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Pop. Air whooshes into my lungs and I yank the safe open to reveal five rows of drawers, just waiting for me to glide them out and pluck out the pearls inside the oysters.

My brain counts down this next collection of seconds as my fingers tug the first drawer pull. Honestly, it doesn’t matter too much what I take, but the lovely sapphire necklace laid out on the soft velvet display will do nicely.

I swipe it up and into my pocket.

Close the drawer.

Close the safe.

Remove my chewing gum, keep my light pointed while I wipe down the camera, and slink back out the way I came. My ever-counting brain tells me the whole endeavor took one minute and forty-seven seconds. Good. Ahead of schedule.

I step into the hall. Slide my left foot forward—slam into something hard and unmoving.

Takes me half a second to realize it’s a person. A massive person.

A massive, muscular, and hard person, like a brick fucking wall. My heart leaps into my throat, almost instant panic clawing at my bones as I lunge backwards down the darkened hall—

Wait.

Freeze.

It’s him.

Him.

I halt mid-stride. The non-fitted suit, the fedora, the face cloaked in shadow beneath the mask. My Blondie!

My heart thunders into overdrive.

Why’s he here?

Should I be relieved to see him . . . or deeply concerned? “You’re supposed to be watching Silverback!”

The words tumble out without my permission. My skin prickles, like every hair’s stood on end, every nerve tingling. Good or bad? Excitement or anxiety? Thrill—or cornered dog?

“Who’s Silverback?” His voice bears no emotion, and in the shadows, I get nothing of his face. Nothing of his intentions, and I dunno what to make of that.

In my head, the internal clock tick-tick-ticks away. Gotta move, Jax.

Why is he here?

The scale of uncertainty tilts marginally toward anxiety. Still, I play it cool.

“Our beefy boy there. You know.” I set my shoulder against the wall, casual as fuck, ’cause ain’t no way I’m gonna show him my uncertainty, my fear, or the clock ticking away in my brain. “The waiter who doesn’t belong? Remember?”

“I remember.” He steps closer, eliminating half the distance between us. “But maybe I’m watching you instead.”

My nerves sing at his proximity. My heart rate kicks up a couple of ticks on the metronome.

Alarm? Curiosity? Desire?

I can’t tell what the fuck I’m feeling anymore.

Tick-tick-tick.

I slap on my best smile anyway, give my lashes a little flutter. “Aw, I’m so flattered! You think I’m that cute?”

“Cute?” His voice drops to a low, contemplative murmur. “Or maybe I just think that if I checked your pockets, I’d find something that doesn’t belong?”