Page 114 of Brazen Deceits

Walker squeezes my hand. “Duly noted, princess.”

I mock-glare at him, but he presses a kiss to my cheek before striding to Trips in the living room, his portfolio in one hand and his backpack slung over one shoulder. A new tension courses across his back as he sets the portfolio down on the coffee table.

Jansen pulls me tighter. “I knew you’d love your new boots and coat, beautiful. You haven’t touched the ones I took from your parents’ house.”

“Did you steal from both my parents and some poor shop that night, Jansen?”

“I left money at the store. I knew you’d prefer it if I paid. It’s not my fault they closed at eight.”

Pecking Jansen on the cheek with a shake of my head, I follow Walker, curling up next to him on the couch. I can worry about Jansen’s questionable mission another time. Walker’s forgery is more pressing.

Trips reaches over and zips open the portfolio. Whistling, he looks over the piece. “This is great, Walker. I’m no expert, but if I didn’t know you’d done this? I’d think it was the original.”

Walker nods. “I just hope it can fool the experts, too. At least for a few months.”

I’m itching to touch the thing, to see Walker’s work, but Trips is still inspecting the heavy yellow paper. “What about this smudge? Is that a problem?”

Walker leans forward, elbows on his knees as he looks at what Trips pointed out. “Nope. That smudge was on the original. They usually light the Rubens so the smudge is invisible, but it’s definitely there. I found it on our research trip.”

I nudge him, and he takes the art from Trips and hands it to me. And it is stunning. Three large cats, pacing the page in chalk, made by this exceptional man beside me.

“Wow, Walker. Just. Wow.”

He chuckles, pulling it gently from my fingers and putting it back in the portfolio. He pulls a big, weird-looking eraser from his bag, carefully rubbing the edges of the paper where we touched it on both sides. “Does that really work?” Trips asks.

“As long as the prints are fresh, it’s like rubbing ink before it dries. Any prints left should be blurry.” He leans back over the couch, looking for Jansen and not finding him. “Jansen? You brought gloves, right?”

Jansen hollers from upstairs. Because there is an upstairs. In our hotel room. “Yup. No touchy. Got it.”

Trips pulls out his phone. “Let’s order food and crash. We’ll sleep in, go over the plan, and leave at 11 p.m. That’ll put us at the right time to use a dance club as a rendezvous if shit gets messy.”

He hands his phone to Walker to choose a restaurant—the rest of us will eat whatever he picks—and runs his hands through his hair, glaring out the window.

Walker squeezes my thigh, whispering in my ear. “Get him to open up to you, princess. He’s carrying too much on his shoulders. He might let you heft a bit of the load.” Message sent, he ambles upstairs to get the other guys’ orders, leaving Trips and me in the living room.

“Do you think things might get bad?” I ask him.

His hands idly trace the arms of the chair. Meeting my gaze, he says nothing.

“Please, be honest, Trips.”

Trips grimaces, standing up and pacing to the windows. I follow. Crossing his arms, he stares at the city lights. “We haven’t heard from Jasmine since you met with her. No details about the drop time or place, nothing.”

“And that’s unusual?”

Trips’ hand drags through his hair again. “Some fences stop contact so they’re protected should something happen to the team. The fence can’t get caught in the net if there are no communications that point to them.”

“So she thinks we’ll get caught?”

“Maybe? Or maybe she’s been told not to talk to us. Or she knows there’s something different going on. Or maybe she’s busy fitting in a trip to Cabo before Christmas. I have no idea. It just makes me nervous.”

“Do you still think we can we do this?”

He sighs, glancing down at me. “Our plan is solid. I’ve built in a few contingencies. But there’s no way to plan for everything.”

I take a risk, reaching for his hand. He lets me, watching my fingers slide between his own. “No one can plan for everything. If the plan is good, we’ll have to trust it. Anything else? We’ll figure it out.”

He yanks his hand from mine, marching to the kitchen, his fingers digging into his auburn waves. “Like running toward the guns while not letting anyone in on your little plan?”

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