Code Name: Heist Page 4

  She didn’t see me until her feet lightly hit the cobblestone, and I had to give her credit… she didn’t even flinch.

  Holding the satchel up, I waved it teasingly. “Nice work.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, her English accent crisp and no-nonsense. “Now bloody well hand it over.”

  “I think not.” I grinned, but she didn’t find me charming. “Meet me at The White Lion for a drink tomorrow night at ten, and we’ll discuss the split then.”

  “The split?” she snarled, stepping a bit closer so I could finally see her eyes. A lovely but slightly eerie color… a light hazel. Made her look even sexier. More exotic. “Are ya feckin’ mad?”

  “No,” I assured her. “Just really intrigued by you.”

  I spun on my heel and raced down the alley, carrying whatever artwork she’d stolen. My intention was to give most of it back to her, but I was going to keep something.

  After all, I’d put the work in figuring out her play.

  But more than anything, I wanted to know more about her. A beautiful thief who had major skills.

  Someone like me.

  She met me for drinks. Her name was Sindaria, but I called her Sin. We laughed together over the yin and yang of our names.

  She’d later become my lover.

  Later still, she’d betray me and send me to prison.

  CHAPTER 6

  Saint

  I’m back at Margeaux’s. Apparently, Julian Mercier’s restaurant is the official ‘gang hideout’. At this point, I’m clueless if Mercier is a criminal mastermind planning the world’s biggest heist or a businessman who dabbles in the dangerous underworld of larceny.

  Regardless, there’s no way to know but to continue forward. Having a connection to William and Julian is my best lead so far.

  Today, the only ones here are William, Sin, and Neal. Since we’re planning a job meant to test if I’m worthy of joining the club, we don’t need the others.

  I’m not happy about the prospect of working with either Neal—who wanted to kill me at one point—or Sin, who had betrayed me and sent me to prison—but what I like and don’t like is moot.

  Neal is a dick. I remember that clearly from our time working together. He’s American, too. Kind of stupid, has no finesse. The only reason he’s in this business and able to find work is he has no limits. There’s nothing he won’t do, so he makes for a nice patsy. If there’s ever going to be a scapegoat in a heist gone wrong, it’s Neal.

  He knows it, too, yet he stays in the game.

  The biggest thing I don’t like about working with a man with no limits is that adding on the fact he has no moral compass makes him dangerous. Thieves, as a general rule, are non-violent criminals. We rely on cunning and stealth to achieve our ends. Neal has none of that, only a brash ego as a strength, and it means he’s unpredictable.

  No… never liked the guy. Something is off about him. I only did a couple of jobs with him—at Sin’s invitation to join their crew—and I only did it to spend time with Sin. I didn’t trust him at all. In fact, the Jag heist was the last I ever intended to work with Neal. Sin loved working with me, but if I were being honest… I didn’t like working with her because she had a crew and I didn’t trust any of them but her.

  Seems like my trust in her was misplaced, too.

  William is busy placing some items on a corkboard with push pins while Neal surfs his phone. I let my gaze move over to Sin, who has yet to make eye contact with me. Hasn’t stopped me from looking on occasion, though.

  I hate she’s still singularly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Hate she’s the funniest as well, with her dry British wit. Fuck… okay, she’s the sexiest. Best damn orgasms of my entire life.

  Just… fuck.

  It was so much easier out and out hating her. Holding her entirely responsible that I hadn’t been able to be with my mom when she died.

  So much easier.

  I mean… I still hold her responsible, but if what she told me last night is true, I have to give some credence to the small measure of empathy that’s formed within me.

  A little bit of pity mixed with understanding that she’d been faced with a horrible piece of information. While her actions were completely stupid, they were admittedly born from a good place within her heart. She thought she was saving me. Instead, she’d ended up causing me the greatest pain of my life.

  My mother, Evie Bellinger, was the best human I’ve ever known. My dad abandoned us after I was born, and she raised me all on her own. Had more than enough love to compensate for what my father took away.

  My mother raised me even after she got sick—breast cancer. She never slowed down, even with surgery, radiation, and chemo. I watched her go to work every day because she had a kid to support.

  It’s why I became a thief when I was thirteen.

  Not for the thrill.

  Not to buy myself the latest trendy athletic shoes so I’d fit in.

  I did it to contribute to our little household.

  My first heist was a TV and Blu-ray player from our neighbor’s house when they were on vacation. I jimmied the back door, snuck in late at night, and took the electronics. It was easy to fence—I approached the bad kids in school—and they took it off my hands.

  I used the money to buy groceries that week, lying to my mom by saying I’d done odd jobs for some of the neighbors.

  It only escalated from there, and I grew to love it. While other kids were making money running drugs for gangs, I’d been learning how to break into houses and businesses for high-end merchandise that would fetch a decent price in the right places.

  I’d honed my skills to perfection. With my contacts in the black market, I was hired by others to steal.

  By the time I graduated high school, I was earning enough money that my mom was able to retire. I even went to Europe, dabbled in some high-end art thefts for hire.

  It all came crashing down when my mom found out exactly what I did for a living. I had never intended for her to know, but I came under suspicion in a local car heist. When the police took me downtown to ‘talk,’ it was her wake-up call.

  After seven hours of interrogation, she’d confronted me once I’d been released. The police couldn’t crack me and had no choice but to let me go, but one look from my mother and a soft plea to tell her the truth made it all come tumbling out.

  Every bit of it.

  Told her the entire sordid story of my life of crime.

  But my mom—greatest human being ever born—forgave me without hesitation. Hugged me and said she understood.

  And then she begged me to clean up my act. Made me promise on ‘her life’ I would do something more worthwhile with my future.

  She was my hero, and I couldn’t disappoint her again. Because of that, I joined the Marine Corps. For six years, I gave the United States my all. It’s where I met Jerico Jameson, who, in turn, introduced me to Kynan McGrath, which led me to this job with Jameson Force Security. I loved my time in the military and the bonds I’d formed, but I couldn’t help but feel it wasn’t something I wanted for a career.

  So, at the age of twenty-six, I got out.

  Tried to walk the straight and narrow.

  Tried hard.

  Mom had been doing well. She enjoyed her life, and she was even dating a guy I kind of liked. I, on the other hand, hadn’t found satisfaction in anything I tried.

  That nagging unfulfillment made me return to my life as a thief. I’d headed straight to Europe, thinking an ocean between my mom and me would alleviate my guilt at being dishonest and doing what I knew would cause her so much disappointment.

  For almost seven years, I did what my mother hated. I planned, I stole, and I lied to my mom about what I did for a living. She thought I did civilian contracting for the military, and I sent a lot of money home to her. I took a cut for myself, using it to lead a playboy lifestyle of traveling the world, fucking beautiful women, and dressing in the finest clothes. The rest, I donated t
o charity to help ease my conscience.

  Focusing on Sin, I watch as she studies a photo of a man William had pinned to a corkboard on the wall.

  She’s still beautiful and alluring, which is dangerous as hell to me. I’d kept all the good memories at bay, only allowing the dark bitterness of her part in my circumstances to fester.

  Now, being near her again, knowing her betrayal was born from caring about me rather than her enmity… it seems to push much of that bitterness away.

  “Okay,” William says, turning to face us. Sin straightens and I lean forward attentively, but Neal continues to surf his phone.

  William isn’t someone to fuck with, though. He has a dozen people who would kill to take Neal’s place on the team.

  “If you have a moment, Neal, I could use your attention. If you don’t, how about taking your arse out of here because I have no use for you.”

  His head popping up, Neal flushes red. There isn’t an apology, though. He merely places his phone on the table, eyes on William.

  “All right, this is our mark,” William says, shifting to tap a knuckle on the photo of a white male who appears to be in his late fifties. He has dark hair going bald on the top, and he’s a little on the portly side.

  “This is Lord James Dennison. He’s an earl from London who lives in Paris. Worth a fortune, too—mainly because he’s a wise investor, but also because he collects fine art. He has an authenticated Renoir, which is worth at least three million on the black market.”

  William drones on, giving us the man’s history. He’s a widowed empty nester whose children have all moved away. Seeming to be extremely lonely, he’s been hitting the club scene and flashing his money around in an attempt to ease his heartache. It’s sad.

  “He likes his women young and scantily dressed,” William states, gesturing to Sin. “You’re the bait and distraction.”

  When she nods, my stomach churns. I have no right to dislike that plan, but fuck… I don’t like it. Don’t like anything about Sin having to use her womanly wiles to carry out a heist.

  But she’s not mine to get jealous over or worry about, so I let it go.

  “Neal… Saint,” William says, pointing to the schematics of Lord Dennison’s penthouse apartment. “You’re the switch and transport.”

  “What’s the play?” I ask.

  “Sin will wrangle an invitation from Dennison to visit his apartment. Once inside, he’ll fall ill.”

  “How?” Sin demands.

  “Poison,” William replies smoothly.

  “I am not killing someone,” she replies hotly, rising from her chair and slamming her hands on the table in front of her. I don’t say anything, but there’s no way I’m getting involved in a murder either. I’ll do a lot of things for Jameson Force Security, but cold-blooded murder isn’t one of them.

  “Relax…” William chuckles. “You’re only going to make him sick. This poison will make him feel as if he’s dying, but he won’t. The key is to get him sick enough that calling 1-1-2 is a necessity.”

  “1-1-2?” Neal asks.

  “Emergency services,” Sin says with a wave of her hand, her tone suggesting it was a stupid question.

  Because it was.

  “I assume Neal and Saint will come in pretending to be the paramedics?” she inquires.

  “Smart girl,” William praises, then proceeds to go through the entire game plan.

  I have to admit… it’s pretty brilliant and I love a heist that involves a nice con at the same time. Sin and I pepper William with questions. Neal doesn’t have a brain in his skull, so he listens with semi-glazed eyes. He’s always going to be the guy who does as told, relying on others to make sure the plan is as foolproof as possible.

  After the meeting, I head out for a coffee, using the time to think about this job. There are a million ways it could go wrong, but that’s the risk we take.

  Deep down, I’m looking forward to it. Yes, I’m conning the entire team—all the way up to Julian Mercier—until I can find out what they’re up to, but I’m not going to lie… I missed this way of life. A lot of the excitement I’m experiencing doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the job I’m doing for Jameson, but it has everything to do with stealing that Renoir.

  ♦

  Back in my hotel room, I pull out an electronic device Bebe gave me. She recommended sweeping my room each time I return, so I do so it now, taking my time and working over every surface.

  When I’m confident there are no bugs or other recording devices present, I call Kynan on a burner cell.

  “What’s up?” he asks when the line connects. “All settled in?”

  “Moving fast,” I say, then fill him in on my meeting with Julian Mercier. “They’re going to test me. An art heist from a private owner here in Paris.”

  “If you get caught, you know I’m going to have a hell of a time saving you,” Kynan warns.

  “I know,” I say. It’s a risk I’m aware of and accept. Even though my reasons for doing this are honorable—attempting to prevent a major crime from being committed—it’s being done outside of the sanction of police officials, meaning I’ll still be considered a common criminal in a few days’ time when we set out to rob Lord Dennison.

  “There’s a complication,” I say, rubbing at the five o’clock shadow on my face. “Of the female kind.”

  “Oh yeah?” he asks, a slight hint of amusement in his tone.

  “Someone I had a relationship with. Her name’s Sindaria Westin—goes by Sin.”

  Kynan lets out a bark of laughter. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. You dated a woman named Sin and your name’s Saint?”

  He guffaws, and I let him have it. It’s funny… I get it.

  “Anyway…” I drawl as his chuckles wind down. “She’s in Mercier’s employ. In fact, she’s going to be doing the upcoming job with me.”

  “Bad blood between you two?” Kynan asks, his concern obviously about whether she’s going to screw up my cover.

  “Nothing that will affect what I’m doing… but if they want her involved in the big heist down the road, I’ll need you to get her out clean along with me,” I say, finally voicing the one thing that’s been eating at me since I first saw her yesterday. Don’t get me wrong—I realize I’ve been hired to take this whole ring down.

  And that includes Sin.

  One would think I would relish the chance to send her to prison as a little bit of payback for what she did to me.

  But, deep down, I know I can’t go there. I don’t have it in me to ruin her that way, not knowing now she’d been trying to save me.

  I have to do what I can for her.

  “That’s going to be tricky,” Kynan replies. “It could compromise you.”

  “I won’t let it,” I assure him. “But I need you to know I’m not blowing anything open until I’m sure she’ll be far away from it all.”

  Kynan sucks in an audible breath, then lets it out. “I trust you, Saint. You’ll figure it out, but if I can help, you know I will.”

  That’s all I can hope for at this point.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sin

  Four years ago…

  “You’re late,” I called out softly from the bed as Saint tiptoed through the darkness. He was trying to be quiet. He always took his shoes and socks off at the door so he didn’t tap dance his way across my hardwood floors when he came in late.

  He switched on the lamp, lighting up his handsome face. With a grin, he swept his eyes from my face to the sheet covering my body. His fingertip went to the edge, then started to drag it down. “Are you naked under there?”

  “Of course, I am,” I snapped—grabbing at the cotton to stop the descent—although I wasn’t angry. I loved to give him a hard time. “Naked and tired of waiting for you.”

  Lowering himself to the edge of the mattress, he took a seat near my hip. I scooted over a tad to give him some room. “I got you something. That’s why I’m late.”

  “Really?” One
eyebrow cocked up in interest, I rolled to my side to face him. I went up on one elbow, still clutching the sheet to cover my breasts.

  “It’s our anniversary,” he replied, reaching into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. In the time I’d known Saint, he was usually in a custom-made or designer suit, typically because he was crashing upper-class soirees to case potential loot to steal.

  Saint pulled out a small velvet bag, loosened the drawstring, and reached inside.

  I couldn’t help but gasp when he pulled out a diamond tennis bracelet that sparkled even in the low, ambient light of the lamp.

  “Where did you steal that from?” I asked as he pulled my wrist toward him so he could put the stunner on me.

  Saint made a scoffing noise deep in his throat. “I didn’t steal it, sweet but skeptical Sin. I bought it.”

  “You bought it?” I asked, my eyebrows shooting up. I was indeed skeptical when it came to the opposite sex.

  “I bought it because it’s our three-month anniversary,” he said, clasping the bracelet. After pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist, he let go. I held it up to admire it, a warm feeling brewing inside me. “Three months ago tonight is when we met.”

  “You mean when you stole from me,” I said with a snicker.

  “Best move I ever made in this business,” he murmured.

  This time, my heart flopped over.

  Surrendered.

  I rolled to my back, letting the sheet fall away to expose my breasts. To give him credit, his eyes stay pinned on my face.

  “What do you see in me?” I asked, the shocking vulnerability in those words making me wince as soon as they’re released.

  “Beauty,” he replied as he rose from his perch on the mattress. He took off his suit jacket, then tossed it onto the back of a chair by the window. After he loosened his tie, he removed it, too.

  “Sex.” His voice rumbled over that short word, his gaze dropping briefly to my breasts before returning to my face. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and slid it off, then yanked off the soft cotton t-shirt underneath. The muscles in his abdomen rippled with the movement, and I took in the defined chest and soft hair that covered his middle. He was all man, and I throbbed for him.