“You know I haven’t done that in years. This is a bank job. Private deposit boxes. Jewelry, Rolexes, untraceable cash. High value.”
“Yeah?” His interest piques. “What do you want me for?”
“We’ve got a full crew, and it’s competent.”Except for the new boys. One of them in particular.“But I’m cautious, and…”Uncomfortable. Especially with the new boys. One of them in particular.“…like to have options.”
“Fifty percent?” Lou says hopefully.
“One, it’s a cut of my share, not the job. Two, twenty percent tops.”
I let him beat me up to twenty-five. It’s worth it, knowing I have an ace in the hole.
On this job? I know I’ll need it.
Three
Raven
Palm Springs a day before Fourth of July weekend is shifting to holiday mode. People heading out, restaurants filling up, tourists descending. It’s 7 p.m., still light, dusk not quite here. The bank is closed and full up with maximum cash levels. We hope.
Declan Hale’s sitting on his bike next to me, feet on the floor, one elbow resting on the tank. He even lounges with grace. He’s on a Honda CBR; stolen, just like mine for this job. I chose a Yamaha R6, because it’s closest to my Ducati. Balanced, flows well, and really damn light. I quite like it, even though it’s not as beautiful as my baby.
Kawasaki is behind me. I can feel his eyes boring holes into my back, and it makes my skin crawl. The stupid fuck is on a dirt bike. I did say something to Kurt, but he just shrugged it off with a ‘His choice.’
Kurt knows better than that. Makes me wonder if he doesn’t care—and if hedoesn’t, what did Kawasaki do to earn such contempt?
Aside from standing up in front of them all and suggesting, again, that I suck his cock.
Hale didn’t like that, did he? Probably because Kawasaki is such an asshole.
Enough of an asshole to get himself caught? That would be a problem forallof us.
I don’t get why Kurt is treating it so lightly, and it’s adding to my irritation.
We’re sitting on a side street a block from the bank. It’s a hot day and the bikes are running. One problem with relay devices: they run off spoofing the signal from the key, and that means we can’t shut the bikes down, because we don’t have the keys. If we stall out, we’re dead in the water. I unzip my jacket, trying to get some air flow.
Hale glances over, the motion drawing my eye. His gaze rests on the skin I’m showing, maybe on the tattoo on my upper chest that disappears into my strappy top. It’s a botanical branch with flowers and thorns together, following the curve around my left breast, down my flank. No one’s seen it in full beyond Tasha. It’s some of her best work.
My earpiece crackles, then Tasha speaks.“Done. Cameras are looping, alarms are off. Eight minutes.”
Four for the monitoring company to respond to the bank going dark. Four for the cops.
“Move.”Kurt’s voice snaps out.
Thirty seconds of nothing but ambient sound. Footsteps, a door, the soft click of something electronic giving way. My pulse pounding in my ears.
“Cellular’s jammed.”Tasha again.“Silent alarm should be inactive. You’re invisible.”
“Vault room.”Dario’s voice, low and quiet.
There’s a smack and a muffled cry. I wince. A shout of alarm, with another cry following swiftly.
“You’re getting sloppy,”Cole murmurs.
“He was in the fucking can!”
“Focus.”Kurt pulls them back in.
“Seven,”Tasha says, unhurried.
