“Whoa!” I say, probably too loudly.
She snickers and runs quietly down the hall to the podiatry room. We enter and see that it’s more of a maze set up, with a front desk and reception area, and rooms behind that.
Which is probably a good thing. More places to duck and hide.
She’s making this fun, but my heart hammers in my chest as we race to the first room.
“This is just an office. We need a treatment room,” she says.
“You’re the boss,” I say.
She gives me an appraising look, like I better not forget it.
After trying two more doors, we locate a treatment room. Her eyes shine as she makes an O with her mouth. “This equipment is nice!” She points to a big, padded mat attached to a large screen on the wall. “I’ve always wanted one of those.”
I laugh, but she’s already opening cupboards. “That thing would do a better job of analyzing gait than our humble little set up, but it’s not like I can steal that!”
“We’re just borrowing the stuff anyway,” I remind her. Why am I a little nervous about this?
Probably because I’m realizing just how far gone I am for this woman. Nothing like being in a faux dangerous situation to make me realize that.
She opens a large cupboard door to display shelves holding various implements.
“Ah ha! Here they are.”
I have no idea what most of them are, but there are several that look identical, like small clocks with dials and an LED display.
“Yes! This is a nice brand.”
“So, that’s an inclinometer, huh?”
“Yep.” Her eyes gleam. “I’m grabbing two.” She frowns. “Uh, should I leave a note?”
I snort. “A note?”
“Yeah, so they won’t be alarmed that two of their inclinometers are gone. If you sign it, they’ll be happy you took them.”
“They have plenty more. Look.” I point to several of what seem like the exact same thing. “And that’s not how heists work. We’re not writing a note. We’re getting in and out. We’re legit.” I smile. “Until I can get a hold of my facilities rep contact and let him know.”
“You’re such a baddie,” she teases.
I tug her close. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I breathe her in. She smells of orange and vanilla, like a creamsicle. But not as sweet, more fresh and natural. Raw. My stomach clenches.
Her eyes dilate. “I haven’t decided yet,” she says as her gaze dips down to my lips. “But we need to move before the vacuummers get here.”
She carefully places the devices in her cinch bag, slings it on her shoulder and steps forward.
I gesture around the room. “Do you need anything else?”
She shakes her head. “We’re pressing our luck as it is.”
“You ready for tomorrow then?”
She takes in a deep breath. “It’s the last big thing I’ll do at the Early Childhood Center, so yes and no.” Her smile is wistful. “But it’s going to be great meeting so many new kids.”
“Seriously, Charlotte, I thought football players were hard workers. Dedicated. You’re putting all of us to shame.”
She just shakes her head. “We should get out of here.”
