Page 23 of Mile High Heist

His smile widened. “Trouble.”

My hand was still hovering awkwardly in the air between us.

“You’re wrong,” I said, my heart thumping into my throat. “I’m actually a very good girl.”

His eyes glimmered. “Why don’t I believe you?”

He was flirting with me. Or maybe it was an interrogation. I couldn’t tell the difference.

Julie was shooting me a weird look, no doubt baffled by the interaction. Men like Peter didn’t care that they had an audience. Hell, they probably preferred it. Peter was the star and the world was his stage. We were just his props.

Still smiling like an idiot, I reached out again. “Let me take that from you, sir.”

My fingers clenched on metal, and he released it to me without further ceremony. The woman with the chai latte had grown tired of being ignored. She leaned around me, saying: “Tell me again about that book you read. It sounds fascinating.”

“It is,” Peter agreed, completely unruffled. A still black lake.

Pretending to consider my options, I clicked my tongue and said: “You know what, this overhead is full. I’ll just pop it a bit further down.”

“You do that,” he said. His eyes remained sharp. “Take good care of it for me.”

Briefcase in hand, I resisted the urge to fly down the aisle like a bat out of hell.

I sent a quick alert to the crew, requesting assistance, and slipped into the business cabin bathroom. It was far enough that I hoped it wouldn’t rouse suspicion.

A moment later, there were three solid raps on the door.

Ryle burst in like a purple hurricane, slamming the door shut behind him. “You did it!” he cheered, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. “You beautiful ball buster. How the hell did you do it?”

“I didn’t…He just gave it to me.”

“What?”

“I know.”

Ryle pursed his lips in thought. Then he shrugged and said: “Well, we better crack that bad boy open. It’s probably definitely not full of anthrax.”

I gave him a bewildered look, which made him grin again.

“You wear those hairpins I told you about?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said, digging through my hair. “They hurt like hell.”

Ryle slapped out his hand like a surgeon requesting a scalpel.

“How do you know how to do this?” I asked as he crouched down, peering hard into the keyhole. “I thought this only worked in movies.”

“My old man used to lock me up in places,” Ryle said, his tone casual like we were discussing the weather. I realized that was his thing. Casual trauma. Like it had no impact on him whatsoever.

As he jimmied the pins into the lock, he chatted with his usual gusto. “That Peter dude is pretty hot, huh? It should be a crime to look like that and be a total fucking creep.”

“Bundy was attractive.”

“True.” Ryle poked out his tongue in concentration. “Guess we can’t talk. We’re not exactly saints. You remember Callum? Big, beautiful, red head? Total bear energy. And Jax is stupid attractive, especially with that stupid new haircut. And Madoc—”

My hand slipped on the vanity.

Ryle paused, glancing at me with a skeptical look. “You don’t think Madoc’s hot?”