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“Right.” I snap my fingers. “Not part of the normal catering company. Hired for the night, or took over somebody’s shift last minute.”

Blond brows lift. “You think he’s not supposed to be here.”

Those words hang between us, the implication behind them. The weight of them—on me anyway. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve let anybody in like this, invited someone along for the ride.

Is that what I’m doing here?

“Nope.” I pop the P at the end of the word. Silverback doesn’t belong, and now we both know it. Weird.

Focus, Jax. “Don’t think he’s the only interloper either.”

More words I shouldn’t say.

I don’t point out Beanpole Troll directly, but my eyes skate across the room to find him. Could be a safe cracker, I guess, but his fingers don’t look right, lacking the dexterity mine have gained over years of practicing my craft. So again, something a little less elegant, a little more—

“He’s got friends?” Blondie asks, maybe following my gaze. Maybe not. I’m too scared to check. This is fucking stupid, and I should definitely pull away now. I don’t work with people—learned that the hard way a few times over, starting with Mr. Saborn himself—and I don’t let things get personal. “Why do you care?”

Why indeed? Why am I here?

What do you want, Jax?

What, exactly, do I want from this little shitshow?

But before I can answer his question or mine, a flash of red draws my attention. I let my eyes skate away from Beanpole—dammit! The redhead has returned to the room. Naturally, she’s beelining our way.

Double dammit.

Well, Jax. Time to get this shitshow on the road, I guess. As much as I love fucking with cops, I don’t really want to be under the deeply scrutinous gaze of two of them. And, you know, prior obligations and all that.

I almost sigh aloud.

I don’t want to part ways with my new friend. Even if he is a cop. Especially if he is a cop. Which he’s not technically, but he’s . . . something I might not mind investigating a bit more. But alas. I’m already investigating someone. I’m double booked.

Who knew I’d be so popular?

“I’ll let you decide what to do with all this shiny new information,” I say, sliding back a step. He whips toward me, but I’m still backing away. I ain’t gonna allow myself to fall into whatever this is. This strange, twisting pull between us. No way, no sir, no how. Don’t let it get fucking personal, Jax. “Besides, maybe I’m one of the folks who don’t belong.”

His jaw slackens, and I shoot him a wink. “Guess we can’t be friends. ’Cause I’m actually here to rob this party for my aunt—or was it cousin?—Tilly. Telilah? I never remember all the dumb shit I say. Whatever. But if you’re a cop, that kinda puts a damper on our relationship. So . . . bye!”

I slip off into the crowd before he can protest or reach for me, or probably process all the weird-ass shit I just said. Good. Never let a heist get personal, that’s like, the first rule of heisting.

But even as I fade away, I know I’m lying to myself. This, being here, this fucking non-heist, it’s personal as fuck, and I know it. Probably gonna get me caught, if not killed. But I’ll make sure I don’t come out empty-handed.

Call it a piggyback heist.

Jax Winter’s still gonna win this night.

six

Making a Move

After I part ways with my beautiful new friend—how I would’ve loved to have stayed to chat more—I resume my place flitting like a butterfly through the crowd. All vapid, dimpled smiles and empty laughter, light grazes of fingertips against elbows.

But because I’m me, and I simply can’t resist shiny pretty things, I let my eyes stray toward that blond man stationed in the corner like a soldier on patrol. Just for a second.

Just long enough to watch him slide his fingers into the rear left pocket of his dress pants. He withdraws, and the way his lips part, the way the redhead tilts her head back in a bark of laughter that’s lost to the crowd, I know they loved my parting gift.

Man.