“Wish it were that easy.” Isaac crossed his arms, brow furrowing at the monitors. Larson didn’t even have personnel here. Security guards were only for after hours, and apparently, their little trial run didn’t count. “There’s no indication of an inside job. I’d blame it on their security system, but all the others hit like this used different companies. Whoever this thief is, they’re good.”
“Sounds like you.”
“They wish.” Isaac preened.
“You think about asking Willow G?”
“I did. You know she never gives up any clients.”
Willow G was the city’s most reputable information broker used by gangsters, thieves, and fences alike—and neutral enough to not have a grudge against Isaac. He’d known her for over a decade, and he still didn’t know what the G stood for.
“She swore that, whoever this is, they’re not using any fences. No one she knows anyway. She asked if it was me too.”
Cameras and alarms didn’t stop the truly savvy criminal but getting past even that minimal of security without leaving any breadcrumbs was a commendable feat. Isaac would have wanted to hire this person if his life had gone differently.
“Can’t make recommendations if we don’t know how the place got knocked over to begin with,” Luke grumbled.
“We can make recommendations about this pitiful arrangement.” Isaac gestured at the screens. “We’ll learn everything else we need soon enough.”
“How? By playing footsie with Wen?”
Isaac shot him a scathing look. “We’re through here. I’m sticking around to see how this plays out. I expect your report on my desk tomorrow morning.”
Luke grunted. He acted like brainless muscle, but he didn't miss attention to detail. That’s why he was so good in the field; no one expected the brute to be clever.
After he’d left, Isaac took the tracker out of his pocket to roll it between his fingers again.
“Hey, boss?”
“Yes, Riley?”
“Sounds like Wen is one building over, watching from the roof. Want me to patch you in?”
“Please do,” Isaac said, already turning for the exit to take the stairs.
There was a crackle over the two-way radio, a brief pause and a click, and then—
“—hours, man. It’s getting dark out, and instead of trying to earn us more clients, you’re obsessing over the one you lost this morning,” Kevin complained.
“I’m not obsessing,” Andrew said. “Ford knows as much as we do about this mystery thief, maybe more now. We have to get ahead of him, or we’ll be losing a lot more clients real soon.”
“And how much has your Batman routine delivered so far?”
Silence, which meant Andrew hadn’t gotten anything, exactly as Isaac had planned. He couldn’t learn much without breaking into Larson Manufacturing himself.
“Should I start checking the classifieds?” Kevin mocked. “You know, since we are dealing withArtifice. Here’s one: Annoyed man desperately seeking more sensible friend.”
“I’ll call it a night soon, okay?” Andrew said. “I just want to see what he does next.”
Isaac smirked, opening the door to the roof to meet the cool evening air. The hours had ticked by and it was indeed getting dark, but he stayed hidden for now, peering from the stairwell to see where Andrew was.
There—to his left. A good distance separated the buildings, but Andrew was visible standing in the corner of the opposite rooftop near a gothic statue of a gargoyle with its tongue lolling out.
“Can we get some real work done tomorrow?” Kevin said, though his voice was more humored than annoyed. He was young like Andrew, and as talented as Riley at handling tech.
Not enough to realize they were being eavesdropped on, however.
“Sorry, Kev. I’m not trying to obsess. I just couldn’t get Ford out of my head after this morning.”
