Sawyer spreads his arms out wide. “It’s either all of us or none of us.”
This fucking tool. I hold my breath, hoping Ralph isn’t about to throw us out just to put him in his well-deserved place. Luckily, Mrs. Tate steps in to smooth things over.
“Honey, we always have room for you and your friends!” She’s not his mother since she’s only about six years older than him, but she likes the show as much as Sawyer does. Ralph disappears outside while the missus points us in the direction of food and booze. I dig my phone out of my back pocket to send Devon a quick text: Tick tock
Sawyer gets swept up by a group of girls he’s known since childhood, while I slip away to the bar, swaying just enough to make it look like I’m as high as the crowd I showed up with.
“Vodka cranberry,” I say.
Devon is behind the bar. I would not recognize him if I didn’t know it was him. He’s wearing the same uniform as the other servers, but he’s got a pretty groovy mustache going on and dreads in place of his normally short hair. When he told me his revised plan, I was surprised he was willing to interact with so many people, but happy he’s getting out of his comfort zone. He’s stood in the shadows long enough.
Devon hands me a drink that I know will contain zero alcohol, then checks his watch. “No changes. Cameras out at four seventeen.”
Since we knew we wouldn’t be the only ones attempting this job, he tapped into the security system within hours of leaving Buffalo Wild Wings, and he’s been watching the house ever since. He texted me the number four last night, letting me know how many failed attempts to get the painting there have been so far. I don’t have the details yet, but since he said “no changes” it seems like no one has tried it the way we have planned.
“How many on deck?” I ask.
“Three but hopefully they’re waiting until the show,” he answers. I nod and slip away.
We tossed around waiting until the fireworks started to make our move like he believes the other three people here for the painting will be doing, but we knew we might face a crowd if we wait that long. So we’re going for it in broad daylight.
I drop down in a chair near the patio door and watch the clock. We have timed this to the second, so as soon as it hits 4:17, I put my drink on the small side table and make my way into the house. Once I’ve cleared the main area, I walk with purpose to the bathroom located off the back hall. I’ve memorized the floor plans so there are no wrong turns. I lock the door once I’m inside and pull the bag Devon stowed in the cabinet earlier. There is a black wig and server’s uniform, a pair of gloves, a watch, and a big black trash bag. I put everything on over my shorts and bikini top in record time. I shouldn’t be caught on any cameras, but Kitty is too memorable if I bump into someone in the hall. Once I’m out of the bathroom, I send Devon a text: Go
Making my way through the house, I get to the back hall where a left will take me to Mr. Tate’s trophy room.
I turn right.
I keep my head low as I pass through the kitchen, holding the trash bag in front of me like a shield. No one spares me a second glance since it looks like I’m on my way to take the garbage out.
A few more turns and I’m in front of the door to the laundry room.
I send another text: Ready
There’s a small keypad outside the door, and the light flashes from red to green. I open the door and step inside, put the trash bag on top of the dryer, then pull out a small black device from inside the bag. I hold it up to the cabinet doors next to the washer, entering the series of numbers that Devon has texted me. You cannot tell there is a lock on this cabinet from the outside, but in a few seconds I hear a click and the doors pop open.
Inside the cabinet is a clothes rod full of hunting clothes. Grabbing a fistful at a time, I remove all the clothes from the cabinet, then hold the black box against the panel that was hidden behind them. Devon sends me another set of codes that I plug into the device.
A few seconds later, it pops open, and I’m looking at a very expensive but also very ugly painting.
I take the painting, leaving the replica that was hidden in the trash bag in its place. Luckily, the painting isn’t very big. Once the clothes are all back on the rod, Devon helps me work my way out of the system, locking each door in place.
Within minutes, I’m back in the hall outside the laundry room and moving toward the garage. My heart races as one of the men hired to patrol the house turns the corner, nearly bumping right into me. He catches himself by grabbing on to my arm.
“My apologies. Shouldn’t have taken that turn so quickly,” he says.
I give him the laugh he’s looking for. “No worries,” I say.
He waves an almost empty water bottle at me then dips his head to the trash bag in my hand.
I open the bag and he chucks it in. “Thanks,” he says.
“No problem,” I reply, and hope the painting can handle a little bit of water.
Keeping my head down, I walk out the side door to the garage, where the trash bins are located. I strip out of the uniform, leaving me in my shorts and bikini top, and shove the clothes and wig in the garbage bag with the painting, then tie off the bag before dumping it all in the garbage can. Once I’m in the backyard, I text Devon: I took out the garbage
He will retrieve the bag before cutting the cameras back on.
Twenty minutes after I set my drink down on that side table, I’m picking it back up. The ice has barely melted. I take a deep drink, then go find Sawyer. He’s sitting on the side of the pool and I squeeze between him and a blonde so I can take her spot next to him. She’s not happy.
“Where you been, baby?” he slurs.
“Looking for you.”
He throws an arm around me, pulling me close, then starts talking to the girl on his other side.
I sip on my drink and take a deep breath. I owe Devon big for this job. The day after we met at Buffalo Wild Wings, he showed up in Austin.
I found him on the children and teens floor of the Central Public Library, where he was teaching three middle school girls how to play chess on the life-size board. For all his rules and procedures, he’s a complete softy when it comes to kids. I slid into one of the many chairs in that area and let them finish. As soon as the girls were lining up the oversize pieces for a new game, he picked up the cardboard tube and motioned for me to join him in one of the private study rooms. Next to the black box that would ensure that no one was listening in on our conversation, we bent over those blueprints a second time.
“Are you sure the painting is in that room?” he had asked.
I leaned across the table and tried to see what he saw, but nothing jumped out at me. “That room is more fortified than any other spot in that house. The false wall addition implies he’s hiding something there. You said the system is . . . what was the word you used? Exquisite? Everything points to the painting being in that room.”
“But you said you think this is a game, right? You won’t be the only one there looking for it?”
I nodded and he pointed to a small corner of the house.
“You see this right here?”
I moved in close and squinted like that would help me see what he wanted me to see.
It didn’t.
“Give it to me like I’m dumb,” I finally said.
His finger tapped on the space labeled Laundry Room. “See all the wires running to this room?”
I nodded again.
“This is overkill for a room that houses at most a washer and dryer.”
It didn’t take me long to catch on. “So you think the trophy room is bait. Send everyone to a room protected with a ridiculous system they can’t get past. Once they trip it . . . which they will . . . guards get a silent alarm and go scoop them up. Meanwhile, that painting is hidden next to the deep freeze.”
Devon gave me a huge smile. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
“And you’re still good to come in with me? Play a part?” I asked.