Devon cocks his head, giving me a look. A look that saysDon’t dare insult me like that.
“Lay it out for me,” I say, with a smile.
He digs through the stack of papers and pulls out a floor plan. “This setup is gorgeous. Super hot. There’s no reason for how it’s laid out and that makes it exquisite.” He points to one section and asks, “The painting is believed to be in this room in the middle of the house, correct?”
“Yeah, it’s his trophy room, where he keeps those stuffed exotic animals he killed in Africa. I’ve found a few pictures from inside that room. There’s also one of those commercial cigar humidors and a tequila collection that’ll make your mouth water.” I pull a piece of paper from the pile. “And this drawing shows the addition made to the room shortly after that painting went missing. Looks like there was a false wall added that retracts. My best guess is that the painting, and whatever else he’s obtained illegally, can be hidden behind that wall if he’s got people in the room he doesn’t trust to see it.”
Devon studies the drawing of the addition, then goes back to the main set of blueprints. “You’ll need to be at the keypad outside the room where you believe the painting is kept”—then he moves his finger across the page, tracing lines that represent cables and wires—“while I’m here at the backup system to prevent it from kicking in right away. Neither can be accessed remotely. It’s devastatingly simple but chaotic. And you will only have maybe five minutes. Five minutes inside a room we haven’t seen, so there’s no telling what else awaits you there. No other way around it. It’s magnificent, really.”
He doesn’t have a special someone, but if he ever gets one, I hope he feels the same way about them that he does for a well-made security system.
“Why only five minutes once I’m inside? If you disarm it, does it not stay disarmed?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Nope. Mr. Tate has employed a system that records every second of what happens in that room and there’s an alarm that goes off if the feed is interrupted for longer than that amount of time. But I can’t override or bypass it because that systemis in the room. Can’t be accessed remotely either.” He points to two areas and goes into a complicated description of wires that need to be short-circuited and lots of other things that I don’t understand.
“The timing has to be perfect. Absolutely perfect. Down to the second. The alarm only rings in the guardhouse, so you won’t even know you’ve tripped it until it’s too late.”
Devon’s eyes continue to roam the plans, while his head shakes slowly back and forth like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “As much as I love this, it’s not right. I mean, who does this? I don’t like this for you. There’s something else going on.”
“I think it’s a game. I was already told I wouldn’t be the only one trying to get the painting.”
“But why?” he asks. “Is Smith sending multiple people in or are there some other players involved?”
“I think this is all Mr. Smith.”
“But why?” Devon asks again. “This doesn’t make sense.”
I shrug. “It wouldn’t be the first time he did something like this. I think he gets bored and decides to play games. Rich people are weird.”
Devon’s head tilts to the side. “Can you say no to the job?”
This gives me pause. “You really don’t think I should do it?”
“I don’t know.” He’s chewing on his bottom lip as he studies the drawings.
I lean forward trying to see it the way he does. “I’m not sure I can say no. I’ve never turned a job down.”
“I need some more time with this. How soon do you want to try for it?”
I shove a few fries in my mouth while I consider my next move. “I need to go to Austin for a few days. Tate is having a huge Fourth of July party at his house this weekend. Might be the best time to hit him if you can get it all figured out by then. Get everything we need while I’m gone.” It’s a risk putting it off since I don’t know who else or even how many other people are trying to get that painting, but it’s a risk worth taking, especially if Devon needs more time on his end.
I pause a moment before adding, “You’re going to have to find a way to get into the party. This isn’t a job where you can pull the van up close by and do your thing from there.”
He nods. “I know.”
Devon is comfortable in those dark spaces, behind the scenes, but that won’t be possible on this job.
I knock my foot against his under the table. “You got this.”
He drags a fry through a mountain of ranch dressing. “I guess we’ll see.”
This cover of “Sweet Home Alabama” would be pretty good if the lead singer wasn’t off-key and whiny, because the rest of the band is killing it. I bang my head to the beat regardless.
I got to Austin just before they took the stage and I’ve been front row for the entire show. The lead singer has noticed. He’s stared at my chest for the past two songs, so I pull my tight V-neck down a bit more to make it easier for him.
Once they finish the set, he catches my eye then nods toward backstage.
Shoving my way through the crowd, I push past the curtain to find him waiting for me. He pulls me in close and kisses me, hard, completely forgoing any introductions. I give him a little leeway before I pull away.
