But that doesn’t mean I can’t fantasize about him or the kiss we shared. I close my eyes and let myself revel in the memory for a few seconds. I don’t know why. It’s not like we’ll ever kiss again. But a girl can dream.
I breathe out a satisfied sigh and open my eyes.
I’m finally in the mood to shave my legs.
SEVEN
PARK
Finding Lacee Warren was easy.
All I had to do was follow the facts.
She had a charm bracelet with elements from the periodic table, and she worked at a lab with Dr. Nicholas Lawrence. A quick Google search with Nicholas’s name pulled up a list of employees at his lab in Boston.
Lacee Warren.
Twenty-eight years old.
Google gave me more information on her than I needed to know. But because Icaredto know, I spent an hour reading everything I could about her.
She graduated from Harvard with a Ph.D. in Chemistry and Chemical Biology. For the last two years, she’s been working under Nicholas Lawrence in a private lab doing research on nuclear fusion.
She’s smart. Her name is all over a bunch of research documents and innovative studies. I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t a turn-on. I’ve always had a weakness for brainiacs—the way they know so much more than me. Usually, when I walk into a room, I know my skills are the most impressive there. But not with someone like Lacee. Her mind could run circles around me. Put that redhead in some glasses and a white lab coat, and I’d be a goner.
But this train of thought is all hypothetical.
Hypothetically speaking, I’m attracted to Lacee Warren.
But none of that matters. I have a job to do. My number one priority is retrieving that computer chip from Lacee before it gets lost or before someone else figures out that I transferred it to her. And my number two priority is forgetting that kiss on the escalator—it complicates things. Actually, maybethatshould be my number one priority. Although, I have a feeling that forgetting that kiss will be much harder than getting the computer chip back. But the order of the priorities doesn’t matter. It all has to get done.
That’s why I’m currently scaling the side of Lacee’s three-story apartment building. It’s the middle of the day, so if someone walks by or if a neighbor looks out their window, I might get the cops called on me—one of the hazards of the job. But you’d be surprised how many peopledon’tlook up. I never get noticed in broad daylight.
I’m not worried about a roommate being home with her. Her name is the only one on the lease, and I’ve been watching her building for a few hours to know she’s alone.
I make it to her apartment window and take a peek inside. The window leads to her living room. Loud Christmas music plays from inside her apartment, letting me and everyone in the building know she’s home. There’s a five-foot Christmas tree standing in the corner decorated with white lights and silver ornaments. Next to the tree is a TV mounted to the wall and a wood cabinet below. There’s a matching wood coffee table and a gray couch, and two chairs. The room seems warm and cozy. I can easily picture Lacee in here, watching a favorite movie or napping on the oversized couch. I shake my head, trying to get the visual out of my mind. I’ve done covert things like this a thousand times before, but today’s the first time I feel like a Peeping Tom.
Stick to the job.
I stand on the decorative ledge that wraps around each floor of the building. It’s about six inches wide, which is better than most places. I pull out a small tool kit, getting ready to pick her lock, when I look down and realize the window is already cracked open a few centimeters. She really should be more careful. Has she no concern for her safety or not know how easy it would be for someone to break in? I guess it’s not that easy since she’s on the third floor. Very few people have my skill set of climbing buildings.
I lift the window open, keeping my eyes on the room in case she walks in. I crawl inside, and that’s when I hear Lacee singing at the top of her lungs, “All I Want For Christmas is You.” She’s no Mariah Carey—I’ll tell you that much—but I’m grateful for the noise. It makes my job a lot easier.
I walk around her living room, looking for the bag with the scarf in it. There are tubes of wrapping paper on her couch, and I notice the stack of presents under the tree.
Please don’t tell me I have to unwrap every one of those to find the purple scarf.
No, I need to check the rest of the apartment before I start tearing through gifts like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. I’ll even check the garbage can for the bag the scarf was in.
I step around the rest of the room, making my way into the small kitchen. There’s a blue refrigerator with pictures stuck to the front. One is of her in her graduation cap and gown with her arms around what has to be her parents. She has her mother’s eyes and her dad’s red hair. There’s another picture of her on Cannon Beach, posing in front of Haystack Rock. She’s sandwiched between two other girls with similar coloring—sisters, I’m guessing—one has brown hair and freckles, and the other has auburn hair with golden highlights. And in the last picture, she’s wearing a white chemist coat with her hair styled in a high ponytail, finishing the look off with thick safety glasses. Her smile is big and animated, making her adorable and sexy. I glance over my shoulder, checking my surroundings even though I know by her singing she’s still back in another room. Then I pull out my phone and take a picture of the picture.
It’s for work.
It’s evidence.
I continue my search around the kitchen, finding nothing. I slowly make my way down the hall. With each step, Lacee’s singing gets louder. She’s moved on to “Jingle Bells.”
The door to her bedroom is wide open, but her voice is muffled. I peek my head around the corner, and it’s then I realize she’s in the shower singing. That gives me the perfect opportunity to check her room for the scarf. I walk to her dresser, picking up an airline ticket to Seattle, Washington, for 11:45 p.m. It’s a good thing I came to her apartment for the chip before she heads out of town. I remember reading online that Lacee’s from a small town a few hours outside of Seattle. She must be traveling home for Christmas. Hence the present for her mom. I need to find the chip before it gets on a plane and travels across the country.
