Page 6 of Heist in Paradise

Nate smirked at the nickname. “Rest assured, little crows, I am the logistics wizard. Old man will drop us ashore and return at zero five hundred tomorrow. A light plane will be waiting for us at the International. I’ve even accounted for extra cargo.” He gave himself a pat on the back for a job well done.

“Ugh,” Zola said with a shudder. “I hate light planes. It’s like flying in a tin can at fourteen thousand feet.”

“As long as we all fit this time,” I said, giving Nate a meaningful look. We all remembered the squashy hybrid we’d been forced to commandeer a few months ago. Poor Ryle had to curl up in the trunk.

Nate nodded cheerfully. “Got us an eight seater this time. Had to account for Big Foot over there.”

Callum flipped him off. “Just because I’m not a wee thing like you.”

“Oi. You haven’t seen my wee thing.”

“We’ve all seen your wee thing,” Ryle muttered thickly.

I snapped my fingers. “Focus. Zola, go.”

Zola stopped glaring long enough to run us through her tech speak—isolate, wipe, loop—the usual. “Network is through a satellite, so once I get past the encryption, it should be easy to hack in and shut down his surveillance.”

“Easy, she says,” Nate chortled.

Zola glanced at him, her mouth pursing. “Our mark is practically ancient, which means he’s either ridiculously tech savvy or thinks Bluetooth is a dental problem.”

“We consider both,” I said.

Ryle went next, between heaving gags. “We’re looking for a painting. Not sure of the exact dimensions, but considering it's worth a hundred million smackers, I’m thinking it’s big. Like, stuffy-royal-portrait big.”

“I don’t get art,” Nate said with a shake of his head.

“That’s because you, boyo, are an uncultured swine.” Callum flashed his teeth at Nate’s affronted scoff. Taking his cue, Callum straightened, one hand still plastered on Ryle’s back. “Right. If the architectural drawings are accurate—and that’s a big if—then we’re lookin’ at five floors, the bottom ones reserved for the cellar and staff quarters. Master suite on the top floor. Guest rooms in the middle.” He paused, then added with a quick look in my direction: “We got nothin’ on the outside. Could be simple, could be bloody Fort Knox.”

“Madoc,” I said, feeling queasy again. Madoc ghosted to my side. I swallowed thickly and nudged him softly with my elbow.

Madoc rolled his eyes. “I’ll find a way in.”

Simple, confident. No hint of doubt in his ability to infiltrate any fortress. It would be arrogant if he weren’t so bloody good at it.

Ryle snapped upright. “There it is.”

The island was a mere bump on the horizon, a jagged shark fin, equally foreboding. Predatory. There was nothing else around it, just open water. We’d left civilization behind and were entering primitive territory. My gut clenched hot.

It felt like a final warning.

We’re so dead.

We sailed on.

JAX

The old man dumped us onto the private dock and sailed away without looking back. Ryle collapsed onto his knees and kissed the sand reverently. “Never again,” he pledged. None of us had the heart to remind him of the repeat journey tomorrow morning.

The island wasn’t what I expected. No swirling rain clouds and violent winds; no crossbones or unmarked graves of long-dead sailors. Instead, it was downright picturesque. An oasis of palm trees, bright white sand, and rolling green mountains. The air was sweet and exotic. A manmade track split through the treeline, like it was welcoming us to the island.

“Damn,” Nate said with a whistle. “I’m about to find me some Cabana girls—ow!”

A smug Zola dumped the packs onto the sand. “I’m not carrying all the tech,” she said, and delegated the heavier packs to Nate. We each took one while Zola unzipped a small silver suitcase and began unloading the gear.

It was standard protocol to use a drone to scope out the property. But not a minute later, Zola groaned and jabbed angrily at the drone. “It’s dead,” she said. “Someone forgot to pack the power bank.”

I frowned at her. “Check again.”