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Leaning back in my seat, I run a hand through my hair. “Are you sure you want to do this? I thought we agreed to no more jobs until after the baby arrived. You heard the doctor. Extra stress isn’t good for you and the baby.”
Raquel looks around casually, taking in the sounds and sights of the city. “I agreed that I wouldn’t be the safecracker until after the baby came, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try my hand at planning. Besides, Dad’s thinking about retiring soon. The Red Ravens are going to need a new mastermindto come up with heists.”
“I just think you should take it easy, that’s all.”
“Babe, I love you, but when have I ever taken it easy? It’s not in my character.”
“Touché. So, who’s the target?”
Someone’s chair squeaks as they slide back. To my right, Anders scooches into place from his own table. He blended in so well I didn’t even notice him there. Klaus steps forward, too, disguised as our waiter.
Since we’d started working with rather than against Interpol, I hadn’t seen them. A lesson I need to remember: Pay attention at all times.
“Her name is Amelia Vorchenkovitch,” Klaus says, setting down a menu. When I flip it open, I find that he’s disguised an entire dossier within the menu’s pages. “She’s the daughter of a Russian oligarch, Viktor Vorchenkovitch. Very high up the chain of command. Got rich in the seventies when he was allotted a substantial share in the mining industry by the Kremlin.”
“Good to see you, too,” I mumble as I look everything over. “Look, I’m not exactly a fan of nepotism babies, but if she hasn’t done anything illegal, we won’t steal from her.”
“We don’t want you to,” Anders says simply. “We’re bringing the Red Ravens on as our unofficial consultant. No stealing necessary. Yet.”
“What exactly are you after, then?”
“Information,” Klaus says.
“That’s not really our area of expertise,” Raquel points out. “Now, if you said you wanted us to steal an ancient Roman bust or maybe a Ming Dynasty vase, that’d be another story entirely.”
“The information we’re looking for is a map,” Anders clarifies. “We’ve been led to believe said map is the key to finding Victor’s stash of weapons-grade plutonium, which, according to our source, is said to be drawn on the back of long lost Da Vinci.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“This is someNational TreasureNicolas Cage shit,” Raquel says with a wide smile. “Count me in!”
“Now wait a second,” I tell her before she gets the chance to fly off her seat. “We need some time to think about this.”
Anders sighs. “I guess that’s fair. All we’re asking is for your help to plan the job.”
“Who’d be going in?”
“Klaus. Apparently, Ms. Vorchenkovitch has a thing for the bad, brooding types. He’ll make the perfect distraction.”
The man in question huffs. “Can’t believe you’re pimping me out like this.”
Raquel and I exchange a look. I already know what her decision is. We’ve spent the last few months adjusting to our new lives in America, keeping a low profile to avoid any unwanted attention. Since we were able to recover both USBs from Favreaux and Lucius during what we often refer to as our Parisian Scuffle, Chet was able to access his massive fortune and buy us new identities. I’ve never known this level of peace and tranquility before.
But I can tell how much Raquel misses it. Being out there, high off the adrenaline of a job well done. I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been itching to get back out in the field, too. I’d forgotten what a thrill it was, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. Where the police and international watchdogs fail, we give blackhearted criminals their comeuppance, prove they’re not as untouchable as they think, all while helping those who need it.
Now that I know Odette is safe, I feel this pull toward all the action, the danger. I guess once you’re a Red Raven, you’re a Red Raven for life.
“We’ll sleep on it,” Raquel says, taking me by surprise. She was so gung-ho about it just a second ago.
Anders nods. “Fine. Let us know by the end of the week. Ms. Vorchenkovitch is heading to Italy at the end of the month, which is when we want to make our move.”
* * *
Our house is lovely, tucked away in a quiet suburb at the end of a cul-de-sac. There’s a big oak tree out front, a white wrap-around porch complete with porch swing, and a big backyard where Odette likes to play in the small vegetable garden Raquel has been cultivating. On the surface, we’re a perfectly normal, unassuming, happy family who enjoys barbecuing on Friday evenings and taking our little girl to the local swimming pool on the weekends. We’re perfectly nice to our neighbors, always tossing them a friendly wave when we see them or politely chatting about the weather.
The inside of our house is lovely, too. Lived-in, full of vibrant throw pillows and blankets, the walls decorated with hundreds of framed photos and little knick knacks lining our shelves. Some of it is by design, just in case someone stops by and happens to manage a peek. And some of it is also real and organic. Our pictures line the walls, and our little souvenirs take up the space. Odette’s toys are all over the place, and Raquel’s books sit in haphazard piles on every available surface.
There’s nothing temporary about this place. It’s ourhome.
