenient, and fucking overwhelming attraction between us. But the other part was because Sabrina was freaking out about this op, and I couldn’t blame her. We needed her, no doubt about it, and given that her dad was almost as much a victim in this as my mom, she had a right to be here too. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous.
“Yeah, baby,” I told her, making sure to lace my words with confidence. “Everything’s good.” I took one of the communication devices from the case. “Looks like Walker wants to teach you the secret handshake and make you an official member of the team.”
She stared at the device in my hand with narrowed eyes, like she both wanted it and didn’t. I got that. Wearing this device, she lost her plausible deniability. But it also meant she wouldn’t be flying blind. I didn’t say a word, just held the device on my open palm, waiting for her to choose.
She stared into my eyes for a second. I had no clue what she was looking for or what she found there, but apparently it was enough. She didn’t take the device from my hand. Instead, she leaned forward and tilted her neck in my direction so that I could fit the comm in her ear for her.
Which should not have been a big deal. I mean, I’d adjusted a mic in Caelan’s ear once on a job when his hands were occupied, and it didn’t mean we were going steady. This didn’t have to be any different… but it was. It felt solemn, or some shit. And after I brushed the hair back from her face and put the comm in her ear, I had to clench my hands to stop their shaking.
Stupid.
“I don’t give a shit, Emma!” The raised voices were back again, this one a deep, harried male, and I raised an eyebrow at Sabrina, who shrugged and mouthed, “Max.”
“Max, we can’t just skip this! It’s the party of the year! Everyone who’s anyone will be there!” This voice was shrill and feminine. Mrs. Pederson, clearly.
Nothing like being an unwilling audience to a marital spat to clear any lingering tension between Sabrina and me.
“I sure as hell can!” Max yelled. “I don’t care how much it’s gonna increase your social standing.”
The voices were coming closer, and with a motion of her hand, Sabrina directed me to pick up some peppers and start washing them in the little sink on the island. Meanwhile, she busied herself opening a wax-paper package of meat.
A second later, Max Pederson came into the kitchen, his much younger, blonder wife hot on his heels.
“Oh.” I didn’t lift my head from my task, but from the corner of my eye, I saw Maxwell Pederson practically skid to a stop on his way to the refrigerator when he caught sight of us. “BeeBee! I didn’t know you were here!”
BeeBee? Pederson used her dad’s nickname for her?
The guy’s tone was way friendlier than I’d anticipated, and I couldn’t help but glance up to watch him cross the room toward Sabrina. He wore a wide smile, and his two hands were extended in greeting.
“Uh, hi.” Sabrina’s smile was reserved. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Pederson.”
The guy was older than he’d appeared in the pictures Walker had dug up, and shorter too. Five foot eight, tops. He was obviously balding but doing his best to hide it with a crazy comb-over, and he carried a noticeable paunch in his stomach.
“Now, now, now. What have I told you?” Pederson wagged a finger in Sabrina’s face, and Sabrina stepped back half a pace, laughing uncomfortably. “It’s Max.”
“Well, calling me BeeBee makes me feel like I’m five,” Sabrina half-ch
uckled. “So call me Sabrina, and I’ll remember to call you Max.”
Sabrina’s hands were covered in chicken from the package she’d just opened, so she couldn’t take the hands Pederson extended. But instead of lowering them, he embraced her instead.
Sabrina went utterly stiff, and I had to inhale sharply before I gave in to the urge to take one of Sabrina’s knives and practice my newfound filleting skills on Pederson’s flesh.
“Max!” A furious voice came from the doorway, and all of us turned to see Emma Pederson standing there tapping her foot.
Wow. So this was how the rich dressed for a workout? Her long blonde hair was artfully arranged in loose waves around her face, and her flawlessly tanned skin sported enough makeup to give the appearance that an Instagram filter was constantly on her. She wore a tight, tight little pair of yoga pants and a thin, thin blue top that clearly displayed her tiny, tiny bra. She was Penthouse-Does-Yoga, and I couldn’t help but stare.
“Stop flirting with the help and finish our conversation!” she called, glaring daggers at Sabrina.
I wouldn’t have thought it possible for Sabrina to bristle any further than she already was, but she managed it. Her body was nearly vibrating with tension. And I realized exactly why she’d fought so adamantly about keeping her appointment here today, before we Masters had learned who her client was and concocted the scheme for this op. If this was the shit she’d dealt with on a regular basis to build her business, not letting rich bitches like Emma Pederson look down on her or scare her away, she was clearly dedicated as hell to her work.
But the way they were treating her reminded me of the way employers over the years had shit on my mom. I was furious… and I was finding it harder than I should to bury it.
“Christ, Emma! It’s Sabrina. Not the help. And I’m not flirting.” But he was still standing with his hand around Sabrina’s waist while her hands were covered in goo. Fucker.
Mrs. Pederson’s livid eyes turned to me. “And who the hell are you?”
There were a couple of ways I could play this, but I realized immediately that the simplest was the best. I’d stick to the cover Sabrina had laid out for Gwendolyn. I shut off the water and quickly wiped my hands. “Sonny,” I offered, walking toward her with my hand outstretched.
I let my eyes go hazy, like I was a little bit in awe of her. It wasn’t too difficult, since the woman had clearly put serious effort into making herself look fuckable. But it was like looking at a forgery when the real deal was right behind me, trying to keep Pederson’s grabby paws off her.
Sure enough, Emma Pederson smirked when she recognized the look on my face and extended her hand like a princess for me to take for half a second. She wasn’t friendly—I wondered if she could be—but she wasn’t hostile anymore. “And what are you doing here, Sonny?” She glared at Sabrina. “You know how I feel about…”
“I’m, uh, trying to learn from her,” I sputtered quickly, casting my eyes to the ground like I was embarrassed. “I want to have a job like this myself, and Sabrina’s letting me help out while she’s busy. Someday,” I breathed, darting a glance up through my lashes, “I want to have high-end clients. Like you.”
Emma preened at my fawning. “Well. At least you have manners, which is more than I can say for your mentor.”
“Emma!” Mr. Pederson warned.
“I’m just saying. You should have informed me when you arrived, Sabrina. This is my home.”
“Right,” Sabrina agreed, clearly biting her tongue. “Apologies.”
Seemed like that would have been Gwendolyn’s job, not Sabrina’s, but if Mrs. Pederson didn’t want to take that up with Gwendolyn, it wasn’t my business. I moved quickly back to my place at the sink, trying to blend into the woodwork. I was generally good at that.
Emma quickly surveyed the groceries on the counter and smiled brilliantly. “Nothing with chicken or peppers today, Sabrina. I swear, that’s all you know how to cook. So boring.”
Wow. Never let it be said that women couldn’t be every bit as brutal as men. Give me a fist fight or a single bullet to the heart any day. I looked down at my shoe, flexing my toes into the sole and fighting to keep my face impassive.
“Oh, of course,” Sabrina told her. “I was trying to stick to the lean-meat request you made last week, but I’m happy to change.”
Likely they didn’t notice the angry tremor in her voice, but I did. It had been directed at me way too many times in the past twenty-four hours.
Holy shit. Less than twenty-four hours. Life could change on a dime, and I’d known that for years. Took one second to go from being a well-paid art thief to a jumpsuit-wearing inmate, or to go from being a recovering addict looking for a payday to a single name on a list of people the Masters would be avenging. But I’d never had my life do a total one-eighty like this before.
“Enough, Emma,” Pederson said tiredly. “Whatever you cook will be lovely, Sabrina.” He gave Sabrina’s back a soothing rub that went on way too long, and his hands dipped way too low. It took all my self-control not to kick his ass. “I appreciate you showing up at all, given the situation with your dad.” He sounded genuinely sorrowful, and I wondered if I’d misread him. Was he just clueless, rather than a perv? “I was going to contact you about perhaps having a memorial service. I know most of his friends...”
“Right. No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Sabrina said tightly.
“Max? Our conversation?” Emma demanded, turning on her heel and glancing back over her shoulder like she expected her husband to follow. “I need to get to class.”
Pederson rolled his eyes. “Make something delicious for me, sweetheart,” he told Sabrina, giving her a wink. And then he patted her ass firmly before walking out the door.
Sabrina jumped, startled. I saw red. That was beyond enough. No one needed to put up with that. Not ever. Not my mother, with her employers, and sure as fuck not my… my… my fake girlfriend with hers.
“Stop.” Sabrina grabbed my wrist before I realized that I’d started following him. “Stop, Anson. He’s been that way for years. He’s not… It’s just…” She shook her head.
“It’s disgusting.”
“I know,” she said glumly.
“And your dad allowed you to…”
She looked up at me. “My dad didn’t allow anything since I’m a grown woman, Anson. But yeah, he is… was... well aware of the reality of moving in circles of the rich and powerful.”
“Well, then the rich and powerful need to be taken down a fucking peg or two,” I told her.
She smiled and stepped closer, pulling my head down so that our foreheads rested together. It was weirdly right, standing with her like this.
“Then that’s what we’re going to do,” she whispered.
Half an hour later, spice cake was cooling on the counter, the Pedersons were out doing whatever rich assholes did, chicken was baking in the oven, our comms were turned on, and the two seconds of peace that Sabrina and I had found were well and truly over.
“You’re not fucking coming,” I whispered fiercely. “That was not the plan. You,” I jabbed my finger at her, “are here to cook. While I am here to get the files we need. And you have the comm, so you can listen in on the whole thing. From here.”
“We are here on a mission,” she insisted, five hundred pounds of stubborn in a hundred-pound bag. I rolled my eyes at her use of the word mission, like we were Tom Cruise dangling from a rope in the middle of a secured room.
“You were my way in. That was your contribution,” I hissed. “I can’t concentrate if I’m worried about you—”
“Worried about me what?” she demanded. “I’m supposed to be here as much as you are. I can handle myself.”
Over the earpiece, Walker whined, “Hold me, Caelan! I hate it when Mommy and Daddy fight.”
Xavier snorted. “More like two fucking children. Can you handle this job, Daly? Or do you need me to pull the plug now? Because—”
“
I am handling it,” I whispered, glaring at Sabrina. Her arms were folded across her very fine chest, which heaved with every angry breath she took, and I wanted desperately not to be noticing that right now, but I totally was. “And it wouldn’t be up to you to call it, X. Because you are not actually my boss.”
“Hey, maybe we can wait and rehash that topic—and boy-oh-boy am I looking forward to seeing that play out for the four hundredth time in six months!—when you get back, after you get the fucking information,” Ethan suggested wryly. “I’ll pop some popcorn.”
“Stay here,” I growled at Sabrina, backing her into the counter again. This time, there was nothing sexual about it, and I didn’t give a shit that I was intimidating her. I hoped I was. The last thing I needed was her sashaying around in front of me, distracting me when I needed to be focused, when I needed to worry about her safety as well as my own.
Her stubborn jaw set, her eyes sparked, and she swallowed hard. “I can help,” she insisted. And there was a thread of hurt in her voice, but I wouldn’t allow myself to be swayed.
“You’ll help best by doing what I say,” I bit out.
Her nostrils flared, but she looked at the ground. Giving in.
“Okay, Walker… I’m heading out of the kitchen.”
“You know where his office is, right?”
“I studied the schematics, same as you. And I took a trip to the little boys’ room down this hall maybe ten minutes ago.”
“Door was locked?”
“Locked up tight,” I agreed. “But I confirmed, no cameras. And the only person home is Gwendolyn the housekeeper, who’s taking her evening break and watching soaps in her room off the dining room. Last Sabrina checked, she was snoozing.”
“Good enough,” Walker confirmed. “Lemme know when you get in there.”
With one last look at Sabrina, who wouldn’t meet my eyes, I left the room and adjusted my headspace.
The secret to being a thief was to never look like you were sneaking. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d rolled my eyes when some cat burglar on a TV show went skulking around in head-to-toe black, walking on their tippy toes. Behavior like that would be a dead giveaway, and not just because you’d stick out like a limp dick at a porn convention.
