I retrieve the device from my pocket and run it over the painting, ensuring there isn’t a live feed, but Rosie came through, as always. It’s mine for the taking.
I grab both sides of the painting and heave it off the wall.
The hard part is over.
The door to the room slams shut, and I spin around to see the blade of a knife glinting in the moonlight as a voice speaks from the shadows.
“I’ll take that.”
Or not.
Chapter 4
Maya
Themaskedmanstills,cradling the painting to his body. He makes no move to release it to me, and I want nothing more than to snatch it out of his grubby hands. How is this the second robbery I’ve been a part of in one day? The thieves in this city are out of control.
I raise the knife in front of my face, either to warn him off or hide behind the tiny blade. I’m not sure which.
I tried to call the cops, but there was no signal, which is weird, because it’s New York and there’salwaysa signal. And the security system that usually runs like Fort Knox was blinking red. That’s when the fool that I am thought,I’m brave, I can scare off a little intruder. But anyone breaking into a skyscraper like this isn’t little, and they aren’t stupid. I alone hold that title.
My phone sits like a useless deadweight in my pocket. When they find my body tomorrow, they’ll wonder why I didn’t try harder to use it. Why I tried to take things into my own hands.
Currently, I’m wondering the same.
I’m no vigilante.
I’m a nanny. I’m not even a good one.
It’s not like I could stab someone, but this guy doesn’t need to know that. I only need him to believe it long enough to leave, without the painting worth more than two million dollars. The Hartwells will kill me if it disappears on my watch.
“Put it back. Now.” My voice falters on the last word.
“Why don’t you put the knife down before you hurt yourself?” It’s dark in here, and the man is wearing a mask, so I can’t see his expression, but hesoundsvery judgy.
I scoff, but my hand trembles. I’m facing off against an actual criminal—one who could hide my body where it would never be found. I’m so screwed.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching every scary movie in the world with Arabella, it’s to never show fear. Don’t back down.
And never end up in this kind of situation in the first place.
“Not going to happen.” I force the words out but my voice sounds funny, like it’s not my own. “Put the painting on the ground and step away.”
He sighs, the sound deep and annoyed, as if this kind of thing happens far too often. “Are we really going to do this?”
I gulp. Dowhat?
He slowly lowers the painting, propping it against the wall behind him. He’s got a slim backpack that locks in front of his chest, and he adjusts it as he stands to his full height and shakes out his hands before fisting them in front of him.
Oh.Oh!He wants tofight?
I clearly didn’t think this through. I can’t emphasize enough how much I don’t want to dothis. I can’t fight; I can’t even kill a spider without cringing. I can’t hit a man. Oh gosh, what ifhehitsme?
I’ve never been hit on purpose. It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?What if I cry?
I’m not cut out for this.
I’m about to yell those words out loud when a thought strikes me—I don’thaveto do this. This isn’t worth it. He can have the painting. I’ll get fired. I’ll truly have nothing, but at least I’ll have my life. Being brave is overrated.
