Relax, buddy. I’m the one committing the felony here.
Exhaling slowly, I refocus on the lock. It’s a simple pin tumbler. Easy. Except—
A prickle runs down my spine. Every muscle in my body locks up, and I go statue-still, lungs fighting to stay quiet. I don’t know what triggered it—sound, movement, instinct—but something’s wrong.
Sliding the tools back into my pouch, I rock to my feet and press into the wall. My gaze sweeps the room. Past the paintings, the sculpture stands, the roped-off displays, until it lingers on the empty shadows between them. The ones too deep. Too still. A chill scrapes across my skin. No one else is supposed to be here. And yet... The feeling won’t shake.
Something—or someone—is hiding in the dark.
If it’s the latter, I’ve made a critical mistake.
Maybe even a deadly one.
Chapter 3
Ben
Dallas, Texas
Monday night
My eyes narrow on the figure dressed in black. I don’t move. I can’t. From where I’m tucked against the wall, it doesn’t look like they’ve spotted me—but they know someone’s here. At least that’s my guess based on how fast they stopped trying to pick the library door’s lock.
Whoever it is, they know what they’re doing. Their movements are clean, practiced, and efficient enough to make my gut tighten.
The museum is full of priceless art, and a clever thief might choose a fundraiser to pull a job while everyone’s distracted by a country star and free champagne. But this one? They’re not interested in art. They’re focused on that door. Who else besides me would be trying to break into the very room where Ramirez’s laptop is sitting?
My mind spins. Nearly two years deep undercover with Operation Shadow Broker, and my team combed through every one of Ramirez’s potential enemies, looking for anyone who might want to take him down. The list was long, the task tedious, but in the end, nobody was reckless—or suicidal—enough to go after Ramirez head-on. At least no one we knew about.
So who is this mystery figure in black?
My pulse hammers in my ears. Time’s bleeding away and soon Ramirez will be up here. I have two choices. Both will expose me. But one might give me the upper hand. Maybe.
“Who’s there?”
My voice echoes off the gallery walls. I brace, expecting the figure to startle, run—something. They don’t even flinch. The complete lack of reaction feels deliberate. A power play I wasn’t ready for.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, keeping my position tight against the wall. My tone sharp. Steady. “This area is off-limits to guests.”
A scuffling sound pulls my attention a few inches left of where I’ve been looking. That’s when I realize they are moving. Blending into the shadows. I thought I had them pinned—but with tiny, imperceptible steps, they’ve been shifting just enough so that I’m mostly talking to a wall.
Unease coils through my muscles. Every instinct I have is screaming to go on the offensive, to drag whoever’s lurking into the light. But I can’t blow my cover. So I lean into the part.
“Museum security. You need to leave now.”
There’s a noise—small, so small I almost miss it—but unmistakable. A snort.
I blink. The moment of confusion barely has time to register before another sound cuts through the air: voices. Footsteps. I risk a glance over my shoulder. Two museum security guards are heading straight for me.
The shadow figure must hear them, too, because they bolt—slipping deeper into the darkness and disappearing toward the back hallway. Instinct kicks in and I follow them. Not because I want to give chase. Idon’t. As much as I’d like to unmask whoever’s screwing with my mission, getting caught up here isn’t an option. And I’m pretty sure “I was stopping a mysterious cat burglar” won’t hold much weight when the museum calls the police.
Ahead of me, the door to the stairwell clicks shut. I reach it just in time to catch a flash of black darting up the stairs. I hesitate, heart hammering.
Down is safer.
Down is smart.
Down is how I stick to the plan. But the figure in black just blew my mission—and when Special Agent Katherine Scott demands an explanation, I want a name.
