When the bathroom door opens, Ryan exits in nothing but a towel.
I could look at him all day. His body is exactly my type—fit and trim but not overly muscular. Ryan must see the glint in my eye because instead of moving toward his bag, he crawls across the bed toward me. His mood has greatly improved.
And I give myself this moment. I push away the plans rolling around in my head. Hit pause on my timetable. Relish these few stolen moments where we can be normal.
I pull him close and his weight settles over me. My hands drift up to his hair, still damp from the shower.
“It’s been a helluva week,” he says, his lips only inches from mine.
“And it’s only Tuesday,” I answer. Then my expression turns serious. “Regretting coming on this road trip?”
“Not yet,” he says with a laugh.
Ryan kisses that spot on my neck that he knows I love, and I feel it down to my toes.
“What if I did it? What if I had something to do with Amy Holder’s death?” My whispered words hang in the air between us. This is self-sabotage at its finest.
He stills. Then his head lifts and his eyes meet mine. “That’s not a question I need the answer to.” Ryan leans closer, his lips landing softly on mine. It’s not long before we’re skin to skin, and I lose myself in this moment as his hands and mouth roam slowly down my body before working their way back up.
His hands grip me tighter, he holds me closer, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear, then he buries his face into that sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. Whispered words flow out of him, broken sentences that shouldn’t make sense but do.
I soak up every word as my nails dig into his back. Show him I feel the same way without having to say it.
Alias: Helen White—Four Years Ago
For this job, I’m Helen White and I’m the farthest west I’ve ever been: Fort Worth, Texas.
I’ve always wondered why every job I’m given is located in the South, but I guess Mr. Smith must have others who work for him in other parts of the country, so the South must be my territory.
It feels very corporate.
But Texas is new for me. Everything just feels different here. Bigger and louder for sure, but there’s something else to it. It’s almost culture shock.
On the surface, the Fort Worth job is supposed to be a simple retrieval. Some painting worth millions was stolen years ago and is believed to be hidden inside the sprawling home of oil tycoon Ralph Tate. Whoever hired us for this job has apparently tried to buy it from Ralph for years, but Ralph won’t sell, so we’re going to steal it from him instead.
But I’m not the only one trying.
Mr. Smith loves his games, and this job is the prime example of how twisted he can be. He told me I’m not the only one he’s sending after it, but he didn’t say exactly how many of us are throwing their hat in the ring. Because this is a contest, and the one who gets the painting out of the house first gets a bonus. A big one.
I find I want to win badly. Based on my last few jobs, I feel like I’m getting closer and closer to the top of that ladder, but walking away with that painting would confirm I’m the best he has.
After researching the art in question, I was a little disappointed it’s not one of the big ones, like that yellow poppy painting by Van Gogh that’s still in the wind. The one I’m after is worth about five million and it’s not even cute. I was given the details on this job thirty-six hours ago, and the more I dig into it, the more I’m convinced Mr. Smith wants the painting for himself, so he’s made a game of getting it.
It wouldn’t be the first job where there is no client.
The security system of the Tate house is a nightmare and doesn’t make any sense. At all. It looks more like an obstacle course. No matter how long I’m in this business, I’ll never understand rich people.
Ol’ Ralph believes his system is impossible to breach, but I’ve got Devon on my team. There is nothing I’ve requested from him that he has not delivered, and he can say the same about me.
I walk into Buffalo Wild Wings and scan the restaurant for him. He nods when we make eye contact and I make my way through the crowd to the booth where he’s waiting.
Sliding in across from him, he passes me a beer. If we were in private, I’d throw my arms around him, pulling him in for a hug since I haven’t seen him in a while, but he insists that in public we do nothing to draw attention to ourselves. But I do get a small smile and I return it with a much bigger one.
“Those colors look good on you,” I say. He’s wearing a Cowboys jersey even though I know he hates them. He wore it because he knew more than half of this restaurant would be wearing apparel celebrating the home team. As I glance around the room, all I see is a field of blue, white, and silver.
“Don’t start. The things I do for you.” He rolls his eyes and fake gags.
“You love me, I know it.” I tip my bottle, tapping it against the neck of his. “Cheers!”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, then takes a swig of his beer. “First time you’ve been sent to Texas. Not sure I like it.”
Devon’s weariness for anything new is the one constant in my life. “Maybe my territory is expanding,” I say with a laugh. He tilts his head to the side, his expression telling me he’s not so sure, but he doesn’t say anything else once the waitress approaches the table.
“Hey, hon,” she says. “Can I get you something to eat?”
I look at Devon and he says, “I got the burger and fries. It’s good. You’ll like it.”
I nod and say, “Same for me.” Once the server has walked away, I pull a manila envelope out of my bag and hand it to him, filling him in on everything I know so far. I sip my beer while he reads what I’ve given him, relaxing for the first time since I crossed the state line into Texas. I know Devon arrived at least an hour before I did and did a sweep of the place for any bugs or recording devices, even though absolutely no one knows we’d be here.
Our food is delivered and I people watch while Devon carefully reads each page.
A kid stops a few feet away from our table and says, “This phone sucks. I can’t get this pic to download.” He and his friend examine the device and then walk away. I chuckle and Devon looks up at me.
I point to the small black device on the table. “How big of a dead zone did you make?”
He chuckles as he glances at the kid. “Twenty-five-foot diameter.” Then his attention is back on the plans in front of him.
I gaze around the room, noticing everyone is having similar issues with their devices. Devon is causing chaos around us. “Everyone is freaking out.”
“I’m saving a lot of people from making bad decisions right now.” His eyes go to the rowdy bar not too far away for just a second or two. “They’d thank me later if they could.”
Finally, he turns over the last page and looks at me. “I’ve never seen a security system designed like this.”
“Can you hack it?”
Devon cocks his head, giving me a look. A look that says Don’t dare insult me like that.
“Lay it out for me,” I say, with a smile.
He digs through the stack of papers and pulls out a floor plan. “This setup is gorgeous. Super hot. There’s no reason for how it’s laid out and that makes it exquisite.” He points to one section and asks, “The painting is believed to be in this room in the middle of the house, correct?”