Kane huffed a short laugh. “I said that if she helped us get to the necklace, I’d give her the rest of the Waterhouse display. Told her it would go for thousands of pounds.”
Fletcher’s eyes widened, mouth thinning perceptibly. “God above, Kane. Do you know how much harder that’s going to make things? The theft of a necklace might not draw attention right away, but stealing the entireexhibit? And just how do you figure we’ll be able to get out of the Crystal Palace without getting caught?”
“Relax.”
“Relax? Kane, you’re an apt thief, but you’re not a god.”
“I never claimed to be,” Kane said, a resigned sort of calm settling in his bones. “I have no intention of stealing the Waterhouse jewels. I’m not mad.”
Fletcher shook his head, lips parted as understanding took hold. “You’re going to double-cross her.”
“It’s perfect, don’t you see? I promised her something I can’t possibly deliver until the task is already complete. That way there’s no backing out. We get the necklace, we escape, and she’s none the wiser until it’s far too late.”
“So it’s a con.”
“Of course it’s a con.” Kane would do what he could to keep Zaria happy while she worked with them, and then he’d cut her loose. What other option did he have? Ward had made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate further delays. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly turningmoral.”
Fletcher’s mild gaze tracked Kane’s progress as he paced the length of the room. “Never. But if you ask me, a girl who deals on the dark market isn’t the kind of girl who will be easy to trick.”
“She may deal on the market, but she’s just a regular girl,” Kane insisted. “We’ve tricked far more dangerous people than her.”
There was a long pause before Fletcher said, “All right. If you think it’ll work. If you really think she can help.”
“I know she can.”
His reply came out harsher than he’d meant it to. Light slanted across the table, dulled by the grit-stained window, and the moment that followed was too quiet until Fletcher made a sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t, Kane.”
“Don’t what?”
“Make that face. It’s your self-hatred face.”
Kane wondered how his friend could tell the difference between that and his regular expression. “It is not.”
“This isn’t about Mendoza, is it? What’s the problem?”
No, it wasn’t about Zaria. She didn’t matter; she was merely another moving part for Kane to contend with.
“I’m just tired.” He set his jaw against the lie. Hewastired, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was this: He and Fletcher were about to embark on their last job together. They’d either fail, and Fletcher would die, or they would succeed, and Fletcher would leave. If it was the latter, Kane would be glad, but he would also be alone with Ward once more.
Sometimes Kane toyed with the thought of killing the kingpin. Of watching his eyes glaze over and feeling his body go cold. Of leaving this hellscape of a city and never looking back.
But Kane knew that wherever he went, Ward would follow, at least in spirit. He manipulated Kane’s life the way a puppeteer pulled strings. Somehow Kane had spent so much time despising Ward that the man had become an integral part of him. Was that love? It didn’t feel like it. It felt like something slimier, something far more painful.
It felt like self-destruction.
“When do we meet with Mendoza, then?” Fletcher said, and thesoft lilt of his voice made Kane wonder if it wasn’t the first time his friend had asked the question.
He stopped pacing, eyes darting to the door. Outside, rain fell in an even sheet. He could hear it echoing against the converted factory roof.
“I told Zaria we’d meet tomorrow to discuss what we need from her,” Kane said eventually. “We can’t do much but take it step-by-step.”
“And where exactly are we meeting?”
Despite everything, Kane couldn’t help a smirk. “Every job starts with a stakeout, Fletch. Surely you know that.”
Fletcher inclined his square chin. “So we need to pay the Exhibition a visit ahead of time.”
“Yes. And I think it would be rather nice if we had security on our side, don’t you?”
