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For the next few minutes or so, I spoil her with an abundance of kisses and gentle caresses. She rests her head against my chest, smiling as she absentmindedly traces the lines of my numerous tattoos. The snow outside our window falls harder, coating the streets and building tops with a new foundation of wet snow.
“You never answered my question,” she says softly.
“Which question?”
“About why you chose to leave the Red Ravens.”
I take a deep breath. I must keep so many secrets from her. Giving her a glimpse into who I was seems like a harmless enough compromise. If I can’t be honest with her about the future, I can at least tell her about the past.
“You were right,” I tell her, “when you said I left because of a woman.”
She tilts her head up to peer at me. “Odette’s mother?”
I nod slowly, smiling wistfully. “Marianne. She was an art conservator.”
Raquel nuzzles in. “Let me guess. You met her while trying to steal a rare painting?”
“You guessed right. Chet and I were after a stolen Monet. We wanted to steal it before it could fall into the hands of a private collector. It was being repaired at the time. We broke into the art conservatory late at night thinking it’d be empty. Turns out, Marianne was working late and spooked us. She clocked me over the head with a paint can.”
Raquel winces and laughs at the same time. “It’s a miracle she didn’t cave your skull in.”
“It was only a quarter full. Needless to say, I fell in love with her the moment I woke up from my concussion.”
“And that’s when you decided you wanted to stop being a thief?”
“Chet and I had already managed a few successful jobs. I had more than enough tucked away to start over fresh. I was never into the wholesteal-from-the-criminally-rich-and-give-to-the-poorschtick like your father was. I mean, it’s good to have morals and all, but it wasn’t something I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Chet and I agreed that after one last job, I’d be in the clear to live my life with Marianne. We were blessed with Odette fourteen years later. We had a happy life. Agoodlife. And then she passed.”
Raquel props herself up on her elbow, giving me a sympathetic look. “What happened?”
I grind my teeth, swallowing hard. “She was driving Odette home from the park when she had a stroke behind the wheel. As a result, she lost control of the car and crashed into an oncoming vehicle. She was killed on impact.”
Raquel, bless her soul, looks downright horrified. “Oh my God, Gabriel, I’m so sorry. Was Odette…”
“She wasn’t injured, thankfully, but she witnessed the whole thing from the backseat. The doctors suspect the trauma is the reason behind her selective mutism. Odette hasn’t spoken a word in almost two years. Until you showed up.”
“Sothat’swhy you kept giving me weird looks when she spoke around me.”
“I don’t know the reasoning behind it,” I admit. “I’ve taken her to see countless professionals, but Odette’s only ever spoken around you. You’re a good influence on her.”
Raquel smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “That’s sweet, but I’m sure it’s all you. I can tell how much you love her.”
“She’s my whole world,” I say and mean it.
“Thank you for helping me with this job. I know it can’t be easy to be away from her. Here’s hoping everything goes according to plan and we can get you home to her.”
I keep my smile where it is despite the bitterness coating my tongue. “Yeah. Here’s hoping.”
Chapter 25
Raquel
Practice makes perfect, Dad always told me.
With the memory of the vault’s schematics burned into the front of my brain, I order myself a miniature replica of the door to work on. Dad knows a guy in England who knows a guy from Italy who knows a guy from China who makes practice locks and the like for training locksmiths and —in my case— would-be thieves.
It’s merely a matter of drawing exactly what I want, sending off my request using a secure IP address to access the dark web, and voila! My special package arrives on December 5th, addressed not to the hotel, but a PO Box several blocks away via expedited shipping. The whole process is completely anonymous. Just the way I like it.
It’s not as exact a copy as I’d like it to be, and it’s clearly 1:25 scale, but at least it’s something tangible I can put my hands on to keep from being overly restless. It’s basically just a door on a hinge, but that’s all I need to hone my vault cracking skills. The code can be randomized manually repeatedly, so I always have a sequence to deal with. I even give myself a little timer —sixty seconds is what Klaus said— so I can get used to working under pressure.
