“I took precisely as much time as I needed.”
The deed had gone better than anticipated, especially given that Julian Zhao hadn’t deigned to join them. Not that Kane had expected any issues. The late widow’s home they’d stolen the pianoforte from had been empty for nearly a week. Her eldest son had an estate in the country, Kane knew, and hadn’t yet arrived to deal with all his newly inherited belongings. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even notice anything was missing.
Zaria exhaled through her nose. “Have I fulfilled my favor to you, then?”
Kane pretended to think about it, rocking the pipe between his middle and index fingers. “I suppose.”
“I can’t believethatwas what you decided to ask for.”
“Oh, I knew what I was going to ask for the moment we made our deal,” Kane said, and it was the truth—the success of the heist relied on the instrument. “It’s always best to plan ahead.”
He saw Zaria’s shock betray her for a moment, but she clamped down on it almost immediately, refusing to meet his gaze. “Unbelievable. Can you escort me home now, then?”
Fletcher gave a slow shake of his head, amusement in the shape of his mouth. He unfolded his large frame and pushed away from the wall. “We still hoped to start going over the plan for the Exhibition’s opening.”
Zaria shifted her weight, glancing into the distance, then back again. The feeble moonlight caught her hair, gilding the strands.
“What?” Kane couldn’t help saying. “Do you have someplace else to be?”
“I assumed the planning session was canceled given thetheft.” She hissed the last word, though there was no one around to hear them.
“We don’t have a lot of time to pull this off,” Fletcher pointed out.
Kane wasn’t inclined to be quite so amicable. “A deal’s a deal,” he told Zaria. “And I want to ensure this one goes smoothly. So, if you have other plans, cancel them. If you don’t have time,makeit. It’s not up for negotiation.”
This time Zaria did meet his gaze, and Kane immediately wished she hadn’t. Her eyes were dark in the dim light. Dark and furious and bottomless. Looking into them was like being thrust headfirst into black waters and forgetting which way was up.
“Don’t speak to me like that,” she snarled, rounding on him. The air seemed to thrum with the force of her anger, and perhaps it should have made Kane contrite, but… helikedit. He felt alive even as he forgot how to breathe, and he thought that if this was what it was to drown, he would let the water fill his throat willingly.
Anger, Kane was beginning to think, was better than nothing. Better than the horrible emptiness that clung to his insides and lashed through his bloodstream. He liked to be near Zaria in the same way that he sometimes craved danger. He liked the taut curve of her jaw, the harsh line of her mouth, the twin juts of her brows as she stared him down in a way that would certainly make a lesser man cower.
Hate me, Kane might have told her, had honesty been a feasible thing just then.Hate me, so that we both know what it is to feel something.
But he was not an honest man. He was not even a kind man.
“I’ll speak however I like, Miss Mendoza,” Kane said. His voice was deathly quiet, balancing on a knifepoint. “This ismyoperation. Right now, you work forme, or you can forget the second half of our deal. Do not test my temper.”
He had known it would rile her up—had suspected he mightsuddenly be fielding curses—but Kane didn’t much care. He didn’t care that Fletcher had just uttered an audible sigh or that the street abruptly felt far too small for the both of them.
“Kane—” began Fletcher’s attempt at interference, but Kane held up a hand, effectively cutting him off. He turned back to Zaria. Daring her to say what she so clearly longed to.
Something crystallized in her gaze, and she took a step closer, chin tilting up to look him in the eye. For a heartbeat, Kane wondered if she might hit him. The line of her mouth thinned further, and the edge to her voice could have cut glass when she said simply, “You’re unbearable.”
Yes, Kane thought.Yes, I suppose I am.
He was the first to look away, and it felt infuriatingly like surrender.
Zaria didn’t speak all the way back to Moore & Sons. She walked sullenly behind them, her fury a tangible thing that prickled the back of Kane’s neck. He ignored it. The buildings on either side of them narrowed as they passed close to the river, then away again as they weaved through the alleyways. Shadows stretched long and ominous across the road. Kane could feel Fletcher trying to catch his eye, probably to shoot an exasperated look his way, so Kane pretended not to notice.
The night seemed to have grown colder by the time they arrived. Zaria’s shoulders were hunched as she shoved past Fletcher, not bothering to thank him for holding the door. Kane followed behind her, lifting a brow as Fletcher’s gaze finally met his.
Relax, Fletcher mouthed, and Kane only grimaced.
“Take a seat,” he said to the room at large, bringing a candle to life and setting it in the center of the dining table. He lit two more as Zaria slunk stiff-backed into one of the chairs, eyes never waveringfrom his face. It was difficult not to stare her down as he said, “Okay. Let’s take it from our point of entry.”
Zaria gave a single nod, and he waited a moment to see whether she would interrupt. When she didn’t say a word, Kane turned to Fletcher.
“Right,” Fletcher said. “Once again, I’ll be acting as security inside the Crystal Palace. Everything has been ironed out with Sergeant Price. Myself and his other trusted officers will be positioned closest to the Waterhouse exhibit.”
