Page 75 of Stealing Blinds

“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you,” he bites out. “But I do need to know if you were the one behind that.”

I’m not sure how to respond because if he pressures me for details about how I achieved the power outage, I can’t provide them—not without divulging that I involved other people. And that would be a disaster. He would not appreciate me roping the Noires into this.

Instead, I deflect. “Is there a reason you’re nervous? This isn’t a great vibe for me to be carrying minutes before a job.”

“Agreed,” he grits out, “but if someone figures out what we’re doing …”

He’s hiding something. This is always the problem in a con game. Everything said is bullshit.

“You can’t just leave that open-ended. What, E?”

“I’ve got a lot riding on this. That’s all.” He pauses for a beat—long enough to leave me guessing whether this uncharacteristic vulnerability is him spiraling or manipulating me. “If you think someone is interfering or following you, I need to know. We’ll find a new way in.”

A new way in? I don’t want to start this over or prolong this obligation. We’re so close. But someone is aware of something. I can’t decide if I should tell him about the note. It might’ve simply been Danny, pissed that Cash had been tracking me down. He loved the idea of having whoever he wanted while ensuring I was only his. Or someone else is watching me. I did get the sense that I was being followed in New York the day before I got that warning, but I assumed that was Cash’s people on me.

Maybe I’ll tell E after tonight. At least we’ll have all the keys.

“Every job has glitches. I’m not thrilled about the cleaning company’s schedule being changed, but it appears to check out. Other than that …”

“So, you don’t have any reason to believe someone else is going after the keys or aware that you are?” he presses.

“I don’t …” I think about the last two jobs. There was no issue in San Francisco, and the only snag at Peter’s was surrounding Cash. No one else seemed to be interested in getting upstairs or into Peter’s office. “No, I really don’t.”

“Okay,” he grunts. “Call me when you’re done.”

“Will do.” I tuck my burner away and saunter back to Cash, who seems displeased.

He fits the hat that goes with the cleaning company’s uniform on my head and uses the bill to pull me in close. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I sigh, feeding my ponytail through the opening in the cap and shrugging off my leather jacket. “He was edgy.” I pluck the small fanny pack from the backpack we brought with us, fasten it around my waist, and slide on a pair of thin work gloves. “I just want to get this over with. I won’t be long.”

He moves in step beside me as I start to walk across the side street. “I’ll sneak in so no one sees me, but I’m going with you.”

“The hell you are.” I narrow my eyes at him, my blood boiling. “Look, I’ve played nice. But I do not have a plan that involves you walking into that building with me. And deviations at the last minute are what end up getting people pinched. Stay here, and I’ll let you be the getaway driver on the way home.”

“Sly—”

“No. This man knows my family, and he’s unsettled. Things generally go downhill once someone is spooked.”

“Fine.” He snaps a bracelet on me—one I never even saw him get from anywhere. “This is my compromise. It lets me track you and your vitals.”

“You’re fucking insane,” I hiss, though I don’t bother fighting him. “But you win. Now, go back to the bike.”

“You’re sexy when you’re working, baby. So bossy. I need to fuck that sass out of you, but …” He grips the back of my neck and ensnares my mouth in a swift but sultry kiss that shoots to places I have no business paying heed to right now. “Do your thing. If there’s an issue, I’ll be there. I protect what’s mine.”

I don’t have time to parse out his possessiveness, and he swaggers backward, letting me go, so it can keep.

Tonight’s entry is easy because the doors are wide open, and I’m dressed as someone who’s permitted inside. But the cameras are a challenge. The security is monitored by a nearby agency on the weekends, probably more so with people here overnight. I can’t loop the feed for the whole building because there’s an expectation to see the cleaners, but I don’t want to be filmed. With all the facial recognition software out there, hiding is harder than ever.

There aren’t cameras in the stairwells though, so that’s my plan. I grab a backpack vacuum from the van and keep it in front of my face as I head for the door to the stairs.

“Did Mark tell you to do the stairwell?” some guy scurrying past me asks.

“That’s where I’m headed,” is all I respond as I pull the door open.

He mumbles something about disorganization, but thankfully doesn’t follow. I dash up nineteen flights of steps, my adrenaline pumping by the time I reach the landing. That’s when I set the security loop in motion via my handheld PC. I had it prerecorded for this floor, and since I’ll only be about ten minutes and the cleaners haven’t reached this level yet, it should be fine.

Slipping through the open door with the backpack vacuum on, in case one of the cleaners deviates from the lower floors, I dart down the hall toward the entrance to the headquarters for a premier shipping company. They have two floors below this, too, but this is where all the company bigwigs work. I’m headed to the president’s office, Beatrice Shaeffer.