Okay. Now I just have to figure out what to do with myself for the next two days.
I’ve never been more excited to return to work. Because the next time I clock in, Chris will be here.
2
CHRIS
No strings.No attachments. Nothing that could potentially land you behind bars.
That’s my code. I’ve been living by it since I was first locked up at nineteen. It’s not some crap I picked up from Hollywood. It’s the reason I’m not dead or in prison.
Every guy I ever did a job with who got caught got caught because of something he couldn’t walk away from. A woman, a house, a kid. That’s not me. When you love something, it becomes a pressure point. And anyone can put pressure on that point and bring you to your knees.
Not me.
I have a rental in Pacific Beach with a month-to-month lease that I pay in cash. I’ve got a bed, a couch, and a duffel bag in the closet with fifty thousand in cash, two clean IDs, and unworn changes of clothes. I’ve got a car registered to someone that isn’t me, and I can be gone and out of town in the time it takes most people to find their keys.
That’s how I live a free life.
So why the hell can’t I stop thinking about a girl who works in a bookshop? Those thin legs, innocent eyes, and adorable voice.She wasn’t even trying to look cute, and that’s what made her devastating.
I’m in deep shit.
The warehouse sitstwo blocks off the 163 in a strip of industrial buildings that look like they haven’t been touched in thirty years. Danny rented it up front using a fake name and paid six months up front with cash, no questions asked. The landlord didn’t even ask for ID.
He’s sitting on an overturned milk crate when I arrive, boots up on a folding table, chowing on a breakfast burrito the size of his forearm. Marco is by the far wall, tacking fresh surveillance photos to a corkboard. Neither of them looks up as I come in through the door. We’ve been crewing together long enough that we know the sounds of each other’s footsteps.
“You’re late,” Danny says, mouth full of burrito.
“I’m two minutes early.”
“Which is late for you.” He grins at me. Danny is thirty-one, wiry, good with his hands, and quick with his mouth. We met eight years back in a job in Phoenix that went sideways. Together, we managed to get out without being busted. He’s also a degenerate gambler but is the closest thing I have to a friend in this business. “You eat yet?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re always fine,” he scoffs. “You know whatfinereally means? It means you haven’t eaten yet cause you’re too lazy to get something.” He tosses me a foil-wrapped burrito with a wink. “Carne asada with guac.”
I catch it one-handed and take a seat in front of him. “Let’s get started.”
Marco turns from the corkboard and comes over. Marco Silvia. Forty-four, former military, and the calmest guy I’ve everworked with. Never raises his voice, never loses his temper, and never moves faster than he needs to. He drives, handles logistics, and has inhuman patience. He’s been married to the same woman for nineteen years and has two daughters. They think he installs commercial fire alarms for a living.
“Bank’s clean,” Marco says. “No unusual foot traffic. No new cameras we don’t already know about. We’re good.”
I pull the blueprints from the tube and spread them across the table. The schematic shows the ground floor of Pacific Waves Bank and Trust, a mid-sized branch in the financial district with a vault that holds just over three million bucks on any given Monday.
“Monday morning,” I say, tracing the entry point with my finger. “We go in at nine-oh-five. They’ll have a skeleton staff, minimal customers. I’ll take the floor and employees, Danny, you take the vault, and Marco, you’re outside with the engine running. Ten minutes, in and out.”
Danny smirks, looking pumped and ready. “What’s the take?”
“Conservative estimate, three point two. Split three ways after expenses, that’s a million each.”
“Hell yeah.” Danny sits back, grinning like a skull. “Lisa’s been on me about a house in La Jolla. One with a pool where we can…have a little fun, if you catch my drift. After this, I’ll get it for her.”
Marco nods. “Carmen wants to open a bakery. She’s been talking about it for years. My youngest needs braces too. Gonna take care of all of that.”
I listen to them talk. Danny and his wife’s dream house. Marco and Carmen’s bakery. They’re not talking about money like it’s money; they’re talking about it like it’s a future. A life for them and the people they love.
I’ve never seen it that way.
