Code Name: Heist Page 13

  I can’t make Saint feel a certain way or want to be with me after this is over.

  I can only control how I choose to feel about those things, and I’ve decided what will be will be.

  So Dad and I have been hanging out—taking walks in the park, trying new recipes, and having awkward conversations about him wanting to return to work.

  “Look what I found,” my dad says from where he sits at the kitchen table. He has the newspaper spread out before him, along with a full cup of tea beside him I’m betting has gone cold. “There’s a new antique shop that opened a few blocks away. Bet they’ve got a pretty spot of collectibles begging to be stolen.”

  The fact my dad is doing his research from a print newspaper is all the proof needed that it’s time for him to retire, regardless of his medical condition.

  I don’t say anything, merely start to unpack the bags.

  He’s not thwarted. “They’ve got a picture of the shop here in the paper. Not even a security gate to protect all those valuables at night. It would be like taking candy from a child.”

  Freezing in place with a carton of milk in my hand, I close my eyes and inhale. I suddenly realize it’s time for me to have a heart-to-heart with him.

  After I deposit the milk in the fridge, I move over to the table. It’s only big enough for two chairs so I take the unoccupied one.

  He looks up, a silly grin on his face. It’s a handsome face—very Dick Van Dyke-ish—and I hate I’m getting ready to put hurt there.

  Taking in my expression, his smiles slides. “What’s wrong, love?”

  “Dad,” I begin, but falter slightly. I give a slight cough, consider not going where I need to go, then tell myself to suck it up. “Dad… you can’t go back to stealing.”

  He frowns, lips pursed in confusion. “Why ever not?”

  “Because… you’re not physically able because of the stroke,” I say.

  “I’m in excellent health,” he replies, completely offended. He sits up straight. “You can’t even tell—”

  “Yes,” I cut in on him firmly. “I can tell. You don’t have your full balance. You often reach out to a wall or counter to support yourself, and I don’t even think you realize you’re doing it. You’re not as agile, and that’s both the stroke and your age. And Dad… you process things a bit slower.”

  My heart shreds as he studies me, absorbing what I’m saying. I can tell it’s a complete shock.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” I continue. “But I don’t think it’s possible anymore. Honestly, I’d worry too much about you if you did. I’m afraid you could have another stroke and die. I’m afraid you’d get caught because things are a little off with you. And you always taught me to never go into any situation unless I was at peak performance in all aspects. Remember that one time I had a bad head cold and I was going to rob that big house over in Knightsbridge… and you told me not to do it because—”

  “All right,” my dad snaps, holding up a hand to stop my rant. “I get it.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “I get it,” he says again, this time in a low, dejected tone.

  I reach across the table to take his hand in mine. He doesn’t pull away, only squeezes mine back as his gaze drops to stare blankly at the paper.

  “If it helps,” I say slowly, waiting for him to look up. “After this last job with Mercier, I’m getting out of the business, too.”

  My dad’s eyes flare with surprise. “Why?”

  “Because I’m tired of it,” I say honestly. “I want a different type of life.”

  I’d expected that to hurt him, because he raised me to be like him. I willingly followed in his footsteps, and I wouldn’t trade my experiences for anything. But I have always suspected he wants me to love this life the way he does, and I don’t anymore.

  Instead, I see a tiny spark of light deep within his gaze. The corners of his mouth tip upward. “Now that is good news to hear.”

  It’s my turn to be shocked. “What?”

  “Sin, it was never my greatest hope you’d lead the same type of life I did,” he says. “I mean, I didn’t hate it when you did, because it kept us close… but I always knew you had so much more in you. You’re still young, with your whole life in front of you. You should go out and do remarkable things that don’t involve this type of risk.”

  “I don’t even believe what I’m hearing,” I say with mock offense, but he knows I’m teasing. “Who are you and what have you done with my father?”

  My dad laughs, squeezing my hand hard before releasing it. He pops up from the table, then grabs his cold cup of tea. “Want a cup?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I reply and lean back in my chair, trying to process what he’d said.

  In the kitchen, my dad lights the stove for the kettle. “Maybe you’ll think about settling down. You and Saint would make some beautiful grandbabies for me.”

  “Dad,” I exclaim, stunned he’d even go there. I sit up straight in my chair. “Saint and I aren’t—”

  “You love him, he loves you… why are you even acting like this is a huge shock for me to make that leap?”

  “He doesn’t love me,” I mutter, slouching down again.

  “Bollocks,” he replies, moving around the short counter to the table. He takes his seat while we wait on the water to boil, looking me dead in the eye. “Mark my words… you two are going to have a long and happy life together.”

  “I kind of doubt we are,” I say.

  “But he forgave you,” my dad points out.

  “I know.” Uttering a sigh, I smile pensively. “But sometimes, that’s not enough.”

  “Where did my daughter go?” he asks, cocking his head at an angle to study me thoughtfully.

  “Right here,” I reply, my eyebrows knitting in confusion.

  “No… the daughter who always goes after what she wants and doesn’t sit around with a woe-is-me, attitude waiting to see what happens.”

  I blink, surprised he’d call me out like that. And then I realize I have been sounding a bit mopey about the whole thing.

  “Actually,” I say, brightening a bit. “I did tell Saint how I felt. I mean, sort of. I told him if he asked me to go somewhere with him after this Mercier job, I would go.”

  “That’s good,” he praises with a tiny slap of his hand on the table. The kettle starts whistling, but I jump up and beat him to it.

  I head into the kitchen as my dad asks, “What did Saint say to that?”

  “Nothing really,” I answer with a shrug. “He’s worried about this last job—can’t see past it.”

  “And you of all people should understand how important it is to put all of your energy and brainpower into a job,” he chastises.

  “I know,” I reply, preparing our tea and grabbing a can of biscuits—cookies, according to Saint—I’d bought. I lay the items out on a tray before carrying it to the table. “And this Mercier job—whatever it might be—is supposed to be huge. Like nothing we’ve ever worked before.”

  “I have faith in you two,” he replies firmly, reaching for his cup.

  “Actually,” I say with a sly smile. “Maybe we can run some stuff by you, bounce some ideas off you once we find out what the job is.”

  My dad’s face lights up with pure joy. “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” I say with a laugh as I take my seat. “You can be a strategy consultant.”

  I open the biscuits, then hand a few over to my dad. I’ve always loved talking to him, knowing he’d never judge me. He’s been the best sounding board I could ever hope for.

  “Let me ask you a hypothetical question,” I drawl, tapping my biscuit on the edge of my teacup. “If I had the ability to move to anywhere in the world and start over, would you want to come with me and where would you want to go?”

  My dad ponders a moment, nibbling on his biscuit. “I can’t think of anywhere in particular. I mean… London is my home. I’d want to be close by if you had kids, of course, so I suppose if you moved so
mewhere and you didn’t mind me coming along, I’d go wherever you went. Why do you ask?”

  I shrug, hating I’m even considering Saint’s offer to help me disappear. To move my dad and me safely out of Mercier’s reach.

  “Sindaria,” my dad says. I can tell I’ve worried him by his scrunched brow. “Why did you ask that? And don’t think about lying to me.”

  I’m at a crossroads. I’ve withheld information from my dad so he wouldn’t worry about me, which I felt was protecting him. But I’ve had about as honest and transparent of a conversation with him where I had to crush his dreams of returning to his life as a thief, and he took it way better than I expected.

  Maybe I need to quit thinking I have to protect him. Instead, he’d drawn on his strength I’d thought he’d lost. Despite his stroke and failing capabilities, he’s still my strong-shouldered father.

  Taking a deep breath, I decide to let Dad in on the secret I’d been harboring. “You’re going to be angry with me when I tell you this,” I start, but he cuts me off.

  “Of course, I won’t,” he scoffs.

  Okay. Whatever. “When you had your stroke and it messed up that job with Mercier, he told me that I had to work jobs for him until your debt was paid off. I’ve been doing that—”

  My dad explodes, shooting out of his chair. His voice booms, sounding like thunder. “Jesus Christ, what the bloody hell have you agreed to do for that arsehole?”

  “You said you wouldn’t get mad,” I accuse, pointing at the chair. “Now sit before you give yourself a heart attack, and I’ll explain.”

  Reluctantly, because my dad is a stubborn man, he plops his frame back in the chair and glares at me. I ignore that, because I’ve decided to come clean in case something bad happens in this last job with Mercier.

  “He threatened to kill you if I didn’t—”

  My dad starts cursing again. This time, he jumps out of the chair and paces the length of the small apartment, threatening to fly to Paris right this moment and cut off Mercier’s balls with a butter knife. I wait it out, sipping at my tea and nibbling a biscuit until he calms down.

  Finally, he returns to his chair and sits with a huff.

  “Are you done?” I ask sarcastically, fighting off a smile.

  “For now,” he clips out.

  “Okay… so I agreed to help Mercier out on some jobs until the price you cost him was paid.”

  “And how long was that going to take?” my dad demands.

  “No clue,” I say honestly, owning up to getting myself in a pickle. “But that’s moot right now because this job with Mercier is going to be the last.”

  My dad frowns. “I’m not following.”

  I go out on a limb, hoping Saint doesn’t get mad I’m letting my dad in on this secret. “Because Saint is working undercover for an insurance consortium who got wind that something big was being planned. He’s going to take Mercier down with whatever this big heist is he’s planning.”

  My dad’s jaw drops, mouth hanging open. He considers something, closes his mouth, opens it to perhaps ask a question, then snaps it shut again. I can see I’ve shocked him, so I continue to fill him in.

  “I’ve agreed to help Saint. Once this job is done, I’m out of the business.”

  “If Mercier finds out about this, you and Saint are dead,” my dad says flatly, his eyes hard and unyielding. I can hear the silent demand within, forbidding me from doing this.

  “I know,” I murmur. “Saint wants me to disappear now. Said he can get you and me to safety, give us new identifies.”

  “Let’s do it,” my dad exclaims. “Let’s go right now.”

  “No,” I say firmly. “I don’t want to be on the run. I want to stay and help Saint finish this, not only because it lets me keep control of my own destiny, but also because I’d like to see this asshole taken down after what he did to us, so don’t try to talk me out of it.”

  My dad growls, muttering something under his breath.

  I try for additional reassurance. “I trust Saint to keep me safe. And I trust in my skills that we’ll be able to pull this job off, whatever it might be. I want you to trust me, too.”

  Wilting like a flower, my dad sighs and pins me with big puppy-dog eyes. “I do trust you, kiddo. It’s Mercier I don’t. I worry about you. And you telling me not to worry is ludicrous. I’m your dad, and that’s apparently the only job I’m cut out for right now.”

  I snort over his backhanded slap for shutting down any future illegal activities on his part. Reaching out, I take his hand and promise, “I’ll be careful, and we’ll come out of this on top. I swear it. I’ll be fine.”

  Squeezing my hand back, he gives me a tremulous smile. “I’m proud of you, Sindaria. I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter.”

  Biting the inside of my cheek so I don’t cry, I smile. “I love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, too.”

  My phone starts ringing from inside my purse, and I rise from my chair to nab it. It’s Saint, and I answer hesitantly. We haven’t talked since we parted ways at the airport earlier this week.

  “Hello,” I say as if I don’t know who’s calling, even though I clearly do.

  “Missing me?” he asks in that low, rumbly tone that makes my legs go weak. I wasn’t expecting that from him, and it has an immediate effect on me.

  “Maybe,” I whisper, moving into the living room for a bit of privacy.

  “I’m definitely missing you,” he murmurs, and I have to drop to the couch because yeah… legs a bit wobbly.

  “Okay…” I drag the word out as if answering is a hardship. “I might miss you, too.”

  “I’m flying into Paris tomorrow evening. Will you be back?”

  “Yes,” I reply breathlessly.

  “Then I’ll come to your apartment. If you do care about me the way you say you do, you’ll be naked and waiting for me at nine.”

  “I do care about you,” I confirm, still whispering into the phone.

  “Ditto,” he rumbles, and now it’s my heart that’s feeling a bit weak.

  And then I jolt, popping up from the couch. “Saint… listen… I… um… I told my dad about what’s going on with Mercier. How he was holding me hostage and how you’re undercover. I’m sorry… I needed him to know what I was embroiled in and—”

  “It’s fine, Sin,” he cuts in. “I trust your dad. I’m glad you told him.”

  I let out a huge breath of a relief. “I thought you’d say that, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “It’s fine,” he repeats. “See you tomorrow evening. And don’t plan on getting any sleep, okay?”

  “Challenge accepted,” I reply tartly before ending the call. I’ve always loved having the last word with him.

  I tap my phone against my chin pensively, warmed by Saint’s sweet words and his open admission he misses and cares for me.

  Feeling eyes on me, I shift toward my dad, who was apparently listening the entire time. He smirks. “Can’t wait for my grandbabies.”

  I roll my eyes, but if that’s where my future lies, well… I can’t wait for that either.

  CHAPTER 21

  Saint

  Mercier’s estate is as impressive as I expected. A massive chateau in the Seine-et-Marne area, about twenty miles from the city center of Paris, it’s on over three-hundred acres of rural flatlands and woods. It boasts eleven bedrooms, five bathrooms, and has an equestrian center on the property. An interesting fact about Mercier—he was an Olympic equestrian in his youth who medaled several times.

  My research into the man informed me he doesn’t spend a lot of time here, preferring his apartment inside the Paris city limits, but the massive number of invites sent out for tonight’s gala superseded the room available at his other place.

  Sin looks like she belongs here. While I can certainly put on the trappings of an expensive gray suit with a subtle checked pattern and drive a rented Maserati out to Mercier’s estate, I still stand out like a sore thumb. But Sin has that reg
al bearing in the way she walks that screams, “I belong here.”

  It’s certainly not her background as she grew up lower class just as I had, but years of being someone she’s not that allows her to become a chameleon to fit it… and she does it to perfection.

  I wholeheartedly approve of the dress she settled on. Fits her body like a glove and is elegant in its sapphire-blue simplicity. Nothing else is needed when confronted with the perfection of her face and that wild halo of hair that speaks not only as a nod to her culture, but also to the fact she’s confident in who she is.

  After we leave the car with a valet, she loosely tucks her hand inside the crook of my elbow as we walk up to the massive stone front porch. There are many others arriving as fashionably late as we are. The front door is open and a uniformed butler is there to greet us, directing us up a grand staircase where we hear soft strains of music floating from the ballroom upstairs.

  “Nothing on overt display,” Sin murmurs from the side of her mouth as we stroll up the stairs.

  She’s talking about stolen items such as art or antiques. Mercier’s not bold enough to have something displayed for someone else who might be sophisticated enough to spot a hot piece, but this isn’t a surprise. He’s not stupid or reckless. I suspect like anyone who steals anything exceedingly priceless, Mercier uses the items for private enjoyment only.

  We finally reach the ballroom, which easily holds over two hundred people. There’s an orchestra on one end, dancers in the middle, and tables set up on the other. A wide pass through into another large room looks to contain tables set with elegant silver trays of food. Waiters circulate with champagne, and there’s an open bar along one wall.

  We spend an hour mingling and tasting fancy hors d’oeuvres.

  We sip our drinks slowly so we can maintain clear heads, because as much as Mercier assured Sin and I this is nothing but a relaxing evening meant to reward us for our hard work, we’re still on the clock—our clock.

  Our goal is to learn everything we can about Mercier while here, with the hope we’ll hear something about the big heist he has planned.