Page 103 of Stealing Blinds

If I take an honest look at all I’m facing, that’s probably not the concern to home in on. I might not survive this last job. The risks were astronomical before I decided to double-cross the man who’d murdered my father. Now, I find myself in the crossfires of two cabals. I don’t think it’s pessimistic to say this scheme might not go well.

And then there’s the going-to-jail possibility. That lurks in the wings of any job, but this one seems to have the odds stacked against it. And if I did finally get caught, I’m willing to bet my prison sentence would be incredibly short because my father’s fate would find me.

So, I might as well enjoy this time with Cash and worry about the longevity of it on the other side of the heist. That mindset is liberating. Of course, as he scrubs me and combs my hair and pampers me, like I’m something precious to care for, I can’t help but wish for us both to have a very long life, where his gaze never strays.

In another example of magnificence in the mundane, I stand in my towel, hair dried and makeup on, staring at the plethora of outfits I have to choose from in his massive closet. I’ll never tire of seeing him in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Sadly, he dresses in less than five minutes. When a suit without a tie is the primary option for nearly any occasion, it makes the decision easier.

“I’m going to do it,” I say as I peruse the summer options, settling on a tan and white linen outfit that will fit beautifully without a bra, which is something I appreciate even more than fashion. “I’ll meet with Axel, call E, and get you yahoos ready to pull this off with me.”

“Yahoos,” he parrots with a chuckle, pinching a ticklish spot below my ribs as I wiggle into my pants with a yelp. He uses my distraction to pull me closer, studying my face in the mirror. “Is this what you want for you? I don’t expect you to do something that doesn’t sit right.”

I button my pants and grab my top, not taking my eyes off him. “It will help your sister?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t see how it’s even a decision.”

“Because”—he glides his arms across my waist, securing my undone top to my breasts and me to him—“Rena and her family mean the world to me, which is why I’m grateful that she has Ty and the other couples who protect her. Between that and us, she’s well cared for. And you have me and my family to do that for you.”

My pulse goes haywire. This man.

“That only strengthens my answer.” I spin to face him, zipping up the bandeau-style top while responding with something he’ll relate to. “You told me shooting those men was the easiest choice for you. I’ve had time to digest that, and it would’ve been for me too. Not because murder is ever something I’ll be comfortable with, but because if it was them or you, there’d be no hesitation.” I glide my fingers along his lapels. “Using my skills to do a job I’m already hired for so your sister and her family can be with all of you again is like taking the easiest shot.”

He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering there to convey his gratitude. “Thank you, baby.”

“Of course.”

“I’m going to take care of some work things. I’ll be ready when it’s time for you to train me and the rest of the yahoos.” He grins and lifts my chin, his lips commanding mine in a parting kiss.

Every swipe of his tongue sends a bone-deep chill through me. I let myself believe this could be real—that this could be always. That we’ll survive. And be free. That I’ll meet Rena, and she’ll join us for family dinners, and all of it will be the result of me defeating my father’s killer. He’d be proud of that. Because as much as he wanted me to be an Olympian, he cherished family most.

With that thought still lingering in my mind, I finish getting ready. But when I’m about to head to Axel’s office, my phone beeps with a FaceTime from my mother.

I plop onto the bed and answer. “Hey.”

The blackout curtains and skylight blinds are open now, so the room is illuminated in a sandy haze of sunlight with a gorgeous sliver of NOLA behind me.

Her face fills the screen. “There’s my sweet girl. Look at the view. You’re glowing.”

I skip over her maternal compliment and address my nonsensical blathering from our previous call. “I’m sorry about last night. I was overwhelmed and a little frantic.”

“I share that response.” Her curls are piled on top of her head today—a necessity when the Florida humidity strikes, even as she sits in her air-conditioned office. “Although I’m not completely shocked. I knew the help E gave your father came at a hefty price. I just …” She trails off, reluctant to allow herself to spiral into the grief of missing my father. “I spoke with Axel last night as well.”

“Oh good. You called Flora though, right? I don’t want her to be afraid.”

“I told him the same.” She roots around her desk drawer, probably for a cigarette. “She’s here with me, and there are five plain-clothed friends roaming our street.”

“I bet you love that.”

She pats her curls theatrically. “I feel very important.”

“Well”—I arch an accusatory brow—“it’s a good thing you didn’t rent the house out.”

“It led to better plans indeed.” She peers down the bridge of her nose with her brand of unapologetic smugness before switching gears. “Flora wants to talk to you. I haven’t given her any details because I wasn’t sure what you would or would not approve of. But she obviously knows things are escalating. And she’s stressed.”

I’m well versed at reading between the lines. “Is she sick?”

Heightened stress makes Flora’s blood sugar difficult to manage. It’s detrimental to her overall health and leaves her feeling lousy.