Page 1 of Brazen Deceits

Prologue

Jansen

The buzz of adrenaline hums through me, RJ’s directions clear in my earpiece. Down the stairs, duck into this empty room, count to twenty, sneak back out, two rights, then a left, everything smooth as butter.

I get to the office, snatch up the paper, slip it into my secret pocket, and it’s all perfect-perfect. The zings in my bones turn into a roar of victory as I slip back out of the office, slinking down the empty halls, a murmur of lively conversation drifting from the main rooms at the front of the house.

RJ’s calm directions are abruptly drowned out by Trips’ shouts over the earpiece. “Shit, Jansen, incoming.”

My heart rate spikes, the urge to run or climb screaming at me as I dive through the first open door, locking it behind me.

I whip around, flicking on the lights. Coral marble trims the lower third of the walls, snaking up from the floor, the room bigger than my bedroom at home, but only housing a pristine vanity and toilet. There are no other doors. No windows. No exit strategies.

Suddenly, the alarm blares, a red light flashing inside the bathroom, and I know things just got a whole lot worse.

I’m locked in an interior bathroom at a known mob house after someone tripped the alarms, locking all exterior doors and windows.

This is not good.

This is very not good.

THE SATURDAY BEFORE HALLOWEEN

Chapter 1

Clara

Ding-dong.Six. That is the sixth time the doorbell has gone off in the last twelve minutes, and I’m about ready to stick a sign on the front door that says “Out of Business. Go Home.” I have a feeling that wouldn’t deter these people, though. Something tells me that illegal high-stakes poker players aren’t the sort to politely turn on their heel and disappear simply because a sign says they should.

I flop back on my bed, the notes for my business law midterm heavy on my chest. How’s a girl supposed to study when strangers keep ringing the doorbell?

For a split second, I wish I’d known that the guys, my guys (even if I haven’t told any of them that yet), had warned me about their illegal gambling situation before I moved in this fall. I laugh a second later.

The Clara I was the last week of August would have sprinted in the opposite direction if she’d realized she was movingin with a forger, a hacker, a thief, and a bookie. And as a runner, I can go fast.

Now two months later, I hardly recognize that version of myself. Where I once was terrified of upsetting anyone, now I’ll stand up for myself and push for consequences that fit the crime, even if those consequences might be on the wrong side of the law.

I’m glad I’m living with four criminals, and in quiet moments, I fantasize about what it would be like to be with each of them, or better yet, with all of them.

In dark moments, I wish I didn’t have a crush on any of them. It would make things so much easier.

Because, among other problems, I’m still waiting to see if I got into the FBI summer internship program.

Yeah, things are complicated.

The doorbell rings for a seventh time. I give up. I’m not going to get any studying done tonight. Studying on a Saturday is hard normally, but with all the ringing and the stomping of feet up the stairs above me? Yeah, it’s not happening.

I toss my notebook onto one of my pink velvet chairs—an unexpected gift from Trips, the bookie—and wander into the communal kitchen. Is anyone there to complain to? Of course not. All the guys are upstairs running the poker game. Walker, the forger, said they were doing catered sushi tonight. I wish I ran in the kinds of circles where I would show up for an event that had catered sushi. Although, I guess I kind of do run in those circles now, don’t I?

I open the fridge, staring at my yogurt. Sushi sounds so much betterthan yogurt.

The doorbell rings yet again, so I peek out into the front hallway. Jansen opens the door, his blond hair back in a ponytail, a dress shirt and jeans hugging his slim waist and leanly muscled shoulders. “Hello, welcome,” he says, holding the front door half open, blocking whoever is out there from coming in. “If I could have the passcode?”

A gangly guy about our age bobs his head in compliance. “Money is a funny honey for a sunny bunny.”

I snort, and Jansen turns toward me, tossing me a grin and a wink before returning to his doorman duties.

“Excellent. Name?”

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