I lie there, staring at the condensation dripping down the metal ceiling as the van starts to warm slightly with the shitty little built in heater, listening to the distant wail of sirens. I’m cold. I’m uncomfortable. I’m alone. But my edge is back. The fear is gone, replaced by the familiar, numbing ache of isolation. I close my eyes.
Two days, I tell myself. Two days until the auction. Two days until I harpoon the whale.
And then... then I can go back to being Blue. Just Blue. Alone, safe, and finally unbroken.
Chapter 9 – Blue (February 12)
Waking up in the van usually feels like freedom. Today, it feels like a hangover without the fun of the party. I groan, shifting under the heavy pile of wool blankets that creates a small, warm cocoon against the frigid San Francisco morning. A small, warm weight grumbles against my stomach, and a wet nose nudges my chin.
"I know, Skip," I whisper, scratching behind her ears. "It’s cold out there. I miss the fireplace too."
Skipper burrows deeper, refusing to face the day. I don't blame her. The air inside Betty is biting, a stark contrast to the plush rug and gourmet treats she was enjoying just yesterday. I feel a pang of guilt. I dragged her back to the trenches because I was scared, and now she’s shivering.
"Sorry, partner," I murmur, kissing her head. "It’s just for a little while longer."
I force myself to sit up, the cold air hitting me again as the blankets fall away. My neck is stiff, and the silence of the van feels heavy. It’s just me and the dog. No smell of coffee brewing.No warm, heavy arm draped over my waist. No whirring of Damon's computer fan.
"You wanted this," I croak to the metal walls. "You wanted the edge."
I do have the edge. I’m cold, I’m hungry, and I’m pissed off. That’s usually the trifecta for a successful con. But as I slide out of the warm nest, I don't feel sharp. I feel brittle. I take care of business quickly using the cassette toilet hidden under the bench seat, the unglamorous reality of van life, and then dress in layers, shivering until I pull the heavy coat back on.
"Come on, Sheriff," I say, clipping the leash onto Skipper’s collar. "Patrol time."
We do a quick lap around the block for her to do her business. She does it with maximum efficiency, lifting a paw disdainfully at the wet pavement before scrambling back toward the van. I settle her back in the blankets with a bowl of food and a chew toy.
"Guard the fort," I tell her. "I'll be back soon to take us... somewhere."
I grab my toiletry bag and the bundle of Martha clothes, the grey slacks and the button-up blouse and lock Betty up.
I trudge three blocks to the 24-Hour Fitness where I keep a membership solely for the showers. The locker room smells of bleach and other people’s sweat, a far cry from the sandalwood and steam of the Airbnb. I stand under the hot spray for ten minutes, trying to thaw my bones, but the heat doesn't reach the knot of anxiety in my chest.
I dry off and pull on the costume. The fabric is stiff and uncomfortable. I tuck my red hair up under the itchy brown wig, add the brown contacts and slide the thick glasses onto my nose and then leave. I walk to the bus stop, keeping my head down against the wind and I let my shoulders slump and change my gait to more of a shuffle the closer I get to the Horizon Wellnessoffice. By the time I step off the elevator, all traces of the real me are gone.
"Martha!"
Gary’s grating voice beckons me. I turn, plastering on the normal shy, slightly terrified smile that Martha is known for.
"Good morning, Gary. I was going to get started on the reports for today."
Gary is wearing brown from head to toe today and I try not to cringe when he leans against my desk next to me, invading my personal space again.
"Sure, sure," he says, waving a hand. "Big day tomorrow, Martha! Big day! Make sure you have your travel bag ready. The bus leaves at 8:00 AM sharp."
"I’ll be ready, Gary," I say, adjusting my glasses and reaching to turn on my monitor for the day.
He drops a plastic badge on my desk. "Your access card for the estate. Don't lose it or security will skin us both alive."
I stare at the piece of plastic. It looks like any standard key card, an innocent piece of plastic, but it makes my stomach twist. I spent half the night staring at the metal ceiling of the van, replaying the briefing. The plan relies heavily on this card getting me into the service corridors without flagging a silent alarm. Damon’s looping the cameras, but he can’t loop a hardwired door log if the system has a secondary encryption he hasn't seen yet.
Trust the team, a voice that sounds like Andre whispers in my head.
Trust no one, my instincts scream back.
If this card has restricted access levels I don't know about, or if it triggers a 'zone violation' alert when I try to enter the executive wing, the heist is over before it starts. I need to know. I look around. Gary is distracted, yelling at an intern about coffee.
I could text Marcus. I could ask him to run the card’s serial number against the system he’s hacked. I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over the encrypted chat app.
No.
