Exactly seven minutes to complete the mission.
The countdown has begun.
I watch with bated breath for what feels like a horrific lifetime but is no more than a couple of seconds, as the panel flashes to red, sending the alarm notification. But then, it calms back to green.
The fingerprint passed.
“Thank you, Ms. Fields.” I wrench off the glove and drop it back into the bag.
I crouch and drag out the iPad, thrumming with nervous energy.
Next I must pass the facial recognition.
I have to stop myself from cringing because holding any electronic device is breaking the number one staff rule of the hotel, supposedly to promote ultimate discretion for guests.
I turn the device on, hoping that this will work. A disturbingly accurate deep fake of Maya’s face appears.
I raise the iPad up to the panel as quickly as I can.
The panel flashes red.
Shit, shit, shit.
I try not to shake and force myself to hold still and not run.
Finally, the panel settles back to green.
“Passed.” I puff out a breath, and my shoulders slump.
Without allowing myself a moment to recover from the shock, however, I drop the iPad back into the bag.
Now, onto the third and hardest part of the heist.
I have to actually prove that Omegas have a true savant ability with their enhanced senses and are the best safe crackers.
Less than seven minutes will be hard but I can do this.
When I drag the stethoscope out of the bag, however, despite my concentration on the mission, the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly rise.
Someone is creeping up behind me.
I twist and grab the person by their arm, slamming them against the safe. I press my hand over their mouth to muffle their protest.
I find myself staring into the startled eyes of my Omega soulmate.
Piper and I gaze at each other in shock.
What the hell is Piper doing breaking into the penthouse in the middle of the night, dressed in a black hoodie that hides his dramatic outfit and distinctive hair?
Also, he’s wearing a black mask that would make him unrecognizable to most people, especially as he’s drenched in a scent blocker. With his swagger, most people would assume that he was least a Beta.
Except, I would never mistake my own soulmate’s midnight green eyes.
Why didn’t I realize that the Idols weren’t normal guests?
The tour? The men’s backgrounds? The secret that they were trying to hide?
“You’re a criminal,” I blurt.
