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PROLOGUE
STRAP
“Watchit, kid.”
Strap Dubois sucked in a quiet breath, pulling his foot back just as the security guard on the other side of the door walked by. After so many years of being an international thief alongside the infamous Michel “Mick” Granger, he figured he’d get used to the pit in his stomach whenever a close call nipped at his skin.
Goosebumps often followed, as well as the adrenaline rush. Then, it left a stupid smile on his face, but knowing that Mick had eyes on him through the museum’s security cameras, he sobered up quickly.
“Oops,” Strap mumbled, just loud enough to be caught by the audio device that connected him to Mick despite the distance that separated them. He sent an apologetic glance toward the camera that stared straight at him.
Being young and spry, as Mick liked to say, Strap was the one who dove headfirst into their big heist missions while Mick tapped into their target’s security system to guide Strap around the interior guards. His shifter senses most definitely helped. This time around, they snaked their way into the Barcelona History Museum to snag an ancient Egyptian necklace that Mick couldn’t stop drooling over.
The flashier and more dangerous the theft, the more the fire ignited in Strap’s stomach, but Mick had him on a leash and wasn’t afraid to tug on it every now and then.
“You’re too old to be fucking up like this, son,” Mick said, his deep voice crackling into Strap’s earpiece. “Need to use your eyes and ears for a job like this.”
Humming, Strap rested his head against the wall. His ears twitched slightly, and the panther in him snarled, picking up the distant sounds of a guard’s laced-up boots striking the marble floors. A belt jostled, and the guard tapped his fingers along something, perhaps an indicator of a baton, taser, or gun. Maybe a combination. Maybe all three at the same time.
The other half of Strap, the condor that itched to fly, wanted to soar across the hallway, pin down the guards, and pluck out their eyes. But Mick wouldn’t be a fan of that idea.
Strap swallowed hard. “Visuals?” His voice hardly registered.
“To your right, there’s a custodial room. Get to it. Now.”
Pushing himself off the wall, Strap gracefully strode down the hall and gently twisted the doorknob that led into the cramped space. He took silent, controlled breaths as his ears picked up on the noises encapsulating him.
Multiple sets of footsteps patrolled the hallways. Strap wrinkled his nose, running a quick hand through his blond hair. “Can I leave now?”
“No.” Mick’s voice was firm, rough, and dominating. The brains of the operation.
The older man liked to tease him, reminding him that even though he harbored two intelligent animals in his body to shift into, he lacked their smarts … a panther, one of the more formidable hunters in the feline family, and a condor with its impeccable perception and agility.
“You got the dumb genes from both of your parents, didn’t you, boy?” Mick had asked him one day as they enjoyed drinks on an Italian coastline.
Strap had shrugged. He didn’t know his parents, so he couldn’t say for sure.
With another crackle of the earpiece, reality sucked him back to the present. Sweat coated his forehead.
“Bastards are locking away the pieces,” Mick grumped. Strap could already imagine him taking a quick swig from his flask. “You need to act fast, Strap. Can’t waste time here.”
“What if I just went for one of the bigger scores?” Strap suggested, jutting out his bottom lip in thought. His blue eyes soon brightened. “Like that gold statue? The one I passed on the way here? I bet I can get millions for it …”
“Don’t be stupid,” Mick interjected. “We need a clean job, not a shit show.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Strap remarked, readjusting the collar of his jean jacket and wiping his clammy palms on his pants. “I can’t keep waiting around for you to give me orders. I need to do shit on my own.”
“Strap.” This time, Mick sounded concerned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Means I’m ready to be my own boss, Mick.” Strap cracked his neck. “That necklace you’re obsessing over is hardly worth a couple million. The statue? The one of the Egyptian deity? We’ll never have to steal again.”
“No, you idiot,” Mick spat. Strap nearly flinched at the intensity of his words. “You fucking idiot …”
Too late.
Strap sucked in a deep breath. Then, he opened the door.
* * *
