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He tried turning the knob. It held tight. Advantage: theirs. They’d hear a key in the lock. He returned to the window, looking out, the moonlight angling onto the balcony. The security they’d seen earlier hadn’t reappeared. Last thing he and Remi needed was for some guard to suddenly become astute and notice the dim lights of burglars in their employer’s office. He pulled the curtains, returned to Remi’s side, slipping his backpack from his shoulder and taking out a very slim LED flashlight, which he handed to Remi. She at least saw and heard what went on, which meant if anyone should be conducting the search, it was Remi. “I’ll keep watch.”
She started going through the desk drawers, finding one of them locked. It took her a minute to pick it, and she pulled out papers, looking them over, trying to replace them as she found them.
Sam heard footsteps outside in the hallway. He held up his hand, aiming his gun at the door. Remi stopped her searching, watching him. He kept his focus on the bottom of the door, the thin line of light unbroken, until a shadow filled the gap—then moved past. He signaled to Remi, who moved from the desk to look over the shelves behind it. “Nothing,” she whispered. “If he has anything in here about where this place is . . .”
They’d already stayed longer than was comfortable. Anything more, and they were pushing their luck. “Wrap it up. We need to get out of here.”
She nodded. While he returned his attention to the door, she gave the room a slow perusal, picking up the pad of paper and ripping off several sheets, which she put in her pocket. Her attention landed on the phone. Suddenly she picked it up, punched in a number on the keypad.
“What’re you doing?”
“Trying to call Selma.” She listened for a moment, hung up. “Busy.”
“Again?” That bothered him.
“There has to be some way to reach her,” she said.
If they were hacked, all Selma’s information, including her cell phone and their house phone, was compromised. Selma appeared on all of their credit reports as an authorized user. Time to figure that out later. Hearing voices in the hallway, he pointed toward the window. She nodded, starting that direction. Suddenly she stopped, looking on a shelf, eyeing the books behind the desk. Clearly something about them bothered her, because she started touching and pressing them. A soft click and a secret panel opened. “Sam . . . I think I found the buy-in he needed to take care of.”
His gun trained on the door, he backed toward her, looking at the hidden cupboard—and on the shelf within, Remi’s little blue light shining on the stacks of banded euros in denominations of twenty.
A little negligent, leaving money out where anyone could get it.
And a quandary. He and Remi prided themselves on their honesty. Stealing something that didn’t belong to them was not an option.
But having been hacked and suddenly cut off from even the smallest source of income made the find extremely tempting.
They looked at each other, both ready to back off, until Remi said, “We could really use that right now . . .”
“Maybe so, but it’s a good way to make someone really mad.”
“He’s a broker selling stolen cars. Who’s he going to call? The police?”
“Good point.” He handed her his backpack.
She unzipped it, picked up several stacks, stuffed them into the bag.
It was risky. Someone was bound to notice the missing money.
He heard footsteps in the hallway. The thin bead of light beneath the door was broken by the shadow of someone stepping in front of it. Unlike last time, this shadow didn’t move on.
Sam aimed toward the door and backed toward the window. Reaching behind him, he pulled open the curtain. “Remi,” he whispered, as someone inserted a key into the door lock.
She closed the panel, zipped the backpack shut, tossing it to Sam as she moved to the window. She’d no sooner stepped out onto the balcony than the door opened and the broker walked in.
The man stared at Sam, almost as though he couldn’t believe that someone was standing in his office. His gaze flicked to the now-closed hidden panel, then Sam’s gun. “Guards!”
55
Guards!” the broker cried again, his voice carrying out the window.
Sam clambered over to the next balcony. When he reached Remi’s side, he eyed the limb five feet away, then the ground twenty feet below. “After you,” he said, taking her hand, helping her up onto the stone balustrade. She made the leap as easily as a gymnast, her foot landing on the thick branch, balancing lightly, as she caught the branches overhead to steady herself. She quickly edged toward the tree’s trunk.
The broker shouted that he’d been robbed.
Sam holstered his weapon, hopped up onto the balustrade, and jumped just as two guards burst out onto the balcony. Remi already had her gun out. She fired. The left cypress’s pot exploded, the evergreen tilting across the balcony as the two guards ducked back inside. One of the guards inched out again.
Crack!
