“How do they get them out?” Walker asks.
“Two seam rippers,” I say. “One for each of them. Divide the papers, double the chances of some drawings getting where they need to be.”
“Nice!” Jansen says, dancing around the card table. “This will work. Can we all go to the orchestra? I want to see Clara again.”
Walker and I share a look. “I don’t see why not. I’ll send her a message so she knows we’re coming. But don’t get your hopes up. We might not actually get to talk to her. That’ll depend on their ability to break free from the rest of the family.”
Chapter 26
Trips
Another week, another series of meaningless sex for the camera, meaningful murmurs in the dark, and family obligations. Once again, my father demands we attend an orchestra concert, having donated buckets of money to host an event celebrating the soloist we saw last time. Gwendolyn Shaw is finishing up her residency, and my father must be there, front and center, proving he’s the pillar of the community he always pretends to be. Smart, charming, a patron of the fine arts, and a doting father to his three children. His story never mentions that Jessica is his third wife—or that his first two wives died because of his fists.
Can’t have the wealthy thinking he’s a violent criminal, even if that’s exactly what he is.
Clara’s wearing a plain navy sweater dress like armor, buckled into the middle seat like she usually is, while sleet cascades down on the windshield of the SUV. My woolovercoat repels the melting mess into droplets clinging to the fabric like it would a mirror. Clara’s rich brown wool coat shows the same, but that doesn’t stop me from pulling her against my side.
She’s been quiet since she saw the guys earlier this week, and I can’t tell if she’s mourning their absence or focused on her plans. And not for the first time, I wish we could talk to each other without worrying that my father will use our words against us. She melts into me, her head fitting under my chin like it’s always belonged there.
Falk clears his throat, the guard with a weak stomach his partner for the night. “I’m not sure your father mentioned it, but before the concert, there’s a meet and greet with the orchestra and a few other major donors. I’m supposed to remind you both to be on your best behavior.”
I know that, but I don’t know whether Clara did. Once again, communication has been the greatest impediment to this plan.
The other guard twists to glare at Clara in warning. A second later, she’s licking from my Adam’s apple up the line of my jaw and down the side of my neck, her teeth digging in as she flips him off. I barely hold back a groan, half hard from what is obviously a taunt, and when she pulls back, leaving my skin chilled, I snatch her chin, making her see exactly what she’s done to me. She smirks, then tucks herself back against me.
Brat.
God, what would I give to actuallybewith her instead of caught in this charade of what we really want? To explore theviolence that hums between us and see what sparks fly when we’re free to just…play.
Not that I have much practice playing. But with her? I’d be glad to give it a go.
I need more good memories, the ones she’s promised me when we get through this. Something to look forward to. Something to build toward.
Orchestra Hall is mostly quiet as we’re directed to the open space where the hobnobbing happens, my father and brother wearing matching grins as they shake hands and laugh too loudly. No one approaches Clara and me as we get our complimentary wine, only to have hers taken away by Falk. “Not worth my life. Sorry,” he says, disposing of the plastic cup.
Clara rolls her eyes, wearing her sassy nut-job persona for the second guard. “Spoilsport,” she whines, and Falk hides his grin with his hand.
He and I have managed a few more conversations while sparring, and while he doesn’t know where my father keeps the blackmail, he knowswhenmy father takes it to wherever he keeps it. There’s always a blank appointment on his schedule a few days after something goes down, and my father drives himself somewhere during that gap. He calls it ‘clearing his mind,’ if anyone asks, but Falk is pretty sure that’s when he moves the blackmail. Unfortunately, he knows only that.
It will have to be enough. I have three days’ worth of chances next week to get the info to the guys before Thanksgiving break. It’s the last piece we need to make this plan a success. That, and Jansen being healthy enough to do hispart. Which I can’t get a good read on, as the moments Falk has left me and one of the guys to talk have been short and sporadic, dependent on factors out of both of our control.
Clara only got that one chance earlier this week, and it necessitated this new persona she’s wearing tonight. She twitches, like she can hear I’m thinking about her, then folds herself against my side, her fingers digging into my chest. It’s a cue that whatever she’s going to say next is part of a plan that I’m supposed to go along with. “Question. Purses,” she says.
There has to be a reason for this sudden turn, but the only possible trigger I can see is the skittish guard coming closer. “What about them?”
“Do you think a stomach could be turned into one?”
God. This woman. I pretend to think it over when all I want to do is laugh. “Maybe. Might be too stretchy for a purse, though.”
“Hmm. That would be a problem. What about plastic knives? Do you think I could break the skin with them?”
“Plastic is sharp as fuck,” I answer. “Wouldn’t even need to be a knife. Break a spoon or fork right, and it might work just as well as your average kitchen knife. As long as you aren’t fussy about what else gets cut.”
She glances at the guard, tilting her chin, scanning him from head to toe. “I’m not very picky. Messy is more fun anyway,” she says.
She grins, a feral glow to her eyes, and the guard shudders.
“Shit,” falls from his lips, before he rushes to the nearest restroom. With a subtle glance at the growing crowd of donors and musicians, she links our arms, and half drags me to theother side of the room as I huff out a laugh. I have no idea where we’re heading, though. Once we’re hidden from the party by a grand staircase, she bounces on her toes, ready to run to Walker, RJ, and Jansen huddled out of sight of the crowd. Falk nods at the guys, then turns to watch for our other guard’s eventual return.
