Moving as delicately as I can, I turn the knob and find myself in an office with large glass windows that look out over a garage area, dimly lit by an overhead lamp in the corner.
Crouching low, I enter the office and shut the door behind me. Don’t need the guard coming into the hall for a bathroom break and seeing anything out of order.
I crawl across the floor to the entrance of the garage, pressing myself to the wall just inside the open doorway. After listening for a full minute, I can confidently say there is no one in the large room unless they’re trying to be as stealthy as I am.
Remaining low, I enter the space. There are eight cars in all states of disassembly. From what I know, Mike’s guys work fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if they break these down and have them gone by the end of the week.
Better to move hot product than hold on to it.
From my fanny pack, I pull out a small flashlight and my phone. After roughly fifteen minutes, I’ve found the VIN on each car and snapped a picture. By the time I’m done, I’m sweaty and covered in dust from crawling under the low carriages.
Knowing Charlie’s anxiety must be increasing by the minute, I send the photos to him with a brief message.
Luna: Almost done dont txt back
I scuttle like a crab across the garage and back to the office where I entered. Pressing my ear to the door, I don’t hear any footsteps, so I slip back out to the hallway. Just as I pass the door to the bathroom, I hear a toilet flush.
My body wants to freeze in panic. Bright fluorescent lights illuminate the hallway. Nowhere for me to hide. But I learned long ago how to ignore my panicked responses. With three long, almost-leaping steps, I reach the door to the stairwell, pull it open, slip inside, and let the thing swing almost all the way shut. I keep my hand braced on the cold metal, cushioning the door a centimeter away from the latch, avoiding even that small noise that could give away my presence. Through the slim opening, I listen to the bathroom door open—the guy didn’t bother to wash his hands, gross—and booted footsteps. The tread is slow, moving away from me.
Only when I hear the latch of a second door closing do I slowly guide the stairwell door shut.
On a long, low exhale, I ease away some of the tension.
But I’m not done yet.
Climbing to the second floor, I enter the office space. All the lights are off, the floor empty and eerily quiet. Not even the hum of AC.
On soft feet, I cross to my uncle’s office. He left the door locked. I crouch down and pull my picks out again, getting into the room easier than the roof entrance.
Unfortunately, the place seems to be empty. No stray papers lying around. No file labeledCriminal Business Plan.
In a cabinet, I find a combination safe. I try a few different number sequences on a wild hope, but nothing comes from it. If I used my impressive thigh muscles, I might be able to lift it,but no way could I jump across the gap between roofs. Besides, I don’t want my uncle to know anyone was here. Stealing his safe is an obvious tell. Wanting to do something with this, I snap a picture of the safe. Proof that it exists. Not much, but I’ll take anything at this point, not sure if the VINs will be a genuine threat if I ever need to play this hand.
When I leave the office, I make sure everything is the way I found it, including the locked door.
As I retrace my steps, I move with as much caution as I did when entering the building. Would be the perfect fuckup to get through all this, only to get caught at the last second. On the roof, I lock that door as well and make my way to the roof’s edge.
Finally, I slip off my ski mask, and the night air is cool on my exposed skin. I suck in a deep breath, experiencing a glow of triumph that’s quickly doused by the reminder of why I had to do this—and how similar to my father’s family I am at this moment.
Just another Lamont breaking the law.
But no time to wallow in that. Charlie’s waiting for me.
I jump.
CHAPTER 32
CHARLIE
The text should help calm my nerves.
It doesn’t. All I can see is Luna lying vulnerable under a car and some shadowy, hulking figure grabbing her ankles and dragging her out, and then …
Hell, I can’t even imagine what kind of retaliation her uncle would level against her.
For the first time since our wedding day, I feel like a true poseur.
Obviously, I must be a fake husband. Someone in a true marriage would never let their partner do something this dangerous alone.
