Page 5 of Talk to Me

“If I can get this open in under two minutes, will you let me take you out to dinner?”

“What does that have to do with The Italian Job?” Deflecting instead of answering was a habit.

“Cause Charlize Theron’s character never wants to see what’s inside the safes. You never ask me when I don’t bring it up.”

He was back in the room with the safe, but the low-lighting made it hard to see what he was doing.

“I only ask you what I need to know.” A clock popped up in the right-hand corner of the screen. We’d been inside for forty-minutes. “Our window is closing. You need to open that in the next sixty seconds, or abandon ship.”

“I told you,” he murmured. “I never pull out before the job is done.” The safe gave a distinctive click and then he turned the big wheel and pulled the main handle to open the door. “Tell me the truth,” he whispered. “You’re impressed right now.”

“Gobsmacked,” I admitted. “Good thing I didn’t take that bet.”

“Killing me, Patch,” he retorted, but the smile underscored his words. He was pulling items out of the safe and filling his bag.

“Clock starts in thirty seconds,” I reminded him.

“Relax,” he said in a soothing tone. “We’re good to go.” He closed the safe, resetting it presumably before he pulled the bag’s strap crosswise over his chest. He was out the main doors and had them secured as the clock began running.

The programs I installed were already erasing him from the footage. They would replicate everything in the areas where he had been with footage from the night prior at the exact same times.

I’d scrubbed through it the morning before to make sure we didn’t have any surprises waiting for us. Once he was in the stairwell, he would descend below the ground level to the shopping galleries, then down further to the parking garages.

“Level Two,” he said after fifteen minutes and I sent the power surge to reboot the cameras on that level. It happened. Fifteen minutes after that, he was strolling down the sidewalk leaving the CBD and heading toward Darling Harbor once again.

“All clear,” I told him. “I’ll monitor for the next twenty-four hours, but you should be good.”

“You’re the best, Patch. I’d be lost without you.”

I chuckled. “Goodnight, Locke. Get some rest.”

“Hmm, probably sleep better if you were there, you know?”

“Uh huh.” I didn’t indulge him any further, just ended the call and leaned back in the chair. My heart was still racing and the cold sweat on my skin was a reminder that even one misstep and it wasn’t my ass on the line but the ones relying on me.

I kept an eye on everything and had just poured a fresh cup of coffee when the next call came in. Something was wrong—McQuade was early.

“Talk to me…”

Chapter

Two

PATCH

The alarm jerked me out of sleep and sent my adrenaline pumping. I reached for the phone before I’d fully sat up.

Remington’s name was on the screen.

“Talk to me,” I answered, shaking off the cobwebs as I pushed back the blankets and slid out of bed. The rat-a-tat-tat and pop of gunfire echoed behind him.

“Job went sideways, luv, and now everyone wants a piece of me. Not feeling the welcome.”

“Or the lube from the sounds of it,” I murmured, but I was already on the move. “Target still in play?”

“Target down. I need an exodus.” The low, dreamy quality of his voice was something I’d always enjoyed. Every word he spoke was always enunciated with care and perfectly precise. Even when he was in a hurry, he didn’t sound like it. The lack of regional or colloquial touches didn’t betray where in England Remington hailed from, but he did sound elegant and smart no matter the circumstance.

“I’m on it. Standby.”

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