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“Tomorrow,” Ivy says, consulting her phone. “But you heard the man. All the good parts are off-limits. And he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to let people just wander around.”
“Hmm …” My gaze drifts out of the window, to where old Braithwaite is exiting the front door, pausing to lock up behind him. “You know, if thiswasone of my movie plots, then I would suggest we just wait for the docent to leave for his lunch break, and then find a way to sneak in and take a look around.”
I nod outside. Ivy turns, as Braithwaite strolls away and disappears down the block.
“Reeve, no!” she exclaims. “We can’t.”
“But this is our chance!”
“Our chance to get arrested for criminal trespassing, and wind up in jail while Jake takes all the credit for finding the treasure?” she counters.
“Our chance to find the secret clue, before anybody else,” I urge. “We’ll be in and out before he’s even ordered … What does a man like that order for lunch? Deviled eggs, with a side of watercress soup?” I ask.
Ivy shakes her head. “I know what you’re doing,” she says, but she’s got that smile on the edge of her lips again. “You’re trying to distract me from the insanity of your plan.”
“If I wanted to distract you, we both know exactly what I’d be doing right now.”
The words are out before I can stop them. Our eyes lock across the coffee table, heat suddenly burning the air between us. Ivy’s gaze drops to my mouth.
She inhales a shallow breath, cheeks flushing a deep red. The kind of red she flushed laying half-naked on that chaise, while I was licking her out of her mind.
Damn.
I clear my throat. “I saw an office window open, around the side of the house,” I add, pulling my thoughts back to the matter at hand. “So technically, it wouldn’t be breaking in, so much as … shimmying.”
“Shimmying,” Ivy repeats dubiously.
“A little wiggle, maybe.”
Ivy pauses, and I can see her brain working overtime, probably calculating pros and cons. She’s on the fence, I can tell. She wants to do it, she just needs a little nudge …
“Imagine Jake’s face when you crack the clues,” I add. “And come strolling back into town with a haul of treasure while he’s still up to his waist in mud in the middle of some field …”
Ivy bites her lip. The indecision clears, replaced with a look of determination.
She’s in.
“Fine, I’ll do it, but we have to be quick,” she warns me. I’m already grabbing my coat. “And if we get caught, I’m telling the cops that you’re a weird cult leader, and you’ve had me trapped in a psychological thrall, doing your criminal bidding.”
“Done,” I agree. As if I’d let her take the fall for anything. “But let’s discuss this thrall some more,” I tease. “Is it just historical heists, or can we include some kinky stuff–?”
“Reeve!” Ivy wallops me with her purse, laughing.
“We can discuss it later,” I agree. “We’ve got thieving to do.”
Outside, I check the street again for Braithwaite, but there’s still no sign of him. “All clear,” I report, as Ivy and I stroll casually back to the house, then duck around the side towards the backyard. “You know, this is becoming a habit for us,” I realize, as I find the window ajar, just where I’d thought it would be.
“What is?”
“Sneaking around, breaking in places we shouldn’t be. Kind of like a tradition.” I pull the window wider, then lace my hands together, and give Ivy a boost. She goes in headfirst, and there’s a muffled yelp and a crashing noise.
“You OK in there?” I whisper-call.
“Fine!”
I haul myself in after her, sending silent thanks to Jackson for bullying me into hitting the gym enough that I’m not making a total ass of myself. Once I’m clear through the window frame, I find we’re in Braithwaite’s dim library. Ivy is holding a broken figurine in her hands.
“You think this is a priceless antique?” she asks, looking pained.
