by Jane Henry
Being successful at what I did meant believing—really, truly believing—that I had a right to be where I was. Otherwise, I’d give off a vibration of wrongness that people could sense in the air. So, in that moment, I owned the Pedersons’ apartment. It was mine. I owned the office I was breaking into. I owned the data on that hard drive. I even owned the woman waiting in the kitchen. I was merely handling my own belongings.
And, if I were honest with myself, that right there was why I’d never stopped stealing, even though I had plenty in the bank. Oh, the money was great, of course. Knowing I was putting one over on rich bastards who thought they could lay hands on anyone they saw was pretty fucking nice too. But that feeling, that knowing that for the moment I owned the things I was touching—it was fucking addictive. And for all that I’d avoided every other vice in the universe, I’d become a junkie for this.
I rolled my eyes as I approached the office. I was sure Ethan or Caelan would have a field day psychoanalyzing a revelation like that, in light of my mommy issues. Which is why I would never tell a single soul…
Except maybe Sabrina.
The thought was startling. But I got the feeling that maybe… somehow… she’d get it. The way she was committed to her business, even when it meant putting up with assholes. The way she’d wanted that picture frame from her dad’s office, despite the fact that she seemed bewildered and angry that he’d been involved in illegal activity. She knew what it was like to want to possess something, just like I did.
“At the door,” I whispered.
“Standard electronic lock?” Walker confirmed.
“Yep. It’s so cute. I haven’t seen one of these since I was a kid.” I pulled a tiny, battery-powered device from my pocket and plugged it into the port at the bottom of the door handle. Most people never noticed that such a port even existed, to their detriment, but they’d been a thief’s wet dream back when they were popular. People had assumed that because a thing was electronic and highly technological, it was superior to a good, old-fashioned deadbolt. They’d been proven wrong so often that these models were hardly used anymore.
“I’m in,” I said, detaching the device and turning to close the door so it rested on the latch. “Laptop’s on the desk. It’s an older model, looks like. Just like you guessed.”
“Lord have mercy. Did he leave you a fruit basket and a bottle of wine?” Walker wanted to know. “An engraved invitation?”
I snorted softly. “Pretty much. The fucker.”
I looked around the office once, noting the details. The way the blinds were mostly closed, the arrangements of pillows on the sofas and papers on the desk. I wouldn’t disturb a single thing, not a molecule of dust if I could help it.
I removed a second device—this one just a super-charged thumb drive—from my other pocket and slid it into a port on the computer. The drive would transmit a mirror image of the hard drive to Walker’s machine. “Drive’s in. Ready to boot it up.”
“Excellent.” I could hear Walker cracking his knuckles enthusiastically as he got ready to make magic at the keyboard. “Let Daddy take control, my precious.”
“Wow. Anyone else uncomfortable right now?” Ethan asked. “I mean, no offense, but you and your computers have a really unique relationship, Walk.”
“I dunno,” Caelan defended. “I’m actually kind of aroused.”
I snorted softly as Caelan, Walker, and Ethan cracked up.
“Enough!” X snapped. “Jesus. I ran a multi-million-dollar company, and I took a leave of absence to become babysitter to a bunch of overgrown toddlers.”
“Parental leave,” Walker said solemnly. “You should look into that.”
I couldn’t see what happened next, sadly, but there was a scuffle on the other end of the comms, and a second later, Walker exclaimed, “Alright, alright! Jesus! No violence around my babies.”
“Is he holding out his arms to protect his monitors again?” I breathed.
“You know it,” Ethan agreed. “After Xavier slapped the back of his head.”
“Jesus. And I missed it?” Figured.
“It’s working,” Walker said, all professional now that the link was established. “I’m copying the directories. You’ve got… One hundred twenty-eight seconds until you’re free.”
This was the hardest part of any operation—the waiting.
Careful not to touch the desk chair or even move a paperclip, I surveyed the papers on his desk. Nothing of any interest as far as I could tell. Certainly nothing that said “Re: Your Friend’s Criminal Activities.”
My eyes skimmed to the bookcase behind the desk. There were pictures of his wedding to Emma—which seemed to be within the last few years. A picture of him with another woman—two decades ago, judging by the fashions—was perched on a lower shelf. Probably the first wife.
There was a cardboard box on the floor by the bookcase, filled with a jumble of papers and mugs. They looked like someone’s personal effects—the kind the recently-fired guy always carried out with him when he made his walk of shame—and I wondered what the hell Pederson was doing with them… And then I looked more closely at the picture frame on the top of the box.
It was a picture of a little girl sitting on an older guy’s lap in the captain’s chair of a boat. They were both smiling at the camera like they’d been caught in the middle of laughter. The sun glinted off the shining wood of the boat’s wheel behind them and the little white-capped waves of the ocean beyond. The girl’s hair was flaming red—almost orange.
Sabrina. This was the picture she’d been talking about earlier.
These were her father’s personal effects, I realized. Why hadn’t he sent them directly to Sabrina? I could imagine Pederson wanted to hand-deliver them later, the lecherous asshole.
“We’re clear.” Walker’s voice in my ear brought me back to exactly where I was. “I’m out of the system. Just remove the drive, shut it down, and it will be as though we were never here.” He whistled a few notes of the X-Files theme song.
I was a little horrified that I recognized the X-Files theme song, but then again, I’d been living with this computer geek twenty-four-seven for half a year now.
I pulled the drive from the system and shut it down, then shut the laptop.
“Job well done, boys,” I whispered as I walked across the room.
I paused by the sofa and looked back at the picture frame. Something about it was calling to me. I knew Sabrina wanted it, and I wanted to give it to her.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. You didn’t last long in this line of work if you were a magpie, distracted by every shiny thing. You came in to get what you were contracted to get—or what you thought you could reasonably fence. You never took personal shit if you could help it. Get in, get out, move on.
But I remembered her eyes this morning when she’d talked about her dad, about wondering if it was still okay for her to remember him as a decent person even though he’d done shitty things. Back when that picture was taken, he’d been her hero. It was clear on her face. And I wanted to give her back just a tiny bit of that.
Even if it wasn’t for me to do.
I hesitated half a second too long.
“Is that you, Mr. Pederson? Hey!” Gwendolyn walked in, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed on me. “What are you doing in here, Sonny?”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
You’d think that I’d have been good at making shit up, given that getting caught was always a possibility in my line of work. But I wasn’t. God’s honest truth, I’d never been caught before.
“Anson?” X’s voice was in my ear, quiet and controlled. “What’s going on?”
“I’m, uh, I’m so sorry!” I told her, all affable smile, hands spread wide. “It’s just, the door was open, and... well…”
“Oh, Sonny, baby!” Sabrina’s cheerful voice called from the hallway. “Are you ready?”
Ready? Jesus, no!
I was not a praying man, but I prayed right then that Sabr
ina was not doing anything as foolish as walking into this room right now.
But apparently sinners don’t have a lot of capital to burn with the man upstairs, because Sabrina walked in, right then and there.
And she was buck-fucking-naked from the waist up.
For a second, all I could do was stare. I mean, this woman was hotter by far than Emma Pederson could ever hope to be, even if she did her fucking yoga from dawn ‘til dusk. The body that I hadn’t really had a chance to appreciate the night before was on display for me—all pale skin, dusted with golden freckles, smooth stomach and rounded limbs, and perfect lush breasts topped with light pink nipples—and my cock had zero respect for the complete inopportunity of this timing as it stirred in my jeans.
Sabrina gasped and grabbed her shirt, holding it up to cover her chest and staring wide-eyed at Gwendolyn. “Oh, my God,” she wailed. “Oh, my God!”
“Sa-breee-na!” Gwendolyn was clearly scandalized. “What on earth? Why are you naked?”
“Sabrina’s naked?” Walker demanded in my ear. “From now on, we use cameras on ops! I mean… Hey, ow!” It sounded like Xavier had hit him again, and for once I gave thanks for our fearless leader’s high-handedness.
“I-I just…” Sabrina started babbling, belatedly pulling her shirt back on and stuffing a scrap of lace that appeared to be her bra into her front pocket. “I’m so mortified, Gwendolyn! Honestly!” Tears appeared in her eyes and she wrung her hands in front of her chest. “It’s just… I wanted to do something a little bit naughty and I…” She blushed hotly, and like a true redhead, turned an alarming shade of dark pink.
Gwendolyn gaped. “Naughty? Like…” She swallowed and looked at me. I’m pretty sure I looked as helpless as she did. “Like in that movie?”
“Movie?” Caelan asked. “What movie are they talking about?” It sounded like he had more than an academic interest.
I had no idea what movie she was talking about, but apparently Sabrina did because she nodded fervently. “It was just such a stupid idea, but I thought… A semi-public place. It might be… hot.” She wailed the last word, her eyes pleading with Gwendolyn.
And Gwendolyn… Holy fucking hell. She was buying it. “It’s alright, Sabrina, it’s alright.”
“It’s so unprofessional,” Sabrina cried. “What will Mr. Pederson say? And Mrs. Pederson!”
“Hush, now, love.” Gwendolyn patted Sabrina’s shoulder. “I won’t say a word to either of them. Definitely not to her.”
“Holy shit,” Xavier said in my ear. “Holy shit, Daly. Sabrina must have heard you over the comms. I hope you’re watching closely, because that woman is saving your ass right now.”
And she was. Beautifully. Saving my ass when she could have hung me out to dry. Embarrassing herself on my behalf, when almost anyone else on the whole fucking planet would have left me to my fate.
“You… won’t?” Sabrina looked profoundly grateful, and Jesus Christ, so was I.
“I was young once too,” Gwendolyn said knowingly. “You’d best believe I did my share of naughty things.” She tittered a little.
“Dios. I’ve got a visual going right now,” Walker moaned, disgusted. “Ew. Is she old enough to be my grandma, Anson? She is, isn’t she? Does she look like the old lady from Titanic? Because that’s what I’m picturing and... Ow! Caelan!”
“Don’t disrespect women old enough to be your mother, asshole,” Caelan growled.
“Alright, alright,” Walker said. “Just so you all know, my ears are ringing now.”
“I have no sympathy,” Ethan told him.
Gwendolyn looked at me. “Young man, I expected better of you than this,” she told me reprovingly, and I nodded. But once again, Sabrina came to my defense.
Or maybe her own.
“No, it wasn’t him, Gwendolyn,” she insisted. “This was my… fantasy. He agreed, but it was all my doing. I wanted it.”
Gwendolyn sighed and then, unbelievably, smiled. “You remind me so much of myself at your age, sweetheart. But remember that some fantasies are best left on the big screen, or in the pages of a romance novel.” She put an arm around Sabrina’s shoulders. “Come on to the kitchen and let’s have a piece of that spice cake I’ve been smelling.”
Sabrina nodded, chastened, and let Gwendolyn lead her away.
“I cannot believe that worked,” Walker said.
“I can’t believe she bought it,” Ethan said. “I wouldn’t have.”
Caelan snorted. “You wouldn’t believe your own grandmother. That’s the trouble with lying all the time.”
“I can’t believe she stuck her neck out there for us,” Xavier said. He sounded confused and personally affronted, like he was pissed that she was proving him wrong.
Under other circumstances, it would have been amusing.
But the truth was, I was pretty sure she hadn’t done it for us. I was pretty sure she’d done it for me. Risked herself for me.
I walked back to the box on the floor, grabbed the picture frame without stopping to think about it, and stuck it inside the back waistband of my pants, pulling my chef’s jacket down to cover it. Then I left the office, pulling the door closed tightly behind me.
One huge risk deserved another.
Six
We finished preparing the meal with surprisingly little drama. I thought Anson was unperturbed, but when he eyed the half-empty bottle of wine I’d been using to deglaze the risotto pan longingly with a wistful sigh, I wondered if the incident in the office had shaken him the hell up.
“You want a drink? I asked. “Sorry to tell you, we’re not allowed to drink on the job.”
“Pederson’s rules?”
“No. Mine.”
He made some sort of noncommittal grunt and rolled his eyes at me. “I told you last night, I don’t drink, so it doesn’t matter anyway.” He watched me ladle the risotto into a serving dish. “You don’t seem too upset about Gwendolyn catching us.”
“Who, me? Ha!” I huffed out a laugh. “I like a little danger. Makes my pulse race and my panties wet. Oh!”
I gasped as his hand squeezed my ass, a punishing pinch accompanied with narrowed eyes. “Does landing in jail make your pulse race and panties wet?” he whispered in my ear. We’d removed the comms for now, needing to focus on getting out of here safely, so, thankfully, we could talk privately.
“I’m shocked. Here I was thinking that you weren’t easily scared, and it seems you are? I thought you lived on the adrenaline rush?” I didn’t meet his eyes as I shaved fresh Parmesan on top of the risotto and added what was easily half a stick of butter. I couldn’t wait to place the steaming dish under Mrs. Pederson’s haughty nose alongside her grilled chicken and veggies.
He sighed with patience and continued as if speaking to a small child. “You know what, babe? I could care less if they slammed my ass in jail. It wasn’t me I was afraid for.” Shaking his head, he walked away and started cleaning up the dishes, scraping the vegetable peelings into the garbage disposal and loading the dishwasher.
Well that was sorta… sweet. All of it.
I walked out to the dining room, signaled for Gwendolyn, then packed our bags. My job was to cook, not serve the dinner, and once I was done cleaning the kitchen, I left. Mr. Pederson frequently asked me to join them, but I always declined.
Tonight, I needed to go. The heat in the kitchen seemed suffocating, and having Anson as my sous chef might’ve sounded like a good idea, but being so close to him made me feel like I was losing control, and I didn’t like it.
Anson and I carried our bags out to the car. He opened the door for me, shut it, then went to his side and slid into the driver’s seat. We drove in silence for a few minutes. Our mission was complete. Why, then, did I feel so weird? Was I the only one feeling this connection?
“Hey,” I began. “Want to… go get a coffee or something?” I wanted alcohol but he didn’t drink it. What else did people do with people who didn’t drink?
Oh my God. The
man had spanked me, fucked me, I’d paraded around my employer’s office topless, and we were on a mission to find out how his mother’s death and my father’s were connected, and I asked him to have a coffee? How lame could I get?
“I’m good, but thanks. We really need to get back to the penthouse.”
Fair enough. “Why don’t you drink?” I asked, needing to know more about him. What made him tick?
He shrugged. “My mom did. I saw what it did to people. Vowed that’d never be me. And I don’t like losing control in any way.” He paused, and his lips twitched. “Though seeing you parading around the office half-naked like that just about did me in.”
I groaned. “Oh, God. Thanks. Make sure you tell Xavier every sordid detail, too, okay? Just so he can mercilessly hound me?”
He didn’t laugh, though, and his eyes grew stony, the way he’d looked when Xavier was giving me shit in the kitchen and then tonight, when Mr. Pederson patted my ass. I wondered what he meant by it. It pleased me and scared me all at once.
“Sabrina,” he said, his lips twitching in the way I already knew to expect him to make a wiseass remark, “you—”
But he didn’t complete the thought. Blinding lights flashed in my vision, a loud blast of a car horn honked way too close to us, and Anson swore, swerving so hard I screamed, bracing my hands on the dash. We were actually only on two wheels for a split second before we slammed back down to the ground and veered crazily off the road, the car tumbling and jerking, crashing into the guardrail. We careened so wildly, I bashed my head on the passenger window and my vision blurred. The sound of wrenching metal and glass crashing raked down my spine. I couldn’t see a fucking thing in front of me, literal stars scattering in front of my eyes.
Finally, after what seemed like forever but was likely only seconds, we came to a stop.
“Christ,” Anson growled. I was vaguely aware of a snapping sound—his seatbelt?—before his hands were all over me, my hair, my face, my shoulders. “Sabrina? Can you hear me?”
