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The soft purr of his voice crawls up my spine like a warm caress of the tenderest fingers, knocking my nerves into overdrive. A sharp thrill uncurls in my stomach, like danger mixed with arousal. The sort of feeling you get only when you know how fucking stupid something is—and that makes you want it that much more.

“Oh, wow. Checking pockets!” I can’t help the grin that snags the corner of my mouth in an upward tilt. “We’re already onto the feeling-up stage of this relationship? Okay, that's moving kind of fast, but I’ll allow it.”

Fuck is wrong with me? Fear and desire hollow out the pit of my stomach in a tumultuous tumble.

Tick-tick-tick goes the clock . . . Maybe I should just run.

He groans. “You really are always like this?”

I don’t run.

“Nah, man. Everything’s a show, you know?” I lift my left shoulder in a shrug, then for some reason, offer him a little bit of bald truth. “I’m just playing the character I think’s gonna throw you off the most.”

Get me out of here the fastest. Nick’s on the move, so I need to be too. Right? That’s what this is all about.

“I feel like that might be the first true thing you’ve said all night.” That soft contemplation again. “Chameleon.”

The word hits like a punch. Feels like something. Like a prickle behind my ribs, a clench of my stomach. Almost makes the clock in my head pause.

Chameleon.

That word.

Focus, Jax. Get out of here. It’s just a coincidence. “So, you gonna poke around in my pockets or let me roll?”

The words don’t come out quite as confident as usual.

“You’re going to make it weird if I do?”

“So weird.” I flash him one of my very best grins to hide the tension in my gut, but even so, the smile’s strangely genuine. “Or instead, you could help me.”

What did I just say?

Tick-tick-tick. This is a stupid fucking risk.

I take it anyway.

He crosses his arms. “Help you? Do what? Steal?”

“Nope. Already done with that—according to your pocket theory. Nah, we can take down a bigger baddie.” More truth. More than I’ve dared to hand out to anyone before. “The one our bulky friend the Silverback works for. Prevent a robbery.”

“You’re telling me, you’re what . . .” His left brow tilts over the top of his mask. “. . . hunting a thief?”

I snort. “Thief? Hardly. This guy’s amateur hour. But I want to know what he’s after.”

“Why?”

Why. Why indeed.

Tick-tick-tick.

Count on this guy to ask the tough questions I don’t want to answer—because I don’t have answers. Because despite all the work and research I did into this heist, there’s still one important question I haven’t bothered to think about

Why.

What do you want, Jax?

Dangerous.