Page 152 of Stealing Blinds

“That doesn’t really matter.” She sips her Diet Coke, leisurely leading the call. “I have to tell you something though.”

He sounds leery. “Okay.”

“It was the FBI—the note I got.”

“The Feds?” he hisses. “Fuck. Got a name for me?”

“No.” She blows out a heavy breath. “I gave the note to Axel Noire when I was staying with them. He dug into it and told me it was the Feds.”

“You should’ve gotten a name,” E grits out, jaw obviously clenched.

“Well, he just told me yesterday, so I was kind of busy.” She pauses, allowing her annoyance to loiter in the vacancy while Jax and I watch her with awe. “And now … I ran, so it’s not like I can dig further. It probably looks like—” She halts there abruptly, pivoting. “There’s something else.”

“Great,” he grouses.

Sylvie tamps down a smile, enjoying herself but aware that it might be heard in her voice. “Peter Fairfax alluded to the fact that he runs this cabal, and—”

“He told you that?”

“Yeah,” she replies easily, smoothing her hand over the pristine white tablecloth. “He said he had to take it over from some guy who got out of control. It just didn’t sit right with me. He wanted me to partner with him, and I … well …” She waits a beat, squinting teasingly at Jax for the pause that E is enduring. “Did you know that?”

“Peter is unstable, at best,” E sneers.

She takes a final swill of her soda and puts on her backpack before we all rise. “I hope so because he also said you were responsible for my father’s death.”

Silence for a good minute, until he eventually musters a believable, “Your father meant a great deal to me.”

“Like a big fat paycheck,” she counters, carrying the phone as we walk through the car to the exit. “He made quite a contribution to the billions in your offshore accounts.”

“And I generously took care of everything for him when he so carelessly fucked up,” he snarls. “What is this attitude?”

“I don’t know. Peter said all those things, and the pilot who was supposed to be flying me off the island was shot, along with Cash.” She intentionally infuses a quaver into her words as we stroll through the station, cruising in our makeshift outfits toward the door. “It has me shaken. Are you trying to kill me?”

“Of course not.” His placating tone is in full force. “Let’s wrap this up and let it all go. The train is here. Everyone is getting off. Where are you?”

“If I can’t see you,” she chides, “it hardly seems fair that you see me, but I made the drop.”

“Understood.” The sounds of him trudging through a crowd on the way to the designated box chime through the phone—conversations, crying kids, bells, and birds. “Where are you headed now?”

“Why?” She tsks, putting on her sunglasses as I do the same. “Since we’re wrapping this up, all that matters is where you’ll be.”

“It’s not here.” There’s pure panic on his end now. “Where the hell is it?”

As we strut out of the station under fiery-red and violet skies, my cunning girl can’t help but cast a dazzling grin my way. “Check the inner pocket of your jacket, Nigel.”

A jagged breath blasts through the phone. “Aces and eights?”

Ahh. Sly and Noire make an excellent team.

I placed those in his pocket on my way to the wine cellar.

Jax dips his chin to me, reinforcing what he told me earlier when I thanked him for not hesitating to jump with Sylvie. “She’s family and definitely your better half. Nothing is more important to me.”

“Some call that the Dead Man’s Hand,” Sylvie says. “It’s what Wild Bill Hickok was holding when he was shot in the back of the head.” She laughs as we spot Axel and Zara up ahead, waiting for us. “But don’t worry. I’m more creative than that.”

Timing is everything, and only seconds pass before we hear a different voice through the phone—albeit slightly distant. “Nigel Edward Dryden, I’m Special Agent Terrance Vargas, conducting an investigation with the Belgium authorities. We need you to come with us.”

“I’ll find you,” E warns. It’s chilling, but doesn’t faze my girl in the least.