The table goes on to discuss the MacTavish net worth as I serve the rest of the plates.
Just serve up dessert, and they can stuff themselves with lemon mascarpone mousse, ginger shortbread, and pistachio ice cream while I get to work,I tell myself.
God, I’mstarving.
Unreasonably, I resent these entitled MacTavish bawbags for their excellent cuisine that is distracting me. A loud laugh to my right makes me glance over to see Dougal MacTavish, a pretty girl on each side of him giggling at whatever feeble joke he must have made.
Dougal.
I hate him. I hate that my treacherous fingers have made their way inside my undies more than once to the memory of being pressed up against him that night at the docks.
Well, stealing the most precious of the MacTavish treasures tonight will just have to make up for it. I make another round of the table, trying to keep my grin from stretching to feral proportions.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for joining us at the MacTavish ancestral home this evening.” Lady Elspeth MacTavish’s clear voice rings out over the crowd and I mentally crack my knuckles.
Time to get to work.
Lifting my tray over my head, I head down a side hall leading toward the kitchen. A guard is standing in front of the door that I know leads to the main study. Of course, the MacTavish Mansion has five studies and a magnificent library, the pompous arseholes. However, the room I’m looking for will be on the other side of the one he’s guarding.
My tray has a litter of empty glasses and crumpled napkins, so to anyone paying attention, it looks like I’ve just been cleaning up stray, leftover drinks from the cocktail hour.
“Oof!”
“Ah, lass. Are you awright?” Big hands grip my arm and the tray, steadying me.
Dougal.
Well, goddamnit. Does the Universe hate me? Is one of the Lesser Gods of Catering displeased with my disguise?
“Oh! Oh, I’m fine. My pardon for walking into ya.’” I mumble, head down. To my relief, there are a couple of discarded glasses on the display table next to us. “Just tidying up. I’ll get back to it.”
Chancing a quick glance up, I see the concerned expression on his stupidly handsome face. Square jaw with a light beard, sculpted cheekbones, and those eyes… pure dead brilliant. The color of the ocean. The Mediterranean, though. Not the dark and stormy waters that crash against the beaches here.
He’s still got his hand on my arm and his touch burns. Not in a bad way but he shouldn’t be touching me at all.
“Could ya’ let go of me, sir?” I try to chuckle, “I’m on a bit of a schedule to clear up.”
The handsy bastard blinks and withdraws his hand. “Of course. I know the waitstaff has been relieved of duties when the fireworks begin. You should slip out to watch it, the pyrotechnics team has gone all out this year.”
“Oh… well, thank you, sir. Have a good night.” I scurry off before the Laird of the Manor gives me any more servant-based privileges.
So generous,I think sourly.
One more right and I’m at the right door. Unobtrusive, and painted a cream color to blend in with the rest of the wall. Even mundane things such as broom closets are disguised in this gigantic testament to excess. Tapping the recessed latch, the door swings open and I slip inside just before two security men turn the same corner. I can hear their low conversation and the discreet chatter from a headset. Once they’ve passed by, I set down the tray, pull my headlight over my forehead, and get to work.
There is a safe behind this bland, plastered wall. It’s covered in wallpaper, a faded rose pattern that perfectly disguises the lines of the safe’s door unless you know what you’re looking for.
Which I do. Pressing each of the corners of the hidden panel, I watch as it swings out at me. There in all its glory, is aDiamond TDR Seriessafe.
“Hello, gorgeous,” I purr as I open a little bottle and pull out three latex pads. They adhere easily to my fingertips and hold the thumbprint of Conrad, Conrad Senior, and Lady Elspeth’s. “TheDiamond TDR Seriesis torch and drill resistant,” I mumble, “and any unexpected movement triple locks the titanium bolts for a period of forty-eight hours and sets off an alarm on the phone of every MacTavish alive.”
I press the first print, Cormac Senior’s, on the scanner. A red ‘one’ pops up on the monitor.
“The super alloy armor plating on all four walls, and top and bottom make the safe crush resistant…” The second print is Elspeth’s, and the number ‘two’ appears.
“The safe is impenetrable to any attempt to blow it apart,” I whisper, gloating as the ‘three’ that appears with the touch of Cormac Junior’s thumbprint turns into an incomprehensive stream of symbols and then the lovely, lovely click of the safe door’s bolts withdrawing and the door opens at a mere touch.
Sometimes, the best approach is the easiest. I collected all three thumbprints from their used drink glasses earlier in the evening.
