The box that Papa sent me here to take is about half the size of a shoebox, black walnut with silver and iron fittings. It’s the only thing in the safe and positioned grandly on a little velvet stand.
“A pressure alarm,” I sigh. “Time to Indiana Jones this shite.” I always keep a bag of lead shot on my person when I’m working. It can be useful for times such as these, or handy if I need to bash some idiot unconscious. I have an app that acts as a digital scale, giving me the weight of the box so I can match it with the lead. It is approximate, so I have to be ready to run if I’m off by more than a milliliter or so and it sets off the alarm.
Weighing the bag of lead shot, I take out enough to match the measurements the app gives me and grit my teeth. The switch-off is the hardest part; each of the four points on the pressure pad has to remain stable with the same amount of weight.
“One…” I whisper between gritted teeth, “Two… three!” The bag is on the pressure pad and the box is in a hidden pocket sewn into my server’s apron.
Gotta go gotta go gotta go!Just because I didn’t hear an alarm doesn’t mean one isn’t clanging away somewhere.
I get the safe door closed, everything hidden in my many pockets, pick up the drinks tray and get the hell out of here. Just as I shut the hidden door of the coat room, I hear hurried footsteps coming down the main hall. Whisking around the back corner, I head for the kitchen at a well-bred speedwalk.
Chapter Seven
In which things do not go as planned.
Isla…
It’s not like I haven’t had to wiggle out of a job gone bad before.
There was that one on a Russian oligarch's pretentiously massive yacht, nowhere to go but overboard. But I’d stolen his scuba equipment first. Always leave yourself a way out.
Then, that job in Paris in the penthouse at the Ritz. That Eurotrash rich boy got really handsy, even after I roofied him. I guess being 50% arrogance and 50% party drugs makes a man a little resistant to Rohypnol. I had to send him into blissful unconsciousness by knocking his head against the granite bar. His bodyguards heard the scuffle and I took down two more before jumping from one balcony to the next.
But in the virtual belly of the beast- the MacTavish Mansion and surrounded by the family and their considerable army? This is spooking me.
Pull it together, I lecture myself,you’re almost out. Almost gone.
Ten steps to the back entrance… I glide through the massive kitchen with the industrial-level stainless steel appliances, bright and shining against the rustic rock walls. I pass the army of servers and cooks, steam swirling around the latter in their white coats as they shout at each other. Setting down my tray of glasses, I pick up one of the huge linen bags, already full of soiled napkins. Staggering a little under the weight, I take slow steps.No hurry… you’re in no hurry. Just another server doing menial things… nothing to look at here.
“Miss!”
I lean against the frame of the huge double doors that open out to the back courtyard, trying to keep the linen bag from slipping.
“Aye?”
It’s another dark-suited minion. “Have ya’ seen any of the guests go through this door?”
Frowning as I glance pointedly down at my burden, I shake my head. “I dinna’ see anyone, but it’s hard with twenty-two kilograms of dirty laundry in my face. Good luck to ya.’”
He moves past me, grabbing another server and starting the same interrogation.
Almost there… you’ve got this.Weaving my way to one of the catering trucks, I throw the bag in and slam the back doors shut. The nice thing about new vans and trucks? There’s so much electronica in these heaps of metal that there’s a universal digital key that starts 99% of them. Including this one.
Shite… more black suits assembling near the gates to the service entrance. I slow down, smiling pleasantly as one shines his flashlight right in my eyes, the bastard.
“Unlock the back of the van, please.”
“Aye,” I sigh a little dramatically. “I have all the time in the world, that’s certain.”
The other man quickly checks the back. “It’s clear.”
The one shining the flashlight in my eyes clears his throat. “Why are ya’ leaving so early? The event isn’t over.”
“Well, your guests eat like birds, it seems,” I chuckle pleasantly. Just two of the working class, sharing a moment. “So I have to run into town and fetch one of the refrigerated trucks to bring the leftover food back to the women and children’s shelter. Mind you get a big helping of that salmon before it’s gone.”
He chuckles, patting the van door. “Aye. Off you go then. I’ll look for you when you come back.”
My smile never falters. “Aye. Sounds grand.”
