Page 38 of Knot a Thief

The art work on the walls.

And the diamonds, clear and pink.

I hesitate for a moment and look away. My eyes land on an enormous blue diamond which is stunning as it glistens in its protective case.

There’s no time, Ava.

I clench my hands together, stopping the temptation to steal it.

Then my eyes lock onto my target ahead: the Circle of Life, the most expensive red diamond in the world.

Although, I’ve practiced the laser beam path since Silas emailed the plans. I hoped it hadn’t been changed.

As I stare at the lights, going over the route in my mind, I’m happy to say it looks exactly as I practiced.

I slide onto the floor and under the first beam, over the top of the second, and haul my right leg in the air, until my toes point to the ceiling, and twist on one foot to face the blue diamond that caught my eye earlier.

I’m so tempted to steal it, but don’t want to risk the job we’re here for.

The Circle of Life.

Under and over, I navigate the red lines, my body contorting in a graceful dance until I reach the display.

I don’t hesitate.

I input the code, hearing a gentle click, and the whoosh of blood that rushes through my ears.

Time is running out.

I press both hands on the bulletproof glass covering the jewel, lifting the lid clean away and placing it gently on the floor between two laser beams. Because I know the table has weight sensors.

With clammy hands, I grasp the necklace in my hand. It feels heavier than I assumed, but I slowly and methodically lift it from the stand.

My heart is racing with excitement but strangely with something else, too.

Like this is too fucking easy.

Or the Dupont’s aren’t as clever as they seem.

I unzip my wetsuit once more and place the jewel inside a pouch, and turn to maneuver the laser path, and escape.

I feel like I held my breath and as I remove my laser beam highlighter I let out a whoosh of air, and shift out of the room, past the labyrinth of tables.

I freeze by the food table when I hear a man talking outside. Then I quickly rush behind it, listening to the sounds outside. My stomach grumbles when I smell the delicious pastries on the table.

“Where do I put the champagne?” the man asks.

My stomach grumbles again and I should ignore it and move, but the cakes are fresh and I could do with a little sustenance before I leave.

Under a transparent cover, a gorgeous-looking pastry sits on a plate beside a glass of liquid.

A handwritten note near it reads:

The perfect dessert.

Outside I hear. “You need to take it to the building over there. There’s a large refrigerator for anything that needs to stay cold.”

“I was told to put some of the display cakes in the event room,” the man says, confusion in his tone.

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