Code Name: Heist Page 6

  Sin knocks gently on the water closet door where I assume our mark is holed up. He groans in response.

  “James,” she calls. “The paramedics are here. Can you open the door?”

  When he groans again, Sin calls. “James?”

  “Um… can you be a love and wait in the bedroom? I don’t want you to see me like this,” he says. I don’t need to see his face to know how embarrassed he is to have brought a gorgeous, sexy woman to his apartment with the belief he was going to get a night of hot, sweaty sex and being stuck on the toilet instead.

  “Of course,” Sin soothingly says. She winks at me. Our plan was never for her to stay in the bathroom with him.

  When I hold my arm out, she takes the black duffel from me, then heads into the bedroom. Neal drops his bag on the floor, rifling through to pull out a stethoscope and a portable heart monitor. Today, William had given us some basic instructions. We’d role-played various scenarios on how to handle this situation.

  Neal knocks on the door. With a fake French accent, which is surprisingly good, he calls, “Mr. Dennison? I’m one of the paramedics. Can I open the door?”

  “Is Melanie gone?” Dennison piteously asks.

  “Yes, she is,” Neal responds, his lips curved maliciously. He seems to be enjoying the man’s suffering.

  “Okay,” Dennison replies, and Neal opens the door. The smell is not pleasant and I’m glad Neal is pulling point on this. I didn’t hand out the assignments—those came from William—and Neal hadn’t argued. He’d left me free to assist Sin, probably so he could judge if I knocked the rust off my skills.

  I take a few steps backward, making sure Neal’s hulking frame in the doorway of the water closet obscures me, then pivot to head into the bedroom.

  Sin already has the Renoir off the wall, and it is face-first on the bed beside the duffel. Her eyes rise to meet mine as I round the four-poster bed. “It’s your show now.”

  I quickly undo the zipper and pull out a cardboard frame, setting it on the bed beside the painting. Nestled inside is the knock-off Renoir, the frame so expertly crafted I can’t tell the difference as I examine both. It’s an exact match down to the brown paper backing.

  Reaching inside the bag again, I pull out a small handheld device Bebe had loaded me up with before I’d left Pittsburgh.

  I depress a button on the side, holding it down until a red light emits a steady tone. Then I move it slowly along the back edge of the frame until I get a blinking green light and a tiny beep.

  “Bingo,” I murmur.

  Sin, like a surgeon’s apprentice, whips out a knife from God knows where. After flipping it open, she hands it to me hilt first.

  I take it, gently pushing the tip under the edge of the paper backing. When I peel it back, I find the tiny GPS tracking device. All expensive works of art now have these planted in the frames.

  Using the tip of the knife, I pop the tracking device off. Moving to the knockoff, I make a tiny slit at the edge on the same place on the frame. I insert it, push the paper down and decide that’s good enough for me.

  Sin picks up the fake Renoir and hangs it on the wall while I pack the real deal into the cardboard frame. It goes into the duffel bag, but I don’t zip it up yet.

  I hand it to Sin. Without comment, she takes it out to the gurney we’d left by the elevator.

  Hurrying to the bathroom, I enter just as Neal is giving Dennison an injection. “You should get some pretty quick relief from that.”

  “Thank you,” Dennison murmurs from his perch on the toilet.

  Ideally, the man needs to have an IV started with saline solution and Zofran, but that’s impractical. He’ll have to make do with the injectable Zofran Neal had given him. While it was easy enough to teach Neal how to give an intramuscular injection, there was no way we had time to learn how to master an IV.

  Regardless, it’s not necessary. All we have to do is get him feeling well enough to rest peacefully, so he doesn’t insist on going to the hospital. Whatever William gave Sin to spike his drink with is supposedly fast-acting with a short life. It’s why we have to work so quickly.

  “Now,” Neal says. “Are you sure you don’t want us to take you to the hospital?”

  They’ve apparently talked about this before now. To avoid suspicion, I imagine Neal pushed that as the best option, but also offered him medicine if he wanted to avoid the trip.

  “I’m sure,” Dennison says. “And thank you. I’m horribly embarrassed by this.”

  “Well, food poisoning is no joke,” Neal says with a smile—in a completely American accent. I hide my wince.

  Frowning, Dennison looks from Neal to me, then back to Neal.

  Idiot.

  Pushing Neal out of the doorway, I ask Dennison. “What else can we do for you?”

  “I think I’m good,” he says, then motions to the water closet door. “If you can give me a few moments to clean myself up, please.”

  “And your… um… female guest?” I ask with a knowing smile.

  “I’m afraid I’m not up to company tonight,” Dennison replies stiffly. “Think you could handle asking her to leave?”

  “Of course,” I assure him. The heist is almost complete.

  I incline my head before closing the door on him.

  Looking to Neal, I give a sharp jerk of my chin to the door, indicating it’s time to hustle.

  We find Sin waiting at the elevator, a purple-and-blue glass vase in her hand. “Do we need this?”

  After all these years, it’s funny how Sin and I still think along the same lines, our brains always working on how to best cover our trails.

  “Why would we need that?” Neal asks. “Is it worth something?”

  “Probably cost around seven thousand U.S. dollars,” Sin says.

  I ignore Neal, giving my attention to Sin. “Lord Dennison has asked me to pass along the message that he enjoyed his time with you, but he is in no condition to be proper company tonight.”

  “Pity,” Sin mutters, returning the Chihuly on the shelf from where she’d gotten it.

  “What am I missing?” Neal demands, clearly on the outside of the wordless conversation Sin and I are having.

  “I’ll fill you in on the elevator,” I say as I push the button. The doors whoosh open immediately, and I push the gurney inside. Neal and Sin follow me in.

  “Well?” Neal demands. “Were you two planning to steal something else and keep it for yourself?”

  “You’re a dimwit,” Sin snaps.

  “No, we weren’t planning to take something for ourselves, but to nick something Dennison would notice if it was missing.”

  “I don’t get it. Why would you do that?”

  Sin mutters something under her breath. I want to laugh, but I don’t want to antagonize Neal. This was the guy who had planned to kill me before, and I have no clue if he intends to go through with it now that I’m back. It’s best I stay on his good side.

  “Sin was leaving with us, right? No way was she going to stay there after we’d lifted his Renoir.”

  “Right,” Neal says with an emphatic nod.

  “If Dennison had expected her to stay, but she didn’t, it could have made him suspicious she would have perhaps stolen from him. If he became suspicious, we would rather have his attention on the Chihuly instead of the Renoir.”

  “So I asked him about the Chihuly,” Sin explains. “If he became suspicious of me and realized the Chihuly was missing, the chances of him looking too closely at the Renoir are slim. We’d rather him never figure out it’s missing.”

  “Huh,” Neal says, still not entirely grasping the point. “We’re not taking it?”

  “Dennison doesn’t expect Sin to stay, so there shouldn’t be anything to alert him to any funny business going on outside of food poisoning from bad shrimp.”

  “I’m still not sure I understand.” Neal scratches at his head. He’s a dumbass, but I’ll give him some props… he had taken care of a man who had the shits toni
ght.

  “It’s okay,” I say, giving him a clap on the back, my gaze flitting to Sin briefly to see her hiding a smile behind her hand. “I’ll go over it again. But after we’re in the ambulance.”

  The doors to the elevator whoosh open. The security guard jumps up from his seat, eyes moving from the gurney to me. “Everything okay?”

  “Perfectly fine,” I assure him. “Lord Dennison has what appears to be food poisoning. We were able to treat him in his home. He’s resting comfortably now.”

  “That’s good news,” the guard says, having absolutely no clue a multimillion-dollar Renoir resides in the black duffel on top of the gurney.

  “Would you be a love and call me a cab,” Sin says as she stops at the desk.

  “It would be my pleasure, miss,” the guard replies, moving to pick up the phone.

  “I’ll wait outside.” Sin flashes him a megawatt smile before following us out of the building.

  Sin steps off to the side, not far from the passenger door to the ambulance, and surfs on her phone, pointedly ignoring Neal and me. After we load the gurney into the rear of the ambulance, Neal slams the doors shut.

  I move to the passenger door, walking right past Sin.

  “Good job,” I whisper so the doorman can’t possibly hear me.

  “You too,” she replies, her lips curving slightly.

  CHAPTER 10

  Sin

  The Hôtel de Crillon is a beautiful establishment and I’m a little surprised Saint would spend the money on this opulence. He had just gotten out of prison, so I figured he’d be short on cash. In the time we were together, I never got the impression he was saving for a rainy day or retirement. He sent money to his mom and gave a lot of money away.

  And I mean a lot.

  I’d strolled with him along the streets of London, Paris, and Berlin, watching him walk into churches only to press wads of thick bills into the priests’ hands. He wasn’t even a religious man so to speak, but he donated to many churches.

  Handed it out like candy to the homeless as well.

  I never asked why, because it wasn’t important. It was enough to know the thief I’d fallen for had a generous spirit. The personal reasons that drove him hadn’t mattered. The one thing that had always been clear—because he’d told me point blank—was that he was in our line of work to be able to have the money to take care of his mom.

  I’d always loved that best about him.

  Now, I sit in the hotel lobby, waiting for him to arrive. I’d had the cab from Dennison’s apartment bring me here. I normally feel on top of the world after a successful heist, but I’m feeling unsettled. I have no one to talk to about these feelings—no one except Saint. He’ll understand, even if he still hates me.

  The revolving door spins slowly, and the man himself walks in. The paramedic uniform is gone. In its place is a black suit, which looks amazing on his masculine frame. I’ve seen Saint in a variety of clothing styles, as well as naked, but I have to say… he’s at his yummiest in black-tie attire.

  He does a brief scan of the marbled lobby before passing over me. Clearly stunned, he comes to a sudden halt and jerks his gaze right back to me.

  After only the briefest hesitation, Saint schools his features and saunters over to me, his eyes zeroing in on my crossed legs, which are bare from the thigh slit. “What are you doing here?”

  “Got a minute to talk?” I ask with a tremulous smile, nodding toward the door. “We can walk through the Jardin des Champs-Élysées, which is close by. It’s beautiful at night.”

  Saint raises an eyebrow. “Honestly, I’m exhausted. How about a drink in my room?”

  Nothing about his offer suggests anything but an actual drink. In fact, he looks and sounds exhausted. It makes me feel guilty for bothering him.

  “Actually,” I say as I rise from the chair. “It’s not a big deal. I should get out of your hair.”

  “Nonsense,” he replies, taking my elbow in his hand. He steers me toward the elevator. “We could both use a drink, I’m sure.”

  I don’t argue because I want to talk to him more than anything.

  In his room—an expansive suite with a living room, small bar area, and a private bedroom—he starts to make us cocktails.

  He doesn’t bother to ask what I want. Instead, he mixes a gin and tonic, assuming it’s still my preferred drink.

  It is, so I accept it with a murmured thanks before taking a sip.

  He pours a vodka on the rocks for himself.

  “Tonight went off without a hitch,” he observes, opening the floor up for conversation.

  “I’m feeling a little guilty about what I did to Dennison,” I admit, circling my finger around the top of my glass.

  Quizzically, he tilts his head. “You’ve never let it bother you before.”

  “Not the burglary part,” I clarify, shaking my head. “I mean I feel bad about leading him on, then making him sick. He’s a nice, lonely guy.”

  “What about stealing his painting? How do you feel about that?”

  Shrugging, I move over to the windows to look out over the interior courtyard. It’s completely deserted at this time of night, but still nicely lit. “Never thought I’d still be a thief at this point in my life.”

  “So why are you?” he asks, coming to stand beside me.

  Putting an arm across my stomach, I take another sip of my drink. “I’m stuck so to speak.”

  “A rut?” he guesses.

  “More or less,” I intone, but truthfully… less. I’m stuck because I’m being held hostage, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  Saint sips at his drink, peering out the window with a hand casually tucked into his pants pocket. He’s waiting me out since I haven’t said much of anything yet, and I’m the one who asked to talk.

  He surprises me by breaking the silence first. “Mercier called me as I was on my way back to the hotel. Impressed with our work and all that. Asked me to formally join his crew for some big heist he’s putting together.”

  “Congratulations,” I say.

  He shifts, eyes meeting mine. “Any clue what he has planned?”

  I shake my head. “Neither he nor William have said a word, but we’ve been told something huge is in the works. He’s been testing out a lot of people with jobs like we did tonight.”

  Saint studies my face, obviously trying to determine the veracity of my words. I return the stare, hoping he understands I’m not withholding any information. If I had any, I’d share.

  He lets his attention return to the view, casually sipping at his drink. His posture says he isn’t all that eager to hear anything I have to say.

  “Do you forgive me?” I blurt out.

  Saint snaps his attention toward me, his brows furrowing before smoothing out. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Do you trust me?” I ask.

  “No,” he replies without any hesitation.

  “Do you want me?”

  This time, his body physically jerks as he takes a step back. He doesn’t necessarily seem horrified by my question, but he doesn’t appear receptive either.

  “Forget I asked—”

  “Yes,” he says, cutting over my words. “I want you, Sin, but it’s probably a stupid idea to go there.”

  “Yeah…” The resignation and disappointment in the one-word answer is heavy. I turn toward the bar, intent on setting my glass there. “Coming here was probably not the brightest idea. It’s always a bad idea for work colleagues to sleep together.”

  I make it no more than two steps before he says, “We’ve worked together before and still fucked.”

  Pausing to glance over my shoulder, I wait for more.

  “It’s because feelings will get involved if we go there,” he continues, and there’s a fluttering in my chest. If he’s worried about developing feelings again, it must mean he forgives me.

  I give a half shrug, trying for nonchalance. “We could agree it’s nothing but sex.”

  “Agr
ee not to let our feelings get involved?” he inquires as he starts to prowl toward me. Something changes within his expression. A definite interest and a hint of slyness.

  “Sure.” I turn in his direction, once more shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I mean… we used to get so juiced up after a successful heist, remember? We’d go back to our apartment and fuck for hours.”

  Saint groans, his eyes darkening. He advances on me, stopping when we’re toe to toe. “You had to remind me of that, didn’t you?” His tone is threatening, and it causes my skin to tingle.

  Tentatively, I put a hand on his chest, hoping he sees the earnestness deep in my eyes. “I’m sorry for what I did to you, Saint. If there’s one thing I wish you would believe, it’s that I was crazy about you. I thought I was doing what was best for your safety. It was stupid, but I never meant for anything bad to happen to you. Never in a million years did I imagine it would affect you and your mother—”

  His kiss is so hard it knocks me backward. But it doesn’t matter because he slides his arm around my waist to hold me tight. He brings his other palm up to cup the back of my head, rendering me immobile while he plunders my mouth.

  Winding my arms around his neck, I kiss him back with all I have in me.

  Saint pulls me tighter against his body, groaning deeply, and I feel him start to harden against my belly. Tearing his mouth away, he mutters, “Goddamn it, Sin… this is so fucking stupid.”

  “Sex only,” I gasp. It’s meant as a reminder as he picks me up and carries me into the bedroom.

  “Sex only,” he growls before he’s kissing me again.

  He tosses me on the bed, but he only pulls me right back off so he can undress me. Clothes go flying; some get torn. But who the hell cares? This is well worth a ruined dress. It’s easier to get me naked. While I work on his clothes, he’s trying to touch me, which is too distracting.

  “Hold still,” I demand, tearing his shirt open.

  Saint bats my hands away. “You’re getting in the way.”