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It was why I was considering actually bringing a small backpack or purse or something like that with other items in it.
I liked to pack light on a job.
Certain people saw bags of any sort as a security risk. And everything about me on a job had to suggest I was anything but that.
“I’ve planned more for this than almost any other job I’ve ever done. Including that casino job. And we all know how the security at casinos is,” I reminded her, trying to put her mind at ease even as her worries only managed to intensify my own.
“These are… different kinds of people,” she reminded me, hunching a bit over her desk. Josie had impeccable posture. It was alarming to see her looking almost beat down over this.
“I know that,” I agreed, trying to keep my voice calm, maybe even a little upbeat. “Do you want to go over my plans again?” I asked, waving toward the file on her desk.
I didn’t keep files. Not after a job was done. Not on paper anyway. I had a external drive that did have tidbits of information on all of my jobs. Mostly in the case of a repeat client, not wanting to have to ask them all the same shit over again. But I did have little maps and keywords written down. For my own memory, if the job was complicated, but also to show Josie.
True, she’d never been on a job. But she was surprisingly good at finding little pockets of potential trouble, or coming up with routes I wouldn’t have thought of.
We’d been over this particular plan at least a dozen times over the past two days as I was getting ready to put it into action.
“No,” she said, sighing a little. “We’ve thought of everything,” she said.
I thought so too.
Which was why my unease about the whole thing was freaking me out so much.
I should have gone out to Golden Glades at lunchtime for a little quickie. Maybe I just needed that physical outlet to shake the weird feeling.
Until Josie said something, I’d thought that my anxiety was stemming from how much money was on the line with this one. Money like that put a lot of pressure on a person. Especially when that person worked solo, and would only have themselves to blame if things went sideways.
But as soon as she spoke up, I knew it wasn’t the money. It was the job. Something about it just wasn’t sitting right with me.
That being said, this was the night.
It had to be.
There were no second chances with this.
It had to go right.
Which was why when I caught my reflection in the window that was mirrored on the outside all the time, but also mirrored inside at night, I didn’t recognize myself.
My tattoos that I’d lovingly curated over the years were gone, covered up with some amazing tattoo concealer that didn’t even come off when I rubbed it with water and a rag. The instructions told me that I would need to use some sort of oil to get it off. Which meant that so long as no one doused me in that during the job, no one would know what was hidden.
My long black hair was tucked up under a cap, and I had a pretty fucking convincing blonde wig on instead.
I might have worried about the wig if I were around women who really knew about that kind of thing. But men were clueless about them. It worked in my favor.
They tended to be pretty dense about makeup, too. Which was how my face had transformed from someone I knew, someone I was familiar with every day in the mirror, into someone else entirely.
The careful contouring, lashes, and colored contacts made me look softer, sweeter, less threatening.
I hated the stupid contacts. No matter how well I lubricated my eyes, they always felt a little scratchy. I normally wouldn’t have bothered, given how much effort I’d put into everything else appearance-wise. But the weird feeling I couldn’t shake had me sticking them in and convincing myself the brown color would add to the whole makeover I was going for.
Even the clothes I was wearing were different.
Gone was my usual attire—short skirts, tees or tanks, and my combat boots. In their place was a club dress that clung to every square inch of me, and boot-style heels that were open in the toe with little cutouts up the sides, so they didn’t look completely out of place, but gave me room to sew little pockets in for the gouger and knife. Smaller ones than I would normally pack. But they would do the job in a pinch.
The whole look gave me either a club girl on spring break or a high-price call-girl look.
Either would work for my cover.
