I gave him a half-grin.“Sometimes standing out is the best way to hide.”
He shook his head at me.
Our backpack contained vacuum-sealed museum staff uniforms hidden in the lining, along with additional facial disguises should we feel the need to use them in the case of a great escape. We filled the visible sections of the bag with common tourist items like umbrellas, maps, and guidebooks—anything to help us get through security checks without arousing suspicion.
Arriving at the museum, the line to get in was long, as expected, but without incident. Once through the entrance, we casually explored a few rooms until we found a less-trafficked restroom where we could change.
Dressed and ready, we staggered our exits ten minutes apart.Nash went first. I waited at the mirror, fiddling with the earpiece and my name tag.
Nash’s job was to be the lookout. It was the safest role for him. If someone recognized him, it wouldn’t raise any alarms, and he could play it off as though they’d brought him in as a trusted person to help control the holiday crowds. He would be my spare set of eyes on the floor, guiding me through the masses.
Earpiece in, I checked the radio connection with Nash.“You there?” I whispered.
“In the Baroque wing,” he replied cooly.“It’s quiet in here at the moment.”
I slung the backpack over my shoulder and left the restroom, strolling from room to room in that direction. I took it slow and easy, attempting to appear casual, even going so far as to offer patrons a few pertinent facts about the art where I could.
“Stop showing off,” Nash teased over the earpiece while I was mid-lecture with a lovely older couple over a Matisse.
I stepped away from them, whispering,“Afraid I know more about art than you do?”
Nash scoffed.
“Are you nervous the mighty art specialist is being outdone by the mafia baby?” I asked.
His deep chuckle reverberated in my earpiece.“You can’t out-bullshit a bullshitter, mafia baby.”
I grinned.“Ah, but I am an expert bullshitter—maybe even better than you.”
With my hands clasped gently behind my back, I rounded the corner, approaching the Baroque wing where the Rembrandt was housed. I felt my heart rate pick up, the intoxicating adrenaline flooding my limbs with electric energy. This was it. I tapped my thumbs, my fingertips hot with anticipation and the need to steal, but a loud shattering sound interrupted me.
I halted.
Spinning slowly, my ears perked up.“Nash? What the fuck was that?” I whisper-hissed.
There was static on his end, then a cursed,“Shit.”
“Nash?” I asked again.
Screams erupted, then more crashing and commotion, louder now. I ducked on instinct, only spinning when I heard fast and heavy footsteps approaching. Behind me, a large security officer jogged in my direction, his eyes wide and fixed on mine. His hand went to the weapon on his belt and he gripped it.
My throat tightened. Fuck. This was it; it was over. How had they found out about us so quickly?
The now pent-up adrenaline narrowed to a pinpoint, and I was ready to explode into action, but I couldn’t decide whether to run or keep up the ruse. Would this security guard shoot me? Or was there a way I could grab the weapon from him?
I sized him up. He was a rotund and lumbering man. I could take him. Standing my ground, I played out my ignorance, adopting a look of confusion.
“Hey,” the man huffed out. He was slowing down as he got closer.
“What’s going on?” I stammered the words for effect.
The guard stopped in front of me, leaning against the wall to catch his breath, his utility belt jangling. It would take no effort to outrun him.“Something’s happening in the atrium,” he breathed out.“The skylight broke. Hurry, didn’t you hear the orders? They need backup; all staff are to report. I think it might be a heist.”
Shock was an understatement.A heist? Not my heist, that’s for sure.
Was Nash up to something?
A bead of sweat gathered on my brow, threatening to run down my face and betray my cool. It’s not like the sweat would matter anyway; the guard was well on his way to full condensation mode, moisture dripping from his brow to the floor in an almost steady stream.
