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Once I could have chalked up to a weird twist of fate. Twice?
Twice meant this number was significant.
It also meant I needed to get the fuck out of here. Just stash my shit and wander back to the party like nothing ever happened.
Yup.
I shoved my infrared reader back in the bag, zipped it up, and slung it over my shoulder.
My palm grazed Lola wannabe’s enormous door, about to close it.
Oooooh, but I was sooooo close.
Months of planning all down the drain.
For what?
Because a couple of numbers scared me off?
What if it was just his mother’s birthday? Was I really going to let the biggest payday of my life slip through my fingers?
“Happy fucking birthday,” I whispered to myself and punched in the code. The gears whirred inside and the spring-loaded door popped open.
I half expected to find another, smaller safe.
Infinite safes. Why not?
I almost couldn’t believe what I was looking at.
A small velvet pouch.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I unzipped my bag, reaching in for an identical velvet pouch. The only difference was mine had a garden rock in it. King Julian had a priceless diamond in his.
I didn’t know or care how much it was really worth.
But I had a fence who’d take it off my hands for 2.3 mil, putting me just over my goal.
My nest egg, insurance policy, my safety net, would be all taken care of.
I slowed my breath, and holding my velvet bag from the very edge of the drawstring, I hovered it right next to my loot.
See, Billy was stubborn, and his pressure plate was extremely sensitive.
But I’d learned it was only sensitive by human standards.
I’d lifted my loot out and had the decoy in before the plate had detected the initial movement.
Over the last few months of learning how to crack safes, I’d often thought that I should start a business making vamp-proof safes.
Ones that couldn’t be finessed open using our superior senses.
I’d even drawn up a business plan and taken it to Carisa—in secret, of course. But she’d quickly informed me that kings don’t truly care if their safes are “safe.” Rather, it was the illusion of safety. Like a deadbolt on a front door.
No one fucked with the king’s stuff because…well, it was the king’s stuff.
So, no vamp safe business for me.
I’d just take my spoils and live my life in peace, thank you very much.
