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ONE
London pulled the car into the garage and parked it beside the Jag. Every time he saw that thing, he wanted to punch Phoenix in his smug face. One day he would get a sledgehammer and go all Carrie Underwood on it.
London parked the car. Beside him in the passenger seat, Rio gripped the top of the backpack, twisting it in his hands.
“Job’s done. What’s going on?” London didn’t get out.
Rio said nothing.
“Dude, you’re gonna get cold feet now? You a coward?”
Rio shot him a look, then shoved open the door.
London grabbed his arm, shoving him up against the wall by the freezer. “You gonna ruin this?” He put pressure on Rio’s neck. “Tell me, so I can kill you now.”
Rio said nothing.
“Are you?”
He choked out one word, “No.”
London stared into his eyes for a second, then pushed off Rio and went inside.
London held the door for a long second so the guy behind him could enter. “It’s done.” When he’d caught it, London headed into the kitchen. “Did ya hear me?”
“I heard you.” Berlin stood over the breakfast bar, schematics on the table in front of him.
London figured he had. For once the music coming from the stereo wired through the whole house was playing low. The kitchen smelled like last night’s dinner, underlaid with the constant, slightly musty smell of being between housekeepers.
Berlin lifted a mug and sipped while he studied the paper he’d rolled out before putting little gold Scottie dog statues on the corners as paperweights.
London dumped the keys to the Porsche on the counter by the coffee pot and poured himself a mug.
The guy behind him breezed by. “Berlin.”
London lifted his head. “Rio.”
Rio got a beer from the fridge and chugged down half of it. “Where’s everyone else?”
Berlin pointed with a finger toward the living room that led out onto an expansive back porch with a hot tub and a view of the pool, then the mountains.
London put cream in his coffee. “Did Miami wake up?”
Berlin shook his head.
Rio headed for the living room, pulling off his shirt, so he was just in basketball shorts. He only wore a shirt when they left the house, and even that didn’t always guarantee he’d be fully clothed. It was the brand he’d cultivated, and it worked for him.
London turned to Berlin. “What about Phoenix?” Miami had been asleep on the pool table when London and Rio left a couple of hours ago.
“In the hot tub with Shara.” Berlin didn’t give away an ounce of how he felt about that. “No one saw you?”
London lowered the mug from his mouth. “Of course not. It all went smoothly, just like you said.”
Berlin nodded.
“We’re still on track for tomorrow?”
“Day after.” Berlin looked up. “Just to be sure.”
