Life is hard and unfair—the most adaptable can survive anywhere, even a born loser. Who said a loser has to be fair?
A remote villa at the sea is an interesting challenge for a skilled thief in the first place. But if the landlord belongs to a worldwide-operating crime syndicate, it’s not advisable to get caught. Sadly, Jo learns about this too late—such just happens to a loser.
So she finds herself in a cell with a lot of time to contemplate her own life and how she arrived in her current situation. Will that give her a clue on how to escape?
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Loser
Copyright © 2013 Valerie J. Long
ISBN: 978-1-77111-425-7
Cover art by Carmen Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Loser
Lioness’ Legacy I
Zoe Lionheart 12
By
Valerie J. Long
To all with self-doubts—if you think you’re not good at anything, you simply haven’t found your true calling yet.
Part One—Prologue
Chapter One
The building rose high above the rocky cliff, at the foot of which the waves’ anger broke. Tiny oriels and slender turrets should have made it look like a fairy castle, futile in this harsh environment. Storm and rain battered against it—in any case, the weather was too uninviting for a longer outdoor stay, so the guards had retreated to the warm inside.
For observation purposes, they still had weatherproof cameras aiming at the sea around the cliff. There was a chance that a smaller boat wouldn’t be recognizable in rain and spray, but who’d take the risk to be smashed to pieces against these cliffs in such a small vessel?
I didn’t. I had studied the currents and decided to cover the last kilometers swimming. Even if the small waterproof backpack looked like a hump, I was confident I’d reach the cliff base undetected. My black hair surely wouldn’t show in the dark, either.
I was also confident I’d reach the cliffs unhurt. Focused and in tune with the waves’ rhythm, I accelerated for the last leg, took another deep breath and then dived down.
Sight under water wasn’t much better than at the surface, and the current no weaker, but at least there was no spray. Yes, I was on the right course. A few more strokes, a few firm flaps with my fins—I shot from the water like a penguin and came down precisely on the large rock flank I had aimed for. With effort, my hands found hold in cracks across the slippery surface, where they stirred up the hermit crabs, hidden from seagulls and wash. My fin-equipped legs hung free in the air, and my knees painfully hit the rock. Ouch. Accomplished!
With several pull-ups, I conquered the rock top before the waves, reaching after me, could tear me off the cliff. The little claws I had mounted to the sides of the fins didn’t help me much.
On top of the rock, I was safe from the waves. In exchange, I now was fully exposed to the storm. I patiently put up with it, as it was my ally. Surveillance cameras didn’t suddenly lean forward to peek over the edge of the cliff, and I didn’t want to be seen. So I now also undressed from the olive-green-speckled wetsuit that I wore over my sand-colored microfiber bodysuit.
Diver suit and fins had to remain behind, stuck into a crack, when I tackled the rocky wall. In exchange, my backpack provided me with thin rubber gloves and socks that should compensate for the inevitable wetness. I surely didn’t need to try talcum here!
I’m sure the ascent would have been a true challenge even for an experienced free climber. The rocky wall was weathered and cracked, but—due to the rain—wet all over and mostly slippery. It took me a long time to reach the cliff top, and I felt quite exhausted—most of all mentally, because the fear of dropping down on the ragged rocks had been the worst of the entire climb. Thus, I was threefold soaking wet—first from the rain, second from the strain, third from my cold sweat.
Be calm, girl, you’re not inside yet.
My next target was a small window on the third floor of the tower to my left, for three reasons. First, the left tower with its regular grooves and the arrester was easier to climb than the already evenly plastered right one. Second, the window served the painters inside as smoker’s corner. With his third beer, the senior journeyman had given away that the lock and alarm for this window currently didn’t work, but that was no issue—hardly anyone could get through such a small window. A dainty girl like me, perhaps, but only if I could master the cliff, and who could do that, after all?
Only someone who was small and still strong could do that. Someone who could swim several kilometers and still could climb thereafter, or could run a marathon. Someone who could regularly finish an Ironman among the top ten. Like myself.
The third reason was obvious—this tower’s outer wall wasn’t covered by cameras. Why, after all? As soon as it was plastered and the window thoroughly locked, no one could enter here. So the cameras on this side of the pleasure palace were more interested in the sea than in the walls. Only the easy-to-climb outer wall between the towers was covered by two cameras. I had thoroughly explored this during the last weeks.
It didn’t look as if anything had changed. So I didn’t grant myself another break, but immediately began my climb. The lightning rod only served as moral support, so the narrow grooves had to bear the main burden. Swift as a monkey, I climbed up to the window. Now I’d find out—either it was open, or all my efforts were wasted.
Fortune favors the bold, the proverb goes. Apparently, I had qualified for a little luck, as the window indeed could be opened effortlessly. Thereafter, I had a comfortable, large, lower edge to hold on to. It was no problem to take off the backpack and push it inside, where I slowly let it down on a strap.
Now came my turn. I knew the frame’s size. In preparation for the mission, I had practiced with a makeshift frame. I could fit through if I pushed my shoulders and hip through diagonally, accepting a few scratches. Ouch!
Then I was through. Not easy, but no problem for a master thief like me!
My wet feet left clear traces on the dusty floor. Here and now, that was inevitable, but for my further way through the castle, such couldn’t be tolerated. To that end, I had brought the backpack, after all. I took off the soaked bodysuit and replaced it with a pale leotard and a pair of ballet shoes. Done!
The difficult part lay behind me, but now came the delicate one. The backpack provided me with fine gloves and a dentist mirror, and then I walked down the narrow spiral stairs to the main building.
Chapter Two
As far as I knew, there were no surveillance cameras inside the building aside from the main hall. The owner of this pleasure palace wasn’t interested in seeing recordings of him or his playmates in the rainbow press some day. The best remedy was not to have such recordings in the first place. Instead, he employed a small team of d
iscreet men. They profited from the services of the numerous young ladies as long as they kept their mouths shut, and they were paid well for a rather easy job, a rewarding and motivating agreement.
That didn’t mean the guards were incompetent and inattentive. But what should they guard while their master and his entourage were away? During these times, the guard personnel was reduced to a core team that performed its duty knowing nobody could sneak inside past their cameras. I merely shouldn’t make loud noises and shouldn’t let myself be caught in case one of them decided to have a walk around.
First of all, I shouldn’t trip over the artisans’ tools while still in the tower, and the next potential trap was right at the door to the main building—if I carried fine dust to the polished marble floor, every guard could easily follow my footprints. So I had to brush it off.
After two steps, I checked my path. Nothing to see, fine. Cautiously, I tiptoed my way through the seemingly abandoned main building. At each corner, I used my mirror and listened, but the howling and rattling of storm and rain was all I heard.
I had memorized the general layout—I had managed to get access to the construction plan by paying the architect’s office a nightly visit. The plan had shown three critical spots I should avoid—the guard room in the basement under the entrance stairs, the large kitchen on the ground floor in the western wing and the adjacent bathrooms. There, I’d have to expect a guard any time.
Luckily, my target was on the eastern wing’s second floor. The construction plan had clearly shown the space for the large wall safe in the landlord’s office. If this house held anything valuable for me, it had to be there. I only had to get there unseen. The grand stairs in the main hall were as out of the question as the kitchen lift.
The hidden staircase had been easy to spot in the construction plan. Here, I had to search behind the paneling made from expensive teakwood—the panels all looked alike. But as I knew the distance from the corner, I only had to count my steps, pick from three adjacent candidates, and then find the release. For obvious reasons, knocking against the panels to find a hollow wasn’t possible. Somewhere had to be—here!
An ornament in the wooden panel frame could be pushed in. With a silent click, the concealed door opened and unveiled a narrow corkscrew staircase, quite similar to the one in the tower. Quickly, I snuck in and let the door gently close behind me.
The door closed really tight—it became pitch dark. That didn’t bother me. I simply felt my way up, always cautious, watching for forgotten tripping hazards, but I arrived at the next floor unhindered. In about the same place as the last, I felt another trigger. The door opened, and I held my mirror out, turned it left and right. The hallway was empty. I snuck out, closed the door, and with quick and silent steps, I reached the office.
There wasn’t even a painting to hide the safe. It wouldn’t have matched the house’s elegant matter-of-fact style. Accordingly, the safe had an old-fashioned wheel combination lock. Just as I had hoped—the landlord was known as not very technology-friendly and rather traditional, so this was no place for electronic gadgets. Aside from that, computer-controlled locks tended to give away their secrets if asked the right way.
For me, that meant I only had to place my ear on the door and turn. Half listening, half fine senses in the fingertips, and the bolt opened!
Okay, I had cheated a bit. But who would be able to tell?
What did my loot look like? I preferred cash, but I also knew prospects for jewelry. No, bad luck! I swallowed a curse. Other than a thin folder, the safe was empty. All the work I had invested, for nothing!
I gave the content a quick glance. Securities, perhaps? No, only a few sheets on a Project Rattlesnake. What should that be? A lot of blah blah, but a few words caught my attention. Ten years plan—Frostdragon—Corporate Sponsoring. Crap!
Very, very carefully I placed the sheets on top of each other, closed the folder, and put it back into the safe, the same way I believed I’d found them. Corporate Sponsoring meant that the Cartel was involved. I didn’t want to touch that! Much too hot.
I wasn’t inclined to finding myself becoming part of the foundation of some new skyscraper or filling for the support of a highway bridge. No, thanks!
I had better leave right now. Close the safe, turn the wheel back to the twenty-seven, as it was set before, and out of the door. Quickly across the hallway, into the secret door, and in a few minutes, I’d be back in the water.
If my finding hadn’t unsettled me so, I wouldn’t have made the little mistake. Perhaps it simply had been bad luck. I opened the secret door on the first floor, peeked out without using the dentist mirror, and spotted a surprised male face.
Chapter Three
“Hey!” I heard behind me as I was running up the secret stairs. Damn, damn, damn! The lock on the second floor appeared incredibly tricky to me, while I already heard the coughing breath of my pursuer behind me, believed I felt it on my neck. Yet it could only have been the blink of an eye, then I was out in the hallway. And now? Girl, think, you know the layout!
As I was already spotted, I no longer had to worry about that. Any window would be fine, but it should face the sea and not the courtyard. No. The seaside windows were all trellised. I needed an open one, and those all faced the courtyard. My pursuer didn’t give me time to think. Okay, the first bedroom, balcony door, out. Looking up—wetness in my face. Well, it had to do. I climbed the railing, briefly fought for balance, bent my knee—when my pursuer was about to grab me, I jumped.
With one hand, I got hold of the rain gutter. The sheet gave in, but wasn’t torn apart. Lucky me, I was an easy girl! Before my body could swing back into the guard’s reach, I was pulling myself up. Single-handed pull-ups under slippery gutters are not my favorite, I decided, while a cold gush of water from the gutter soaked my leotard. The second hand, and up!
Now I had almost reached the roof, only the shingles were wet and slippery, too. In dry weather, I’d simply walk up, but in this rain, my ballet shoes didn’t provide enough support. This wouldn’t be better barefoot, either, I told myself, and dropped on the roof. Now I’d have to crawl.
I had just finished the first two rows of shingles when an ugly whipping sound pierced the rain’s prattle. The shingle next to my right hand suddenly showed a dent. I looked back. Down in the yard stood two guards. One held a rifle to his shoulder and aimed in my direction. Crap!
Resigned, I let myself slowly slide back. The rifle was simply convincing.
They patiently watched me letting myself down from the gutter, briefly swinging, then dropping on the balcony. My pursuer waited for me with drawn pistol. His grinning became wider and wider while his glance wandered across my body. I looked down. Yes—soaked like this, the leotard didn’t hide anything. As I didn’t wear anything underneath, there wasn’t much left to his fantasy.
“Unshaved, eh?”
To answer that question was pointless. I instead watched the tasteful furnishing of the bedroom behind him, while storm and rain continued to tear at me. There were mirror-covered wardrobes on both sides, a gigantic bed with a mirror on the ceiling and a large make-up table. The cold marble floor didn’t entirely fit in—a carpet would have been nicer. Speaking of cold—this balcony wasn’t very comfortable.
Finally, the guy showed a little sympathy and made a few backward steps. “Come in.”
I followed obediently and examined him. He was one head taller than me, had broad shoulders, strong arms, and no beer belly—if not for the ugly grin in his beard, on another occasion this guy might have caught my interest.
“Go ahead.” The pistol barrel waved toward the door. I contemplated my odds of taking him down and then searching another exit. No—too many people with guns knowing about me and too few exits. I’d surely manage this one, but perhaps not the next or the next-but-one—and then they’d be warned about my martial arts skills, and another attempt would be disproportionately more difficult. To take his gun and shoot the others down wa
s out of the question. I had never killed, and it should remain that way. I burgle, I steal, and, if necessary I’ll knock someone out, but vandalism and lasting injuries are not my style.
The rifleman and his companion were already waiting for us in the main hall. They were standing in a puddle on the marble floor. Their dark-clouded faces told of a bad mood. This mood slightly improved on my sight.
“What are you bringing there?” the rifleman asked. “A wet kitten, eh?”
All three laughed. I had intended to keep three steps distance, but Beard pushed me forward into Rifle’s arms, who caught me and briefly held me, whereby his hands accidentally rested on my tits. Once he had tested how I reacted to that—namely, not at all—he pushed me away.
“So, now tell us. How did you get in?”
I gave him a friendly smile. “I can’t give away all my tricks.”
“Yes, you can.” I didn’t see the third man’s blow coming, but no mortal could have dodged it anyway. With his brass knuckles, he hit my right kidney area, and then I only saw stars.
Beard had caught me by my armpits and prevented me from falling down. Now I hung in his arms like a damp cloth and tried to collect my feet. Before I succeeded, the next blow hit me slightly higher. There was a cracking sound, and a stinging pain in my ribs let me hear angels sing. No, that had been my own cry of pain!
“Don’t kill her”, Rifle demanded. “The boss will surely want to question her.”
“We deserve some fun, too,” Beard declared. “Perhaps she’ll be more cooperative thereafter.”
That had to be expected. I steeled myself against what had to come now, but at the same time tried not to give myself away. It’s only sex, I told myself. The knuckles guy produced a knife and pulled my leotard’s cleavage forward, then he cut the front open down to the navel. The shoulder straps followed, then he tore the leotard down, bent down and cut it away from my legs. After that he stepped back and watched my stark naked body with pleasure.
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